Sunday Driblings (not the same as dribblings; it's a new word I've just invented)

I made toad-in-the-hole today, with real toads.
No I didn't.
My French manager used to say 'hole and below' instead of lo and behold.
She did press for Depeche Mode and called them Depressed Mood.
She gave me a kitten because I was ill after drinking too mach alcohol and living off cup-a-soup and Weetabix with Primula Cheese from a tube squirted on top of it, and she knew that having a kitten would force me to look after myself, because I'd have to look after the kitten.
She was great.

Yesterday, I got the six tracks I recorded in Scotland, one after the other with no fuss on a little Bossa-Nova guitar.
Dubulah told me that little guitars with stars and sickles on them were made in the First World War by Turkish instrument-builders, because so many of the British ones died in the war, and that's why you see the guitars with inlaid mother-of-pearl stars on them.
This one had mermaids too, so maybe it was made by a Turkish seafarer.
Did you know that Northern Soul sprung up in Liverpool because all those obscure 7" singles were used as ballast on the merchant ships from the USA and were just dumped on the quayside in Liverpool?
Back to the six tracks- I am quite pleased with some of them, and might put one on Myspace in the next couple of days.
I'm going to start recording again, to complete the album I'm doing with Martin, and some other stuff as well; Tom has almost finished the mixes for Polyhymnia and they sound lovely; I have to decide what to do about the cover, whether to draw something or use a photo; drawing is fun and it's very tempting to just let the imagination run riot and see what happens. Then I see CDs with really nice photos... but I think a drawing might be best this time around.

What else can I tell you? That I've abandoned old-lady chic in favour of artisan-chic, after thinking that perhaps old-lady chic is now a little too close to the bone for comfort; that I am reviving an old Girl Guide song for the children's concert next Saturday (wishy washy wishy washy hanging out the smalls, that one); that I have aching legs after dancing around with dusters on my feet to polish the floor a couple of days ago; that I could really do with a holiday somewhere warm and sunny where you can laze about and stop looking like a white marshmallowface with a hunted-cur aura; that I wish cars didn't damage the environment because I like driving around in mine and pretending I'm flying a plane particularly at night when the dashboard lights up; that I wish I had a nice juicy London gig where I could play for 40 minutes and get into my gig; oh more, more, more, a whole Christmas stocking full of nonsense.
That's a point. Why didn't it snow this year? It will probably snow in April, just when ladies are getting out their prim flowery summer dresses and men are getting out their horrid khaki shorts.