Rest assured, that will be the last time that I attempt to blog live!
It was very well-received gig and I can see why they are so popular: the Avett Brothers hit the spot with their audience, who treasure them rather than worshipping them.
I did indeed rise at 5.30 a.m., go to the front door and hand over a pair of wellies to Offsprog Two. Now I am at work, having done an economic micro-calculation and worked out that it cost less to drive here (50 mile round trip) and print out my book for proof-reading, than it would to print it out at home.
I hope this is the last leg of what I have to do for the book; its pages are emerging from the printer, complete with photographs, and it is looking rather beautiful. The typeface is delicate and the photographs have been printed in high definition. It is, dare I say it, stylish.
Now it's time to reply to the email backlog which has piled up for the last two weeks, roasting in the heat of my office while the sun taunts me by sending shafts of brilliance into the atrium next to my internal window.
'Think of the peas!', I tell myself, picturing the delicate pods with faint dots inside them. They grow so quickly you can almost watch them doing it.
Off on a prevaricatory reverie, I remember the moment of passing through a field on the way to Poly Styrene's funeral; from the train window a white chalk man spread his limbs over the dull green of the downs, simple and ancient. A white horse stood in a field next to the railway, nodding its head to some internal rhythm.
We turned a corner and there, lit up in the cold spring sunshine, was a feast of baby rabbits almost transparent in their newness. The sun lit up the fuzz on their arched backs and shone straight through their papery ears as they nibbled the sparse grass.
I do not identify myself as English, but I cherish the moments when England reveals it's Green and Pleasant Land.
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