A few years ago, Joly McFie from Better Badges (I used to work for them back in the day) got in touch with me because he thought I should offer this song to Hollie. I did, and she was very nice about it but pointed out that she already had a song-writing team to collaborate with.
A near miss! Perhaps I should change my name to 'Near Miss Helen' instead of Dr Helen.
Now there's a thought.
Hollie used to sing with the New Slits; she was part of Ari's musical collective, and lived the surreal onstage fun of that band with a hundred percent commitment. It was wonderful to hear her own music being played by Riley and Coe on their BBC6 show, and I bought her vinyl album straight away.
Alas, her next gig was in the deep south of London- buses and unreliable train services from the cold north meant that it looked like a dodgy journey and I didn't go. How wonderful to see her at the Jazz Caff, a mere stone's throw down the road.
I went stupidly early but that gave me a chance to listen to the reggae tracks being played beforehand. What fantastic production! Some of the music was so old-skool you could hear where the volume knobs on the mixing desk had been physically turned up and down to control the dynamics of the guitar-playing. The endless appeal of reggae is the way the instruments talk to each other across space; rather than putting together an instrumental arrangement and mixing it afterwards, it's almost as though the space is respected first, and then the music appears as an afterthought, assembled around the space to show off its beauty.
I was Shazzaming like crazy, although I did recognise Carlton And His Shoes. There's something about the ultra-diction in the way he sings, and also the way the music is so casual it sounds as though it's almost falling apart: I wonder if there are any albums of their stuff. As the playlist moved on to Lover's Rock, it was apparent that the production values are completely different in the Jamaican versions of that music genre (although not the English tracks produced by Dennis Bovell, for instance). The instrumentation is much more clustered-together, and in the case of Susan Cadogan's Hurts So Good, the sound is positively mushy. It was Pete Waterman who 'broke' Hurts So Good, thus kick-starting his career.
There was one track played earlier on where the horn section was so woefully out of tune with the rest of the track that I looked at the DJ as though he could have done something about it, before realising that of course, he couldn't!
In itself, the first part of the evening was very listenable; those roots reggae tracks are so beautifully sonically crafted, although in more than a few of them women don't get off lightly. Awful beings, aren't we?
Not Hollie, though! As soon as she came on to the stage, she brought her own atmosphere and her own aesthetic to the evening. As her set progressed, the appeal of her singing voice became more and more apparent. She has that rare thing: an utterly unaffected delivery. No vocal fry (urgh, I hate it!), no vibrato, no swoopings or cooing 'sexy' breathiness (those copious music degrees stuffed with ancient jazz fellers have a lot to answer for). She sounds like herself: pitch-perfect, fresh and confident.
Being a long-term fan of Lovers' Rock singers like Carroll Thompson and Janet Kay (whose voices I also love) could make me hyper-critical of a new singer on the block, but she really is a fabulous performer. I was trying to think of a way to describe her vocal timbre, and all I could think of is that it's the sound of sunshine. Her voice works an instrument that fits perfectly into the very well-rehearsed reggae band she has. The band is notably good, especially the backing vocals performed in perfect falsettos by the keyboard player and the guitarist. The only other man who I've seen do this so perfectly and unobtrusively is Rachel Love's keyboard player from her band the Loveables. Like his, their vocal tones were gentle, neat and completely in tune. The trombone player was also very good (trombones are definitely having a moment- Laetitia Sadier was playing one with Stereolab a couple of months ago). A well-played trombone is like a friend who exaggerates: over perky at times, over lachrymose at others. It was nice that he didn't dominate the music; he was essential to the sound but he didn't overplay.
All I can say is- buy the record! The only thing I didn't like was the packedness of the venue and it's inevitable braying young men who thought what they had to say in loud hooting voices was more important than the music. Some of them also thought pushing through the crowd with hands full of drinks was what the evening was all about. It wasn't. Stay at home next time.
What else? Hollie's parents were there in the scrum listening intently, and I think I spotted Paul Weller, although it could have been his doppelganger, Saul.
A lot of female singers could learn from Hollie's complete unaffectedness. She smiles, she is charming, but she is also guileless. It's probably a blessing that she isn't as famous as she should be. Voices like hers are extremely rare, and it felt like a complete privilege to be able to listen to her at such close quarters. Rock royalty in the making!
I've stopped recording for a bit. I am thinking instead; all the dross that would have been passing through my mind while I was concentrating on playing my guitar has surfaced, and is taxing my thoughts.
There are two sour things that people like; I'm not sure which is which, but they do both begin with the letter 'K': kimchi and kefir.
I don't even like yogurt (what's the difference between yogurt and sour milk?) but I don't mind some sour things. It's just that these two sour things beginning with 'K' are relatively new, and seem to exist in order to encourage us to feel as though we are one of the in-crowd.
A neighbour gave me a tumbler of the milk-based K-thing, which was apparently a culture. She was very good about the fact that I didn't like it, actually. But why would I want to put sour milk in the fridge? I know there are things about gut health, but if you don't eat horrible food, surely your gut will be healthy anyway without putting sour things into it.
The other thing is a cabbagey thing which I had once as part of a vegan meal. Some vegan food is lovely, but this particular meal felt like a punishment. Round and round the plate I went, trying to find something that wasn't tart. I was starving. I tried combos of one thing and another: maybe this plus that would equal 'nice to eat'. But nothing worked.
Luckily, these things go out of fashion fairly quickly. I'm waiting for sourdough bread to go out of fashion too. It doesn't seem possible to buy anything else at the moment. I don't mind it sometimes, but it is a bit like eating a nylon bath sponge with a leather crust; an interesting experience, but not quite as nice as a good stodgy malted granary that sheds seeds all over the kitchen.
Speaking of which, I've just found a small ant on my nose.
Yesterday I started recording in the morning, and somehow missed the time I was supposed to go swimming. I belatedly went on my way; it was cold and grey, and despite knowing that the pool would be nice and empty because other people would be put off by the weather too, I turned back and resumed what I was doing.
One of the guitar parts was so bloody difficult it was causing me loads of stress; I still haven't got it right, but that's because it's a new way of playing and my fingers are annoyed with me for introducing something they're unfamiliar with.
For most of the rest of the day, I felt terrible because I hadn't done the weekly swim, but at the mid-afternoon point my recording energy was exhausted, and I listened back to what I'd done.
Instead of a waste of time, the day had been surprisingly productive. When you have to drive yourself, it's difficult to pitch the pressure at the correct level. The deep concentration worked, and despite the clumsy playing and some 'off' lyrics, there is plenty to work with.
I feel that this particular set of songs has been inside me for years. Most things that I write have an element of introspection in them, even the songs that seem casual, but these songs say things that have been buried for a very long time, and make sense of a lot of other parts of my life. I'm in them, but also watching them from a vantage point.
Next, lots of guitar part practising to get the feels right- and lots of walking and thinking to get the words right. In the end the day turned out to be the opposite of what I'd felt it was.
Gah! Gah! Command save!
I've got Driving Test-itis this morning. I failed four tests before understanding that I was fine until I thought 'I haven't made my mistake yet' and then made my mistake and failed. At the fifth one, I tricked my brain and managed to pass, despite the fact that I was nine months pregnant with Offsprog Two.
I've been recording guitar, and making a mistake every time I've been waiting for a mistake.
I've realised that what I hate about studios is constantly making mistakes in front of the engineer, who then gets further and further into the realms of passive-aggressive 'patience', which of course makes the playing get even worse.
Remedy? You have to know what you're doing before you get there.
At the kitchen table, I've been trying to play something that I can't play well enough yet, and expecting it to record well. Being your own engineer, you are able to blame yourself thoroughly for all this.
The other important thing is that the more you play something, the better the feel is. Even when I've played it correctly (I have), the feel is wooden and clumpy. Oh, I still have such a lot to learn, old thing that I am!
June 10th John Peel Centre https://johnpeelcentre.com/JohnPeelCentre.dll/WhatsOn?f=505371
June13th Prince Albert Brighton https://www.seetickets.com/event/pauline-murray-helen-mccookerybook/the-prince-albert/3616963
June14th Golden Hinde, London https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/pauline-murray-penetration-helen-mccookerybook-live-on-the-golden-hinde-tickets-1984895127759
July 18th Da Da Da, Sheffield https://www.skiddle.com/whats-on/Sheffield/Channing-Hall/DA-DA-DA-party/42375316/
July 19th Grayston Unity, Halifax https://www.seetickets.com/event/afternoon-of-story-telers/the-grayston-unity-hx1-1pu/3631481
July 26th High Tide Festival, Twickenham
I went to see three bands last night, and all of them featured guitarists who were playing Fender Jaguars.
Well, I got the punchline for the song, but the song itself only lasts one minute and forty seconds.
Is that OK, d'you think?
It's not a Songwriting Emergency. But I do just need one line- the punchline- fo a song that I started in Valencia. I'm going to take my head for a walk in a bit, and see if it bubbles up from my brain.
Tickets: https://www.skiddle.com/e/42375316
I've spent a few hours deleting old emails- thousands of them. It is a very similar feeling to clearing out the attic (which is the next job); it's very common to be a tech hoarder, partly out of laziness and partly out of fear of letting go of the past.
Looking at the subject headers provides a weird summary of the past twenty years: one dismal narrative line contrasting with the other, bracing and positive. At times like this (between times) life slumps a little: when you've just done something really nice, going back to normal can feel dull. But without refuelling, I know the next journey can't happen. The old emails feel like a pair of shoes I've outgrown. I will stand taller without them.
What an interesting year it has been! The busiest January for years, taking a punt on a cold winter gig at The Waiting Room with a 'what is everyone going to do with their ten-minute slot' anxiety. It turned into one of those nights that you'd never be able to repeat. It was so similar to the things that me and Lester Square used to put on years ago, taking a big risk and hoping for the best; it was all the more touching for the fact that he was actually there, reading his very funny poetry. Burns Night afternoon, we did a heartfelt tribute to James McCallum in the Betsey Trotwood, and then I played at the Burns Night celebration at The Country SoulSessions, which was a lovely segue. I sang Cailin Moriun Sa too. Then in February, playing with The Would-Be-Goods and Railcard, an energetic and hearty evening for all concerned, and the bijou gig in Hythe for the Folkestone Songwriting Festival. And more!
The surprising-est surprise was not only being given the Jan Lewis Memorial award, but selling the work that I submitted. It's fired me up to do more, and in Valencia I found some embroidery thread at the market that will kick-start the next embroidery. I should get more patches done, too: I hope I haven't deleted the email from the company in Scotland that made the original one.
Normally, March is busy and so is May, but this year has been a mirror image of that. While I was away in Spain I began another song. I'm writing about a previously-invisible part of my life. Perhaps nobody will be interested, but how can I know until I've done it? I'm not a focus-group song writer; I don't work to a template. That's a job for artificial intelligence, and mine (what there is of it) is real with a mixture of structure, randomness and creative motoring that has to mean something to me before anyone else gets to hear it.
It's rather ironic to write this while slobbing on the sofa with an empty tea mug, but it's quiet and I can hear people pottering around with vans on the street outside. Funny the difference sunshine makes to the detail of sound. Have you noticed that?
I've got a gig gap now: I have to radically edit an academic book chapter down from 8000 to 5000 words (it's being re-published) and I also need to write another four songs for my next album, so I must sit still for a bit!
On the 1st of May I'll be singing with Gina, then from June onwards there will be a few things going on but I can't really announce them until the organisers have made them public.
However, this poster showed up last week- it's a fantastic venue, and I'm delighted to be going back for another afternoon, this time in great company!
Offsprog Two suggested that I should go to this exhibition instead of to the Royal Academy because of the latter's dodgy sponsorship by Big Oil, and I'm really glad that I did. What an interesting and inspirational artist she is!
Some early paintings deconstruct Vermeer's interiors of women trapped inside with their woman's activities. By deconstructing, she belatedly frees them from their detailed prisons and brings brash colour to their memories.
Also, like Hurvin Anderson, she revisited some subjects again and again. As a draughtsperson, she was particularly good at capturing the angles of facial planes on tipped-back faces.
There are some hilarious paintings of the pomposity of (in particular) the British royal family in all their inherited smugness. She colourfully punctures pomposity in all its forms, painting portraits on wooden furniture, and even a redundant TV set. She printed on textiles- curtains, a new sort of domestic bliss.
I felt that I wanted my own house to be full of artiness. It sort of is anyway, but I gave up after a while when I got music-busy again.
Which reminds me, I need to get on with packing.
Ruth offered me a ticket for last night's gig; her partner Dave is the drummer for The Loft, and it was a lovely surprise to be able to go to the gig.
We met for coffee and Dave came out to join us; The Loft's uber-fan John joined us too and we talked about awful gigs we'd been to (Lou Reed) and great ones (Black Sabbath for me, Stevie Wonder for him).
Ten out of ten for friendly staff at the venue. It makes such a difference to be treated like treasure instead of an inconvenience! Not a mobile phone in sight, no grumpy scrolling: just patient people on hand to help.
Much to our surprise, we were placed in a box with a fabulous view of the stage.
In the distance, a tiny version of The Loft played a tight set of catchy songs. Andy Strickland, The Loft's guitarist, was clearly having the time of his life- you could see his smile miles away, and he was roaming the stage with a joyful stride. The set went down really well, especially the last almost Motorik song, and Campervan stood out as a great single. Pete was in fine voice, and the band did themselves proud.
After a short break, Belle and Sebastian came on with a backdrop of the studio where they recorded Tigermilk. Confident, delighted to have made the transition from The Borderline to The Royal Albert Hall via The Shepherd's Bush Empire, Stuart Murdoch appeared to be entirely comfortable on the stage. He was surrounded by new band members and originals (Chris Geddes on keyboards), and Tigermilk was played from start to finish, with the addition of founder member Isobel Campbell's recorded voice reading from Rip Van Winkle. At one point, he roamed through the audience and had a dance with delighted fans. He had a lot of stories: wandering round Glasgow being avoided by the cool musicians, crossing the road when they saw him because they knew he was going to ask them to be in his band, and travelling on the Central Line in London, now dubbed the 'hipsters line' after the Elizabeth Line (faster, funkier) has taken over it's east/west role.
Behind the band films ran through the songs- and there was Kenji, selecting albums from his shelves, there he was on the big screen at The Royal Albert Hall! The films were tuned in perfectly with the lyrics- I think Tita Geddes may have been involved somehow, and they were notable for their pitch-perfect DIY aesthetic.
I thought the most affecting song from their first set was Mary Jo, which really got me in the heart for some reason. All of their songs, however, were rooted in real life, and Stuart gave us potted contexts of where they started. This grounded them for people like me who are not familiar with the album, and the overall relaxed vibe coming from the stage was really appealing. I had to leave after the first set (smoke machine related health stuff), but I could hear them storming through the next part of the evening. What a wonderful way to spend a Wednesday evening! Big thanks to Ruth for the ticket!
Temporary reduction! Both the vinyl album and the Cd are half price- the album is only £11!
https://helenmcc.bandcamp.com/album/showtunes-from-the-shadows
I've been making recordings of the songs that I wrote in Newcastle. I got to the third one before I realised that they are all in the key of E. I don't like using a capo, but I need to use open strings; I guess they will all just have to stay in that key. And one of them's less than two minutes long.
It's getting progressively harder to record them because I did the easy ones first. I think I can do a bit more work on tomorrow's song and get it shipshape enough to record, but the last two need more work, particularly on the lyrics. I will have to take them for a walk.
Meanwhile, on a different guitar, I'm rehearsing the set for Valencia. My fingers have given up moaning about it, thank heavens.
I absolutely loved this exhibition. I thought it would be really full, because it's Good Friday and a Bank Holiday but of course there's an exodus from London at Easter, and it was relatively empty.
Obviously, I am neither a man nor a person of Jamaican heritage, but there was something about the way Anderson 'sees' the things that he paints, first through the lens of a camera, and then through the process of painting, that really chimes with the way that I work. He also has a way of 'feeling' the humans in his paintings that was really recognisable. You could sense his connection with the subjects of his work.
And the colours- the town trees with their cast of greyness, the many different greens, the splashes of unexpectedness that bring a composition to life. It was so inspiring! The rendition of plants, and the way light and shadow catches their leaves, sometimes reminded me of Abel Rodriguez's paintings of the rainforest. I felt excited, and I felt love for these paintings.
One huge canvas painted especially for the exhibition was almost like a graphic novel: panels next to each other, above and below, made a narrative of colour and juxtaposition of the historical and contemporary experiences of black Jamaicans that was as intriguing as it was well executed. A slave market was juxtaposed next to sportsmen winning a race. Even those two images spoke to each other in myriad different ways and could have been an exhibition in themselves.
There is a lot of repetition of ideas, although the ideas develop and morph. I loved this too- the sense that the project is not finished, and that his process of painting is an external experiment possibly with no end in sight. Painting, painting, until the image in the head materialises in front of you, or not... not quite right yet. The feelings have changed since the last time. Why not paint the same thing again and again?
Brilliant. I'm going again, soon.
I have two songs demoed this week. I'm not going to do any more until next week: I need to do a bit of working-out of guitar parts. Also, it's good to let the dust settle on the ones I've done already.
Eight songs? Is that a ten-inch vinyl record?
I might write more; who knows. I also began a song for my friend about Freud's white wolf, and re-recorded an oldie to learn for a festival later in the year. And I did a bit of drawing, and darned the green Christmas stocking that McMum knitted when I was a babby. I think I might be all created-out for the week.
I've been reading UK Subs' Charlie Harper's autobiography, because I'll be interviewing him at the John Peel Centre in June. It's a really lively book- what a life he's had! It is such a shame that creativity as an activity has been negatively subverted into entrepreneurship, which is all about capitalising on any shred of invention a person might have. People like Charlie have so much energy and drive that they make a dynamic scene wherever they go and whatever they do. His musicianship spans the fifties onwards, and I didn't realise that he was an accomplished hairdresser too. Maybe I'll come back from Suffolk with chopped hair!
I'm waiting in for 21 giclée prints to be delivered for the exhibition in Valencia. I'm on tenterhooks: did I choose suitable drawings to be printed? In the end, I added an extra one just in case.
Meanwhile, I can't do any recording because I won't hear the door if I have the headphones on. It's frustrating; yesterday I re-arranged an old song for the group of people who will be playing the Eel Pie festival with me, instead of recording a new one, but it was quite good to break in my guitar-playing fingers again.
The combo for the Eel Pie gig with be Ruth, Karina and Tom (Lester Square), which means that we'll have the opportunity to max out the vocal harmonies this time around. At some point this year, I'd love to do another London one with everybody- Jack, Gina, Robert and Terry- but Robert's going to be doing the Vienna Popfest and I decided that a condensed version of the group would be best for this one.
Waiting, waiting, waiting...
HERE THEY ARE!
The computer is out on the kitchen table; the guitar is ready, the ideas are in my head.
Let's get started!
This is the last of twenty drawings of musicians that I'm going to exhibit in La Batisfera bookshop in Valencia from the 15th of April onwards, with a gig on Friday 17th. Most of the musicians are buskers and street musicians, but there are a few famous ones in the mix at the request of the bookshop owner.
Most of the blog postings that don't see the light of day are the moany ones. I usually feel that there's enough of that going on already, but this morning for some reason moaning seems funny! Here is my moan.
When I was in Newcastle a couple of weeks ago, I got up very early one sunny morning and went for a walk in the centre of the Toon. On every bench in the big shopping centre (the Eldon Centre), there was a duo or sometimes a trio of elderly men, moaning. Sometimes there was a walking stick, sometimes a flat cap, often a tweedyish jacket. And it wasn't just there: in the old Grainger Market, the same thing was going on. Sitting down together, looking around, and having a bloody good old moan about everything.
In the street walking back on the roadside benches? The same thing.
I talked to someone about it and they reckoned that their wives had probably chucked them out for the day, which is very possible.
What made me think of it was having to change the day and time that I go swimming, because here in the south of England the same thing happens. There was a particular duo of chaps with voices that carried across the peaceful waters of the swimming pool, who carefully positioned themselves halfway down so they could intercept innocent swimmers with their forthright and very Reform-focused opinions. I realised that their aim was to catch your eye and get you to agree with them. The weekly swim stopped being an endorphin-inducing pleasure, and became an exercise in swimming very quickly past them to avoid getting caught in their noxious net of opinions.
Greeting each beautiful morning with grumpiness seems to be an accepted practice at the moment. Perhaps we could reintroduce Morning Assembly, with cheerful singing of All Things Bright And Beautiful, Morning Has Broken or the perhaps the more emotionally stately Wonderful World, plus a short moment of silent and positive reflection to begin the day.
Yes, let's do that!
Last night we went to see a preview of the 'immersive dining' show, Le Chat Noir, in West Kensington. It was a chance for the company to effectively do a dress rehearsal to a full house, feeding us three courses of French-themed food and putting on a slightly bawdy show of songs, dance and magic based on the idea of the original Chat Noir nightclub in Paris.
In a very similar way to the London version of the show Cabaret, we were led through fabric tunnels with Art Nouveau-style paintings on the canvas, and greeted by a French-speaking chap before being seated.
I've been to one of these shows at The Lost Estate before: it's essentially a cunningly-designed small warehouse building that holds probably around 180 people. The dress rehearsals are run-throughs that are attended by people from the local community (or honorary locals like me), and so the audiences are diverse in age, social background and heritage: probably quite hard to please, in some ways, but also rewarding in others.
Just as with the previous one, it was remarkable how well the lighting was designed in the area where we sat at tables and ate together. We were mixed in with other people we didn't know, a charming couple of courting elders and a woman who had come on her own. There was a VIP section too, but there wasn't a feeling of segregation.
The food was nice: paté to start with, with bread and cornichons and tiny pickled onions. We were introduced to 'Erik Satie', and the show began. It was a slow take-off, although the Master of Ceremonies gave it his all right from the beginning. There were four main characters apart from him: a Pierrot, a woman Opera Singer, a woman Burlesque Dancer, and a Magician. There was an excellent band: a violin, a cello, drums and an accordion. In fairness you could say the first section was very much about introducing us to the performers, though it was a little light on energy. You could see that the performers knew what they were doing, but the stops hadn't yet been pulled out to the full.
After the first course though, things really took off. It's very hard to describe it all. The woman singer with the excellent voice suddenly turned into a Principal Boy, lustily singing the song from Carmen that we all know with such an erotic charge that she ended up performing it as a series of meows to the very flirtatious Burlesque Dancer, who turned out to be very good at 'acting face'. The Pierrot donned a pair of horns and took part in a very funny mock bullfight, and the MC declaimed a completely obscene poem about his aunt's pussy. Oh deary me! All in the name of art, I believe. The magician did an impressive trick involving a picture of a beach with a skull on the shore, and another where he shot a pack of cards that he'd flung in the air and caught the correct one that an audience member had chosen on the point of his sword. It all ended in a mass humpathon, then a lusty round of applause from a pretty sozzled audience. Along with way we'd sung a song in meows ourselves, cheered an execution, got to know our neighbours and had a jolly good, if confusing, time. The design was classy, the serving staff were impeccable, and it was a lot of fun in the end.
Picture of the MC drawn on paper napkin: there were no phones allowed. He didn't have a top hat- that's artistic licence on my part. At one point he had a microphone inside a tuba, which was very Thomas Truax. I also drew the dancer, who was the favourite performer of a woman sitting at the table with us, so I gave that one to her to take home.
In total contrast, this afternoon was spent watching the Ken Loach film The Old Oak. His films are completely pitch perfect; it's hard to believe that the cast are acting. Even in the background of crowd scenes, the cast utterly believe in what is happening in the story. No-one zones out, not even the children. It made me cry and reminded me of all the other real-life people who are just naturally kind, and don't get rewarded for it in any way; it is the way they are made. Unkind people often have the loudest voices and the most bombastic self-belief, but it doesn't mean that they are right. So a night of artificiality was followed by an afternoon of authenticity. What an intense weekend. It will take at least a week to recover from.
Postscript: I've just remembered that on Batman this morning, our superhero attempted to sing I'm Little Buttercup (from the Gilbert and Sullivan opera HMS Pinafore) to Robin, with a red rose clasped in his hand. I'm pretty confident that this wasn't a dream, but it sure as heck felt like it.
Passing thoughts drifted through my head last week like clouds through the windy sky...
I remembered working in a Bed and Breakfast in Brighton as a cleaner when punk first came to the town. Horrible job, actually. The owner, a woman who I got on really well with, asked me to look after it for the weekend while her family went away. The permanent residents (men on the dole) went out to the pub on the first night, came back, fried up the breakfasts for the whole weekend, and ate up all the food.
At 5 a.m. I had to charge around Brighton looking for eggs, bacon, bread and milk so I could make breakfast for the holidaymakers. Urgh. I managed to do it just in time.
I had green hair, dyed with food colouring: it dyed every pillow that I rested my head on. No need for tech tracking!
Well, I suppose you can't challenge the science, but I completed my MA when I was six months pregnant with my second child, and passed my driving test when I was nine months pregnant (she was a week late). It was the 5th attempt; I hadn't managed to pass when I wasn't.
I'm writing this because I'm doing lots of housework today; woman's work, you know. So I'm all cross about everything.
Quite often I get asked to illustrate various things, and the drawings don't get used.
Same with music: I've got all sorts of collaborations that never see the light of day; they are all on a computer upstairs. This is a series of drawings that I did for a music video.
