A Rest

I have to take a rest from my blog for a couple of weeks. See you later.

Singing To A Baby In North Carolina

This is one of Daniel Coston's shots of the tour we did last September- Jimmy Cole, Jim the Fiddle, Martin Stephenson and me. I was singing a nursery rhyme on Dolph and Dana's porch. It was  fantastic trip. Thank you for the photos Daniel.

Virgin Trains East Coast Last Night

I've just written and deleted a long rant about Virgin Trains East Coast service last night.
Terribly greedy of you, Mr Branson, to oversell a train so much, especially selling tickets for an oversold train minutes before it leaves in the knowledge that you're subjecting 'customers' to a dangerous and extremely uncomfortable journey. I did most of the journey standing on one foot because there was so much luggage. Hats off to the woman who tolerated the journey by sitting on the toilet seat!
They are only offering refunds to people who had reserved a seat. Funny, that.

NHS Headscarf

I have been to see about printing the headscarf; because it prints on a roll, each one will have to be printed on a metre of silk twill, which is going to make them expensive. I am also finding out about making rolled edges; there is a place that does that in Poplar but I might try doing it myself if I am only going to do a very limited edition because of cost.
Meanwhile, Ive ordered some plain silk because I have a plan for printing some of my own manually- a different design, a different subject, but hey ho- let's go!

Misogyny

Misogyny is endless, endless, endless and so depressing and exhausting.
Everyone averts their eyes and nobody wants to deal with it. People only pay attention when a young and attractive woman is talking about it. Good on anybody who talks about it- but what if it's the  young and attractive bit that people are listening to, and not what is being said?
Because it is so ubiquitous, it is 'invisible'. But it's in the music we listen to, the films we watch, the clothes we wear.
Can I resign from being a female?

Lyrics Books

I found a pile of lyrics books from when I started writing songs again just over ten years ago. they contain shopping lists, overheard conversations, reviews of gigs I went to, sketches of musicians and these doodles.

Russia

Every so often, it's noticeable that Russian viewers vanish from the statistics of readers of this blog. There are usually quite a lot; most readers are from the U.S., closely followed by Britain, and usually Russia is third. But you've all gone! What happened?

Design for NHS Headscarf

All being well, I should be taking this to be printed later this week. It will be a limited edition print with half the profits going to the British Heart Foundation in memory of our old upstairs neighbour in Camberwell, Molly.

Grass Art

On my daily perambulation, I saw this unexpected and rather extraordinary grass art.
How did it get there?
Who did it?
Why is it there?
What is life?
What is reality?

Big Up Jane Abernethy!

Jane used to be a student at the University of Westminster, and I supervised her thesis on Devendra Barnhart and Billy Childish, as well as her taking the songwriting module I ran (Jane has a lovely voice and writes great songs). She signed Grimes to 4AD as well as driving them bonkers by playing Ivor Cutler to them every Friday (as well as The Young Marble Giant, which didn't drive them bonkers). I am very proud of her- and this interview done by another ex-Westminster student, Emmy the Great, who has also developed a flourishing career since leaving:
http://noisey.vice.com/blog/who-says-girls-cant-find-music-jane-abernethy-tuneyards-grimes

Chocolate Easter Eggs: The Dilemma

Poor old Easter egg companies, frantically advertising their wares against a tide of 'sugar is bad for you'-ness. Those gigantic gold foil chocolate bunnies with bells, the cheap chocolate buttons, the Cadbury mini-eggs, the rainbow-coloured posholate eggs that cost 50 quid.
No, no, no, thou shalt not!
Shall you?

Lonely Bank Tellers

I went in to pay the water bill today and tumbleweed were rolling through the bank. Everyone is using machines and online banking, apparently, and the people at the counter were visibly excited that a human had walked in to pay a bill The Old Way.
The machines are boring and I know so many people who have been defrauded via their online banking accounts that I won't do it.
Maybe I will be the only customer in the bank one day; when they finally close it, I shall loll on the doorstep in my sad maroon coat with a smelly old shopping bag, and wait in vain for opening time, a redundant cheque flapping the the cold gritty wind.
This calls for a blues song...

Joe Corré: A Rich Man Burns His Things

Lucky old Joe Corre having £5 million quids-worth of punk memorabilia, and presumably another £5 million quid to buffer him after he's incinerated it all.
The KLF burned a million pounds years ago, so the gesture is second-hand anyway; and if your idea of punk begins and ends with the Sex Pistols, well ring-a-ding-ding!
Maybe he's cross that he hasn't been asked to take part in the 40 years celebrations, but he was actually a baby at the time, so what does he know? Perhaps he's stamping his little footy because his childhood was overshadowed by it all, which I suppose would be understandable. Burning those treasures might be a fight back against his parents, and a breaking of the umbilical cord at last.

He doesn't have to come along to the events that I'm taking part in (10th June, 10th July and one before then); that's OK. The Queen hasn't given them her seal of approval, either.
Back then I couldn't afford any of the Seditionaries stuff because I was unemployed at the time, and I decided that I would feel a bit silly wearing it anyway.
It was bloody expensive and you had to be mates with Viv and Malc to get a discount, and I wasn't because I lived in Brighton; and branding has always been branding, and I didn't want to walk round in clothes that said 'I'm a rich poseur', which got me into a physical fight back in the day.
Go Joe, go! I won't be there, but I might be able to inhale a little of the millionaire's fragrant smoke from my eyrie in High Barnet, just up the hill from Camden Town.

Skating Fail in the Olympic Park

It took ten minutes to put the skates on with cold fingers (bloody hell, the wind was cold today!) and then I discovered that it's an impossible surface to skate on: little-stoney with loose chippings on top. Loose chippings mean loose tripping if you're on roller skates so I had to take the things off.
Anyway- what park? Miles of pale tarmac stretched put as far as the eye could see and somewhere in the distance on the map there was a green bit. I had been expecting trees and things; maybe even a pond. Basically, a massive area of Stratford has been tarmacced over so that thousands of people could walk through the shopping centre and go to the Olympic events, and now blocks of flats are being built on it. So much for the green tomorrow; this is the future bleak.
How ironic that the estates in Southwark are being demolished, and tomorrow's equivalent are being constructed in a different part of London!

Song Writing and Skating

After deciding not to play my new song on Saturday's News Agents Resonance show with Jude and Kath (we were discussing songs with political lyrics and it is one of those), I've been playing guitar all week. I am spending a day in the studio on Saturday to see what my songs sound like. I have enough for an album, but are there enough good ones for an album? I was going to work out the BPMs for each one because it's so easy to play them too fast (nerves) or two slow (overcoming nerves) when you're recording. But the batteries have gone in my BPM machine and I went out to get more, forgot, and bought a box of cereal instead: the need was more immediate.
I am painfully close to finishing the chapter that I've been writing for about three months and which has taken roughly 40 hours so far to get right. I was stuck and couldn't find the key to it all then I read a book about the cross-dressing music hall artist Vesta Tilley, who only makes a very brief appearance but whose life shone a light on the whole thing. Female androgyny and cross dressing are not new: we were brought up on Peter Pan, and even in straight theatre there are 'breeches roles' for women.
Two more days (!) and I'll be there, ready to put it into house style.
You get paid nothing for writing academic articles, books and chapters but it sure as heck sharpens up your writing skills. One day I will write a detective novel (or two) but until then I have too much energy.
I have a plan to go roller skating tomorrow. In fact, I have had a plan to go roller skating ever since I bought a pair of yellow, red and blue skates for a tenner in a second-hand shop in November last year, but it's been too dismal and wet. There is a three-hour meeting at work in the afternoon and I reckon a bit of a whizz about will get rid of surplus energy and stop me from fidgeting too much!