Dents in My Face

Bloody hell, I got up at 6 this morning and have been working on correcting my book for two hours already. It is 9 a.m.
The postwoman's been, the tide of school uniforms has swept down the road, the cats and dog and fish have been fed (dear Carrot-fish, bless!). I am wedged on to a cushion staring at the computer screen. My glasses have welded themselves to my face and slurp when I take them off, leaving deep red dents in my face. Princess and the Pea's got nothin' on me, mate.
Still... Martin has emailed a half-song so I can listen to that later at coffee-time (or elevenses, as the posh would have it). Enid Williams called last night; Girlschool are touring and might be away in June, but, go-girl Enid! She was chucked out for being fat, and here she is, back behind the bass, thumpin' her way round Europe!
Distractedly this morning I thought of a very beautiful and glamorous woman I knew, who let on that when her clothes were dirty she just got into the bath fully-dressed and washed both herself and her clothes at the same time. Wow. That's classy!
Friday, I am playing the 12-Bar in Denmark Street. I have been trying to learn the words of 'January in Paris' to sing there. I am on first- about 8.30, and Martin Stephenson is headlining. They have lifted the blurb from Wikipedia, the lazy lot, and make more of the fact that I have three names than anything to do with music.
Still, I have fulfilled my multiple-identity ambition to be an almostJamesBond.