I've spent the afternoon excavating old songs.
One, called Waltzing Away from Winter, I'm sure I recorded about ten years ago but I can't find the recording. I think I did it on Garageband, and the computer that I used died a long time ago. Frustratingly, I can remember the whole thing apart from little run down from the middle 8 to the last verse. The words were in the first place I looked, which is the first time that has happened, ever.
The little run may come back in a dream.
Another, Beachwalk, was recorded as a collaboration and somehow lost its words in the process, becoming an instrumental.
I found the words, but forgot the melody of the middle 8; a new one showed up straight away, and now I'm tinkering away with the words, like a mechanic does with a car, to make it singable.
There has been nothing better to do, and this has been the best thing to do.
Indigestion is knocking at the door, but a diet of cheese straws has kept it at bay. It's a homeopathic trick: eat the thing that gave you indigestion in the first place and it will either get better or worse. In this case, it's been the former, although I'm just about to go out with the Offsprogs and it might get worse again later.
Oh, and I spent the morning writing a new song. It's reached the tantalising stage that if I work on it too much, I'll ruin it. I'm waiting a bit for the best words to come, and a middle 8, I hope.
It sort of wrote itself today, which feels a bit like being given a fabulous present. I have no idea whether it's any good or not, but I will enjoy singing it anyway.
All this because I couldn't be bothered to go out and buy some more clementines from the shop across the road.