It's the last day of songwriter's exile and I suppose if I were a sculptor, you could say that I've cut the quarried granite blocks to shape and just need to join them and finish them.
I went for a walk this morning very early, thinking that I couldn't write another song in this location, but just as I was thinking that, and idea slid into my head from some brain branch where it had been perched waiting, so I came back and started working on it.
I've stopped again because I became stuck in a mire of trite rhymes, and I'm not aiming to write the message inside a Hallmark greetings card. It's OK, I have done enough for now. I compiled everything this morning and was shocked at how something that has felt so intense has resulted in so little material- but then I remembered that I have been writing lyrics too (until I got to the trite rhymes bit), and if I thread the lyrics on to the music, or vice versa, there is something there to work with. As for this morning's idea, it's almost like taking back a bit of treasure to gloat over when I get back home; this one, I don't want to finish so quickly. I want to savour it, which is the exact opposite of the tumbling-out of ideas for the other songs.
Isn't it wanky, a non-famous person like me burbling on about songwriting as though I am Burt Bacharach! Ha ha! Actually my favourite songwriter is Lionel Bart, because he could do everything, lots of different styles, and still sound like him.
Going out early was a mixed blessing: I thought the Grainger Market would be bustling, but in actual fact when I got there at 9 a.m. it was still yawning and didn't want to get out of bed. It's a strange mixture of harsh and sleepy, this city, and has been invaded by what must be sites of money laundering activities. I counted loads of Newsagents but not one single newspaper within them: lurid-coloured bottles of pop and shelves of sweets and crisps were lined up as far as the eye could see. There were no customers. It was worse than an indie merch stall, seriously! And the vacuum: 'What's happening in the world?' I don't know, have a sweetie!'. I know we are all supposed to scroll through ads and shouty headlines on our phones, but I wanted to unfold a rustling newspaper next to a cup of coffee, and read articles juxtaposed next to each other. That way, you can digest different perspectives that have been through some sort of gatekeeping process, even though you might not always agree with the gatekeepers' points of view. It took me ages to find one but finally I did, and I sat in the café with a giant cheese scone (Geordie caviar) and failed to complete the crossword, which felt like utter luxury.
It's started to rain out there: there are drops of rain clicking agains the window because it's windy too. Outside my hotel room I can hear the cleaners whooshing about with their Henries, and in adjacent rooms they are running water to clean the bathrooms. The sign on my door handle says that I am asleep and don't want to be disturbed. There wasn't a sign that said 'I am writing songs and don't want to be disturbed', otherwise I'd use that instead.
This morning's song is hovering about but I can't let it land just yet. I've arranged to meet Pauline at lunchtime, so I'm going to read a crap detective novel until then.
Ta-ra pet-lambs!
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