Scared Of The Car Wash

Yesterday evening I went to Earl's Court for the exhibition by the third artist in residence, Adam Hennessey. Sol Sato (the second) was there and Kimberley (the next) was there too. The work was lovely and it was great to catch up with so many people. This is Alba's photo of us, standing in front of the huge Terrorism Unit. I wonder if they were watching us and trying to spy on our artiness?

Apart from that it's a weird limbo time: there are lots of gigs coming up but they're just not here yet. I'm still a little dazed from being ill, but decided to treat myself to a drive. I scarcely use the car because I'm so concerned about its environmental impact. It's really just for travelling outside London when the train 'won't do' for some reason, but apart from anything else, I wanted to see if I could still remember how to drive.

First of all I had to put some petrol in it, and I'd read that you could buy reasonably cheap(er) petrol about two miles away from here. While I was filling the tank, I noticed a car that had been in front of me disappearing around a corner- to a car wash! I didn't realise such things still existed, and since my car was covered in thick Saharan dust on top and creeping green algae from the bottom upwards, I decided to go for the forgotten thrill, and take it for a scrub.

I don't know whether it was post-Covid-lockdown heebiejeebies, but it was actually quite frightening when the aggressive foam slooshing and whacking rotary brushes attached the car from all sides. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry, but I was stuck there until it was finished, and eventually began to enjoy the noise almost as much as I used to when I was a kid.

Then it was off to the cheapest supermarket in the world to buy tinned tomatoes (sorry Waitrose, but you've got to do better and I can't stand your new self-scan tills that take up so much space, remove so much goodwill and chat, and result in a rope to prevent people shoplifting. Some disconnect there, eh?).

Lastly, I drove to Crews Hill in Enfield and fought through a forest of floral wellies, scented candles and beige conservatory furniture to buy a plant pot and some small evergreen plants for the hanging basket that once used to house a beautiful rosemary tortuosa, with squirly branches and lilac-coloured flowers in February. It gave up in the summer after a dry spell while I was away gigging; it was the last plant that I expected to expire. The flock of sparrows that tell me to feed them twice a day have started ripping up the coconut fibre lining of the basket and I need to re-inhabit it as quickly as I can. So plants.

Well, that was my day. I have realised that the only way I'm going to finish the many songs that I've started is to go away somewhere boring-but-nice and do it there. Fair enough, I'm rehearsing Helen and the Horns songs and also backing vocals for a couple of gigs that I'm doing with Robert, plus I've been ill... but I want to entertain myself with some new stuff. You'd think with the lack of anything to watch on TV there would plenty of time for all that creativity. But here I am writing a blog post, and I've been reading at least three charity shop crime thrillers a week. I wonder if I might eventually read all of them in the whole world?