Aha, to amuse myself, I am going to start putting tracks on Myspace for a week and then replacing them- all the rejected recordings from Suburban Pastoral (the ones the listeners decided should not be on there), then the ones that I decided should not be on there, then all the new songs I've done, a week each.
It's Jon's party tonight, Jon who used to manage the Chefs in London after we moved to seek fame and fortune (we had a different manager in Brighton, Stu). He's a gardener now and sometimes when suburban life gets me down I imagine him roaring across flat green lawns mowing stripes into them on a motor-mower in the sunshine. I had been tempted to do an HND in gardening so I could cure the blight of gigantic coloured mega-warehouse outlets with greenery, but then I looked down at my hands, already wrecked in my twenties by dabbling them in acid and white spirit when I was an etcher, and thought about short fingernails on the left hand and long fingernails on the right hand. The long fingernails on the right hand wouldn't last very long, would they? I do so love grubbing about in the earth and sniffing the outside air, but one has to Focus.
Irritating, but the song I was writing about Paris has finished itself and has not lingered; I can't immerse myself in it any longer.
To work, to work, sending out more CDs in the vain hope of reviews, trying to get gigs, etc etc. thank you Martin, Arnauld, Bobby and Kirsten. As much as you help me, I help other people too, which is the best way I can think of to show my gratitude.
And thank you Caroline, who is helping to organise a fantastic dinner party for all the women I interviewed for the book, all together under one roof: now that's going to be one helluva do!
You'll definitely get a review from me.
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