A poor pigeon was wedged next to the bin. I suspect Cowcat (a local Tomcat with Friesian cow markings). I lifted the unfortunate bird into the garden behind a plant pot, and gave it some water to drink.
Then I had to do the housework. The floor was a gritty/sticky combo that was no longer bearable. The vacuum cleaner smells, because it was second hand (environment, etc etc). I discovered that a brand new one would have been the same price; polishing my halo has become tedious as the odours of many student bedrooms permeates the house. Horrible.
Just as I set up to do the vocals, next door's dog Arfur (he barks like this: arf! arf!) started up randomly.
As soon as Arfur stopped barking, a loud fly came in the back door and started Exploring All Areas of the house.
Zoooom! Into the living room.
Zooom! Past the microphone.
Living room again? Yes! Zoooom!
Microphone! Sure thing! Zoooom!
Why oh why oh why, ad infinitum.
I think my voice is good today now that it's stopped being dry roasted by the heatwave, but I've only managed to sing fragments as the distractions and interruptions pile up. Thunderstorm this afternoon, I believe.
The thing is that on every vocal track there is the sound of the big kitchen clock regularly clanking past the seconds, but I like that: a bit of roughage. I know it's there, but nobody else does. It's these random things that disrupt the serenity.
Nothing else to do now but watch Bargain Hunt.
Later...
No, my voice still has a way to go, but it's better than last week.
I know that some of my fellow-songwriters have embraced Artificial Intelligence in their songwriting; not even the production, but the songwriting. I can hear it. It's making me feel that I should keep the rough edges in the music I'm making. And have even more clock!
