Clerkenwell, And Short Films

O Northern Line! Where are you when we need you! A convoluted route took us to the Clerkenwell Festival, which feels more like an open air members-of-bands party than a festival. We missed the Dog Show (oh how I loved last year's lookalike competition, with the sad bulldog and the sad bulldog owner!).

Everyone was in the distance or close-up: I chatted to Ruth Tidmarsh, Peter Momtchiloff and Mike Slocombe, and traded waves and smiles with almost everyone else. We'd missed some of the jumble although I was tempted by an enormous Hawaiian shirt with colourful vinyl records printed all over it, but decided to savour the memory of last year's Cowboy shirt instead.

Everything was running a bit late and I missed Swell Maps' set as I headed over to Hoxton on the bus to the Art 'Otel (awful name) that's built on the grave of that superb pub, The Foundry. Oh, it tries very hard to be hip but ends up being more like Elon Musk's enormous echoing tin bowel. 

It was hosting the Kino Festival of Short Films, and my friend Valerie's son had produced one of them. All of last night's films were under the umbrella of Is This Where I Belong? and were documentaries about displaced people. I don't know how long this link will be active but here they are: https://dice.fm/partner/tickets/event/wwmk6n-kino-london-short-film-festival-where-i-belong-30th-aug-artotel-london-hoxton-london-tickets

They were all very, very different and were incredibly moving. Daniel's film In The Clouds tells the story of a little Iranian girl whose imaginary playmate is an older sister who has perished at sea (you don't discover this until the end of the film). Some of the films were utterly chilling (The Long Spring, about a group of people trafficked in a container, which was based on a true story), some heartwarming (Karim, about a Syrian boy who finally makes friends with a fellow football fanatic in the Netherlands), and some angering (a beautifully-shot film, We're All Black Down Here, about the consequences of racism towards a Caribbean miner in a coal mine in the 1950s). 

In The Clouds was touching, sad and charming in equal measure. Beautiful.

The films had a very deep emotional effect on me and I left feeling the seriousness of the terrible imbalances of power we have as humans. Documentaries are really important: the people who make them spend time thinking about constructing a reality out of an unreal format, film, that conveys the intensity of human situations. Things we see out of the corners of our eyes are brought into full focus so we can't ignore them. 

Strangely, the night before I'd watched Wham! Ten Days In China and there was a very odd disjunction between that and the content of short films- especially knowing what eventually happened to George Michael. Life turns some people into stars and some people into victims of terrible people and terrible circumstances. It's probably best (a) never to compare your circumstances to anyone elses, and (b) enjoy every second you possibly can, because every second matters.

The journey home by tube was populated by people returning from Notting Hill Carnival, many of them very sparkly, and some of them clearly having imbibed a jolly amount of booze.

Nothing to report on the recording front, apart from some fiddly editing in passing this afternoon...

Singing

This morning I woke up determined to manage everything a bit better. My finger is strapped up tightly and I'm not even going to think about it- the main thing was to see if I could get better vocals on some of the tracks.

I did three takes on one of them. When you get to know the song properly you can 'live' the singing while you're doing it, and that has started to happen. I won't listen back again today, I'll leave the different versions to rest for a while.

What made me really happy and optimistic is that there was flexibility in my voice which I thought I'd lost. Simply by standing up to sing, everything changed. I might have to wait ten days before I can do more but there are other things to get on with (that means you, finger: get better!). Full of energy, I started another song- then next door put poor lonely doggy Arfur outside to bark. 

'Arf, Arf, I'm bored, take me for a walk!!' he pleaded.

Oh dear, or rather oh dog.

I did a couple of takes then started to get hoarse. Or horse (sorry).

I'm resting now: time for tea and a read through the day's actual newspapers, the rustling sort that you don't have to scroll through. After that, one more take then furniture moving to prepare for the builder next week.

Finger

Guess who dropped a box of ceramic floor tiles on their finger. 

Looks like it's going to be vocals and editing next week!

Contributions

Today is very much working around the edges, because I've had to pack everything up for a bit. I did some useful editing yesterday (oh what a difference it makes!), but just now I had a go at adding some contributors' stuff to one of the tracks and I got a big lump in my throat. 

It's just the spirit: people have not been beaten down by life, I can hear it, and that is fantastically hopeful .

The overarching psychopathy of global politics is to make people feel powerless, hopeless and small. When you get together with a bunch of fighty people, whether on- or offline, you remember that you are not alone. The Venn diagram of what musicians have in common is sometimes chaotic and illegible- but it's there nonetheless whether overt or symbolic. 

Long live the way we organise our sound and resistance!

Countermetronome

All set up for an early start! Vocals first, or so I thought.

Next door has the builders in. The hammer is thumping a counter-rhythm to the metronome, occasionally punctured by a musical drill that vibrates the floor. 

So it's guitar: headphones on, concentrating on the click and not the thump. I think I got a first take that I won't have to Flextime: it drifts, but in an appropriate way. Doo-dee-doo, dum-dee dum.

The page of notes (blue for what needs to be done, red for when it's done or who needs to do it) looks like a Bayeaux Tapestry of woven scribbled writing.

Shall I do another guitar re-play or move to bass and replace some of those awkwardly-played lines?

First I'll cross out some 'done' tasks.

The Adventures Of Recording At Home

A poor pigeon was wedged next to the bin. I suspect Cowcat (a local Tomcat with Friesian cow markings). I lifted the unfortunate bird into the garden behind a plant pot, and gave it some water to drink.

Then I had to do the housework. The floor was a gritty/sticky combo that was no longer bearable. The vacuum cleaner smells, because it was second hand (environment, etc etc). I discovered that a brand new one would have been the same price; polishing my halo has become tedious as the odours of many student bedrooms permeates the house. Horrible.

Just as I set up to do the vocals, next door's dog Arfur (he barks like this: arf! arf!) started up randomly.

As soon as Arfur stopped barking, a loud fly came in the back door and started Exploring All Areas of the house. 

Zoooom! Into the living room. 

Zooom! Past the microphone. 

Living room again? Yes! Zoooom! 

Microphone! Sure thing! Zoooom!

Why oh why oh why, ad infinitum.

I think my voice is good today now that it's stopped being dry roasted by the heatwave, but I've only managed to sing fragments as the distractions and interruptions pile up. Thunderstorm this afternoon, I believe.

The thing is that on every vocal track there is the sound of the big kitchen clock regularly clanking past the seconds, but I like that: a bit of roughage. I know it's there, but nobody else does. It's these random things that disrupt the serenity.

Nothing else to do now but watch Bargain Hunt.

Later...

No, my voice still has a way to go, but it's better than last week. 

I know that some of my fellow-songwriters have embraced Artificial Intelligence in their songwriting; not even the production, but the songwriting. I can hear it. It's making me feel that I should keep the rough edges in the music I'm making. And have even more clock!

Shoe Shine Man Waits For Customers In The Arcade

 

On Having a Contrary Nature

I lay awake last night thinking about things to come that I'd rather not think about.

I changed the channel.

Today, I planned, I would replay some of the guitar parts on the album and get them sounding different. But craposo- they didn't sound any good. It wasn't even that my fingers wouldn't do as they were told; I wasn't in the mood, after spending half the night getting in the mood. I was sabotaging my own self!

Instead, I decided to sing. Normally singers don't do mornings, but I managed an OK vocal on one song, then another. Then another. Dammit. I'd been saving vocals till last!

The album has done what albums always do: it has taken on a life of its own and started dictating what it wants no matter what decisions I think I'm making.

I've thrown a real wild card in at the end. Let's see what happens.

Glasgow Gig 12th Thursday November

I'll be playing an all-new set of songs, The Darkside Truth, about the early days of punk. 

Support from Glaswegian songwriter and music entrepreneur Lorraine Lucas

Tickets: https://wegottickets.com/f/26674

Back Through The Mists Of Time

Years and years and years and years ago... Lester Square and me organised what we called Music Halls, but what were really Music Free For Alls (time limit ten minutes to avoid boring acts). we put one on at the London Musicians Collective in Camden with free sausages and rough cider, raising money for the London Lighthouse Aids Hospice. 

The following year, we took 30 people up to the Edinburgh Fringe to perform at the Rifle Lodge. Bloody hell, it was fun! Often, there were more people in the cast than there were in the audience. We had Dada poetry, members of the band Furniture as a big band playing interval music, Lester Square as an MC, Carmen Miranda Tribute act, a Women's Health and Beauty tribute act, a clarinet act, a play about a Marine Biologist condensed from an hour into ten minutes, and more. Dry ice! I dressed in tap shoes and galloped around on a plywood horse with moveable legs singing a fake music hall song called She's A Girl Who Likes To Have A Horse Between Her Legs ('she's a rotter to that trotter, she's a stinker to that steed').

Lester Square sent me these photos the other day, some from each one, I think. Some of the cast slept in layers on the floor of McMum and McDad's flat, some at Lester's sister's (it had just burnt out a few days before, so those people smelled of smoke) and some in an old Post Office van. 

Woven Together, Ortus Gallery, Camberwell

This is a small but perfectly formed exhibition of textile works by artists from the Bethlem Gallery. Stars of the show are a denim jacket with custom patches made by individual members of the workshop group, a black leather jacket with a beautifully painted back, and this crocheted map of the Bethlem Hospital grounds in Sydenham. The gallery has regular exhibitions at its Sydenham site, but these examples are on view in Camberwell in the gallery/café just behind the Maudsley hospital. I found them to be quite inspirational. Offsprog One has been involved in setting this up, and it's great to see it up and running!

Thanks To Loud Women

Thank you Loud Women for 'seeing' me, or maybe that should be 'hearing' me. I am loud in my head and in my heart!

https://loudwomen.org/2026/08/20/rebellion-2026-saturday-highlights/

'Helen McCookerybook on the Almost Acoustic stage on Saturday, bringing decades of DIY music history into a setting made for songs and stories rather than sheer volume.

From punk beginnings to a long solo catalogue, she is a reminder that the history of women in independent music is much wider than the names that usually get repeated. A quietly essential Rebellion booking.'

Photo by Jeanie Jean

Part Of A Huge Film Crew, Denmark Street, London

 

Lost Doll In The Weeds

 

Dammit

Arfur, next door's barky dog (Arf! Arf!) has just given up his morning barkfest; now the builders have started up over the road with their whining drills and clanging hammers.

What's a girl to do, trying to home-record vocals this week?

Actually, I've already been playing guitar and bass this morning and I'm resting the track to see what it sounds like before doing anything else to it. It's a song that was sounding turgid, so I upped the BPMs by ten and it has come to life. Playing bass has made my back ache: it must use muscles that are normally dormant. It's very tempting to start up drumming classes again because I think that's a similar area of the body, muscle-wise.

I've just arranged to have Gran's banjo looked at. It has no bridge and I'd rather get one from the correct era put on it if at all possible. The repair man sounded excited. That's the sort of repair man you need!

Bathtime For Robin

The Robin hasn't been around for a long time, but just now it was having a drink in the water that I put out for thirsty birds. It was looking a bit bedraggled, scruffy and dusty; sure enough, it took the plunge and had a jolly splash about for about ten minutes. I kept thinking it had finished, and then it jumped in again. By the time it had finished, it was glossy and sleek: it shook the drops off its feathers and flew off.

Next thing I knew a large Wood Pigeon decided to copy it, and smashed a plant pot full of thyme on the concrete of the yard. 

O the small garden dramas of bird life!

Mini-review Of Rebellion Songs

A vote of confidence for my new songs from Gary Trueman at www.devolutionmagazine.co.uk 'Helen McCookerybook wins the room over with her beautiful voice and brave, deeply personal songwriting. Tackling serious themes with pure heart and soul' Just what I need to hear today!

Mindlessness

I've invented a new thing: mindlessness.

It's the opposite of mindfulness, and much, much more relaxing. 

Playing Bass

Bloody bingo! Trying to write it in my head worked- I have the bassline written but not the skill to play it yet. Which means practicing. Urgh. I'm trying to channel Andy Warren, while sitting down instead of standing up, and not having my ankles crossed like he does. To be honest, I don't practice bass at all so I shouldn't begrudge putting a couple of hours in to get it right.

I had a tiny moment of triumph this morning trying out a new plugin which made an awkward recording work. It only takes a small thing to boost your confidence to do the Next Big Thing.

Funny how inspiring the big butch lad walking through Newcastle upon Tyne in his t-shirt in the cold, with a cute little cockatiel in a cage was!

Skiving

I'm not sure if I'm skiving or just taking a bit of time out!

Yesterday, I was a victim of funky lateness twice in one go: things that are supposed to begin at a certain time and don't seem to be part of social life. I didn't mind though. Every time I walk somewhere it's an opportunity to think through stuff to do with the album; the reflection is part of the process.

The bass guitar is looming in the kitchen, waiting to be played. Are my fingers ready? I do hope so!

Thoughts On Recording

Playing the songs 'out' on Saturday has taught me a lot. I'm going to swap to playing the Telecaster for some songs- which means quite a lot of re-recording. The Green Goddess sounds just too pretty for a couple of the more energised songs. I also know it was a wise decision to wait until the weather cools down a bit to do the lead vocals. I've finally got used to the change in my lung capacity and there's a different voice in there that is louder and more expressive. I suppose the cancer was working like a cork in the top part of my lungs and my instinct is to explode with loudness, but one does have to sing in tune doncha know!

It's going to be very hot again, and I got up early to edit Tracy's vocals that we recorded last week. I am going to sing to her vocal after her singing to mine, so to speak. What a great thing to be properly in touch with her again. There were some parts of punk that were so awful that a lot of it has been suppressed. Revisiting it now has been very uncomfortable, but it was hugely cathartic singing on the Almost Acoustic Stage at Rebellion on Saturday- there are so many things that I've never told anyone before. There is something about storytelling in song that makes it neater and easier to speak the truth. I feel a lot taller and stronger after that. Bones of steel mate, bones of steel.

I've just remembered what the most cruel person in Brighton said, the person that I'm not going to sing about. He accused me of being 'meek'. I am not that at all. I am extremely strong.

In some ways, all those years of writing musicals for youth groups and theatre groups has unfolded into this album, and all the strategies that I've used to help people to express their thoughts in songwriting at the workshops that I've run have played out in my own creative life. I have such a clear vision for this album!

Man Walks Past Ronnie Rude In Blackpool

 

From the High Tide Festival Twickenham, A Few Weeks Ago

 

Blackpool Street Trader Sells Fluffy Little Things On Sticks

 

Rebellion 2026, Sunday

There was no way I was going to miss Violet Violet, who were first on at the Loud Women Stage. Fliss Kitson, the dance-behind-the-kit drummer from The Nightingales, had a teenage band with Cherie Percy and I'd watched their videos on Youtube. Here they were harking back to their young selves, but in the freshest and most powerful way you could possibly imagine. I loved them: they are such excellent musicians. The bass player was going through an Ampeg stack, the guitar amp was a Marshall, the drums were Fliss (nuff said) and the sound was loud and strong. I loved it that they were playing songs they'd written when they were eighteen, about friendship and horrible boyfriends and all that sort of stuff. There was this great almost motorik drive behind the songs, probably largely due to Fliss's power drumming. I also really enjoyed the vocal interplay- and it reminded me just how powerful unison singing is. It was the late Mat Fox of The Happy End who pointed out to me that unison anything (let alone vocals) is enormously forceful. 

Bang! It was a great start to the day!

Then I rushed up to the Literary Stage for the rest of Mollie Tye's talk on her book, Rebel Grrrls. I am going to buy the book but couldn't on this occasion because my luggage was already giving me the weight of an elephant on two stalk legs. But it was very interesting to hear her talk about it: about Straightedge and aspects of punk that were outside my experience. Afterwards, two very nice people who had been at my thing at the Almost Acoustic stage caught up with me to buy my book and a CD- and bought Mollie's book too. They run a label in the West Country, and I had a great chat with them about music and other stuff. They offered to release my next record, which they'd heard live the day before. I don't think I could have had a better compliment for the brand new songs.

I hung out for a bit backstage and chatted to Jo Catlow-Morris, who is absolutely wonderful. Between them she and Paul Raggity make the whole Literary Stage run really smoothly. We all missed Dominic Warwick, the heartbeat of the stage, this year, but he should be up and running again next festival.

(it's really irritating because Google keeps 'correcting' my spelling and getting everything wrong, and I sometimes don't see it until I've published it. If you're a person that it's 'helped' me to spell your name wrong, please forgive me!)

So on to Shanne Bradley, who in true rock'n'roll spirit had been up till dawn the night before. But she did a good interview, mainly because not only is she funny, but she has some brilliant memories of the sheer oddness of those early punk times when nobody knew it was going to be what it eventually became. That's the peculiar thing, isn't it? Here's this massive festival dedicated to the music and the mindset of a massive cultural phenomenon, but nobody sat down with a business plan and worked it all out beforehand. Maybe Malcolm McLaren said he had, but I've always had the impression that he was completely chaotic and was rather good at claiming credit for things after they had happened!

Afterwards I chatted to Toby Woby and Kassy, who are in a The Sweet covers band in memory of Brian Connolly. That's one of the best things about Rebellion- the chatting with people around the edges of everything else. Someone complimented on my guitar playing yesterday so my head has swollen to the size of a pumpkin; they heard the blues guitarists that I listened to in my style. That was just a passing chat but it was great to hear. 

In true Rebellion style, the train back to London from Preston was cancelled. I won't go into it. You know what I'm going to say before I've even said it. But I got home, and ate an almost half a French stick with cheese. Most of the Rebellion food is curry, either cauliflower or sweet potato. It's lovely the first time, but after three goes the shine wears off it all. You eat it, and no matter how ravenous you are (very), your body says 'no'. I also drank a bucket of tea. Although there's no place like home, I am so glad that I get to go to Rebellion: it's a cluster of mad sanity, a bubble of a world that somehow by default manages to enhance your sense of wellbeing for a whole year. Long may she rule!

Rebellion 2026, Saturday

Not only is Blackpool an extraordinary place, but Rebellion is an extraordinary festival. It was quite anxiety-inducing to read in advance of the number of hotels that had deliberately double-booked (the air show was on at the same time), and who were turning away prospective guests. I think there are going to be rather a lot of lawsuits before next year: I'n not sure whether the proprietors realise that (a) this is illegal and (b) the punk community can be remarkably tenacious when it comes to asserting their rights.

Luckily the B&B I was booked into still had the room I'd reserved, probably because it was about a mile and half from the Winter Gardens, which was rather a long walk with my guitar, merch bag and overnight bag (why didn't I just get the tram? where was my brain?). It's always part of the ritual to compare awful hotel details, but at least the room was clean. 

Kettle? No. 

Working TV remote? No. 

Waste-paper bin? No. 

Wi fi? No.

Working shower? Needed two hands to absolutely wrench the dial to the 'on' position, at which point a mere dribble of scorching hot water reluctantly dripped from the shower head.

I was scheduled to do two interviews over the weekend at the Literary Stage. The first interview was with Pete Bentham of Pete Bentham and the Dinner Ladies. We met beforehand to go through the list of questions I'd prepared, mainly to see if there was anything he didn't want to talk about. He had pulled a good crowd for the lunchtime slot and despite him being nervous, the interview gradually became more relaxed. I think the best bit was when he described playing Kumbaya in church after his mum bought him a nylon-string guitar. There was a sudden rush of recognition from the audience. In fact that whole little section on religion and ethics and punk was quite a gem, but I don't think anyone recorded it, unfortunately. We noted that there was something very Deep South about the way religion and music intertwined in Liverpool. There should be more interviews online with Pete, but there's not much there. Journalists take note and do your stuff!

I went back on the tram to pick up my guitar, and on the return journey had a nice chat with an elderly chap who had been a guitarist in the sixties. We talked nerdy guitar talk all the way to town. London folk could learn a lot about good manners and community spirit from Blackpudlians; instead of fighting and pushing on the tram, people look out for those with disabilities or elders and give up their seats. Not only that, they chat with each other afterwards. Resorts like Blackpool are where people with limited means and enormous numbers of children come to have an affordable holiday. Some people in more affluent parts of the country mock people like this, but those people don't possess either the survival skills or the good manners of many of the British working class. Time and time again, I heard parents explaining to their children that they had to behave properly; I thought of some of the bratty London children whose parents just let them do whatever they want in blithe disregard of the way their behaviour affects other around them. It's a reminder every year that for some families life is incredibly tough, and that even putting food on the table is almost impossible.

That's enough philosophy for the day. 

I went to the Marco Pirroni talk on the Literary Stage to start off with. He has just finished his autobiography and he said that his co-writer hadn't wanted him to expound on any of the technical stuff about his playing. Surely this should be at the heart of it. Readers need roughage! I have read so many rock and roll autobiographies, and gigs/booze/groupies/drugs/breakdowns become very predictable after a while. It's the things around the edges- the first shows, the things that go wrong, the focus on details of writing and playing- that make a distinctive performer and an interesting book to read. I said a quick hello to him afterwards before buzzing orf to the acoustic stage. I was pleased that he remembered me from the panel at the Louder than Words festival last November where we all had a very intense conversation about punk, the meaning of (postings passim).

On to the Almost Acoustic stage on Saturday afternoon. Charlie Harper was playing late afternoon and I went to sit with Yuko as she ran through the songs beforehand. She has learned his set backwards, forwards and sideways, and I sat with Gaye and Eric watching from the sidelines as he gave his crowd exactly what they wanted, and needed. They absolutely adore him, singing along. He kind of embeds himself into the crowd, performing with them as well as to them: they become as one. It's quite unusual to see an artist's ego melting away in this manner. He has been very unwell, but as soon as he sits with his people, you can see the happiness radiating from him. It's utterly charming.

I wasn't even nervous about my bit, playing all new songs telling the Darkside Truth about 1977 in Brighton. I didn't have a big crowd, but what was lacking in quantity was more than made up for in quality- and listening (a surprising number of people came up and talked to me about it afterwards). Pauline Murray, Rob and their daughter Grace were there, as were Gaye and Eric and also Violet Violet- Fliss, Cherie and their bass player. Rob Chester came too- where else does a member of the House of Commons police show up to see you play? I had to have the lyrics in front of me, and though I'd hoped to stand up (stand and deliver), an impending migraine put paid to that. But it was weird. I felt my bones turning to steel during the set. I know someone had to leave because of the content of one of my songs, but it felt so good to finally sing the truth. Bravo Gisele Pelicot for making it OK to speak up! The sound engineer completely understood what was going on, and in an odd sort of way I bonded with him over that. If the sound engineer understands your material, you've done a good gig.

Reflecting on it afterwards, I realised that I need to drop one of the songs that I've recorded (though I didn't play it on Saturday) because even I find it hard to listen to. I do need to make sure that there is a proper balance of emotionally difficult songs and more positive ones- and also that the former will have an impact in a sort of 2:1 ratio. I am going to have to find a label to release it too, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. I have mixing to do.

I'll write more later when I've had a cup of coffee.

Bandcamp Friday

Suburban stories, fractured friendships, puncturing power: Showtunes from the Shadows is here for you on #BandcampFriday!

https://helenmcc.bandcamp.com/album/showtunes-from-the-shadows

Changing Gear

On Tuesday, Gina and Lindy and me went for our annual lunch together, going to a oc park afterwards where we watched a very friendly fox pottering around. It was so relaxed that it was perfectly happy for children to film it on their phones. There were tiny blue butterflies landing on the flowers around us, and a dusting of drizzle swept past us to complete the magical experience.

I had to cancel everything last week because of illness, but thankfully everything slotted in an exact week later. Yesterday, I went to Hove with a bag full of recording equipment to record Tracy Preston who used to sing in the Smartees, the rambling band of songwriters that bridged Joby and the Hooligans and The Chefs/The Accents. It was a really nice afternoon: she hasn't been used to singing, but what she did sounded just right. I met her son and her Mum who lives upstairs, and who I remember from way back then as being a gentle and loving person. She is still the same, all these years later. Precious cargo, those recordings!

Today I went to Westcombe Park to pick up Gran's banjo from Maggie. We sat and talked about art and ideas and kindness. The banjo case is so ancient that it's turning to powder, and I came home with a dusting of rust-coloured leather powder on my shirt. It needs new strings but the music shop was closed ('back soon'- what does soon mean?). Next week will do.

I've printed out all the stuff for Rebellion- train tickets, hotel details, lyrics for the new songs, which I'll have to prop on a music stand. I'm still fine-tuning them, but I think it will be OK. I'm travelling really light tomorrow. I bought a swanky new travel bag in a well-known discount store on Tuesday but had misgivings about it looking so posh, and was telling Gina and Lindy about when my brother and his wife got their luggage nicked on a train to Scotland. Sure enough, when I got home a friend posted on Facebook about their luggage being ransacked on the way to Blackpool. So the swanky new travel bag will be staying at home and I'll be travelling without it. Poor bag. Serves it right for being swanky! I've crammed basically a change of clothes into a small bag and anyone who wants to nick 'em will have a fight on their hands.

What else?

Zoe Howe's book on The Slits has been revised and reprinted, and she asked me to write a foreword for it. It's been published today. I re-read it and enjoyed it even more the second time around. I thoroughly recommend it!

Woman With Nasty Little Dog In Pushchair

 

Dessicated Slug

I really don't like snails and slugs at all, but yesterday I felt so sorry for a dried up slug that was lying on the paving stones that I watered it with a bit of water. I thought it might have died because even its skirt had warped, and it had curved inwards upon itself. This morning, though, it had gone. I hope it managed to survive.

I've been watering the garden with bath water. A while ago I got a couple of old galvanised iron watering cans, and I fill them up with a bucket and let it cool down. Not food plants like herbs and my poor raspberry plants though.

Dog's Pawprint In the Sand

 

From Last Sunday At The High Tide Festival In Twickenham

 

Left to right: Lester Square, me, Karina Townsend and Ruth Tidmarsh. I haven't had time to write it up because I was ill last week, but it was a fantastic afternoon at the Eel Pie pub. There is some footage of it which I'll upload soon.

Almost Acoustic at Rebellion Punk Festival

Almost Acoustic at Rebellion Punk festival in Blackpool next Saturday- onstage at 6.30 p.m. when I'll be playing a set of brand new songs about the Brighton punk scene in 1977

I'll also be interviewing Pete Bentham of The Dinner Ladies on Saturday lunchtime, and Shanne Bradley of The Nips on Sunday lunchtime.