Early Morning Writing

There're lots of ways of being creative, and often it's a therapeutic act. I can never work out when I'm writing songs how much of it is therapy, and how much of it is communication.

The unfamiliar territory that I walk through is academic writing, and it's only now that I am realising just how important it has been to have an imaginary reader. Because Dave Laing supervised my thesis and edited my book, in my mind's eye he has always been there as a person to communicate to, and to understand what the hell I'm going on about. He was such a good writer; he could mix jokes and heavy duty philosophy with statistics, all contextualised in a world that could be imagined perfectly easily, and all delivered in steady academic prose.
Oh dear, I do miss him so. He was like an older brainy cousin who you could turn to for advice.

There's a pile of books and articles here on the table and I'm revisiting the Poly Styrene Oh Bondage! article. It feels really good to be writing this and yes, I'm procrastinating; but today I have to put in a couple of hours because the visit to New York to talk about it is really going to happen, so it has to be conjured into existence and completion.
I nearly went to see Ut playing last night but I have still got terrible hay fever, and in a week's time I'm going to be singing in Bristol. I have to do this today, at least a couple of hours, then listen to the mastered album again to make sure it's OK.

Outside, the birds are singing their hearts out, blended with the occasional siren as ambulances deliver the spring heart attacks to Barnet Hospital.
Sorry to be so dark: three funerals of significant people this year, and a fairly dramatic personal health scare a month ago, make the signs of spring all the more heartfelt.