Singinginginging

Well, I've been singing today, and playing guitar. What a pain in the botty to have to re-string my guitar yesterday but miracle of miracles, it was bang in tune this morning. I'm not sure if it's made that much difference, apart from a morale boosting one. 

I started with singing some harmonies for a lovely song of Gina's which I've probably sung too much on, but at least she has plenty to choose from. I thought that might be all that I did today so I went outside and did a bit of gardening, or yardening as I prefer to call it, snipping the spent yellow flowers from the small and beautiful New Zealand tree that's waiting to be re-potted in a humongously giant pot. It was me and the bees (they love it). If I was an entomologist, I'd count the bee varieties around the tree because there are loads, possibly all the bees that are missing from everywhere else in the world: honey bees, bumble bees, furry black ones. I dodged them as much as I could in case I got stung, then bottled out and did a bit of pruning instead. It looked so horrible and straggly out there about a week ago, but everything has started growing and it is my favourite garden in the universe, so small and imperfectly formed.

Sometimes I look around and think 'Why is everyone so much richer than me?'. This is perfectly counterbalanced by the times I look around and think 'Why is everyone so much poorer than me?'. I've concluded that it's so anxiety-inducing comparing oneself to other people that it's best not to do it. I have health problems, like a lot of other people. I worry a lot about the health and wellbeing of not only people close to me but also those far away. Music and art are therapy for these things. 

It's possible to be fabulously angry in a song and know you've hit the nail on the head lyrically, which is a million times more legal than hitting the person on the head literally. It's possible to be tender in a drawing and to show how much you value undervalued people. This makes you feel engaged, if not powerful.

There was a fair bit of mud to scrub from my hands, which is possibly why my fingernails keep breaking. But I went back and did some guitar repairs then the singing devil got into me and I did some backing vocals on a song that I vowed not to do backing vocals on; I should know by now that it's always the best thing to do.

Hay fever has made me wheezy and although I'd like to never stop recording ever, it's time for Come Dine With Me and a tempting pile of crisps. Looks like a thoroughly awful group of people! Tally-ho!