Song: New Years Eve 2018

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Paris Anniversaire

 Lights at night; exhibition of spider web work by Tomas Saraceno at Le Palais de Tokyo; visitors playing music at the exhibition by tougching the giant web; Tour D'Eiffel at midnight, across the Seine; Christmas tree and decorations at Galeries Lafayette; birch bark graffiti along the banks of the river; 1920s and 1700s tapestries at Manufacture Nationale des Gobelins; moi devant un arbre.

The Other Thing Is

He told me he'd thought I had put diesel in the car instead of petrol. Without displaying any anger, I told him the amount of miles I'd driven since I passed my test 25 years ago.
He had threatened to drive off and just leave the car there, you see.

Eight

I'm trying not to dwell on yesterday. I feel like I lost a nine life.

Boxing Day Breakdown

What a disaster, but what a lucky escape at the same time. After dropping the Offsprogs off at their Nan's house, I drove back via the Blackwall Tunnel and the North Circular. On the way through the tunnel, I thought about how terrifying it would be to break down under the River Thames in such busy and impatient traffic, with so many drivers still drunk from last night. The car was running really well and I was on the home straight passing Wood Green, when the traffic suddenly slowed down and I could see a huge queue ahead from the flyover that I was driving over.
At that moment, the car suddenly expired.
The foot brake jammed, the power vanished from the steering wheel, and there was just enough momentum to hoist it up on to the hard shoulder, although the back of it was still poking out into the heavy traffic coming over the top of the flyover. Basically, it had conked out in the middle of five lanes of traffic.
I climbed out of the passenger door and phoned the breakdown company. In a nutshell (I've edited this to remove more dangerous things) they turned up after an hour and towed the car to a quiet street, where the grumpiest Breakdown Chap In The Entire Universe started to test the electrics. Everything looked very doomy at one point, but I did pipe up that I thought a coil might have blown, even though he was so grumpy that it was frightening talking to him.
After an hour of tests, stinking smoke came out of the engine and I got out of the car in case it exploded. Eventually, I saw smoke pouring out of one of the coils as he turned the engine over, and hey presto! that was where the problem had been.
He changed the coil and the car started running perfectly.
It was a massive relief to get back home. I was bloody starving and ate half a fridgeful of food.
That's the first time that I have not tipped a breakdown man.

Question: What Do Rock Stars Eat on Christmas Day?

The 21st Century Blues

The Bass Player from Pellethead's Joke

Two tortoises were scrapping, watched by a snail.
The police finally came, but by then the fight had finished.
They asked the snail what happened.
'I don't know, it was all over in an instant', he said.

Hippo Christmas!

Finishing Songs

I have started to finish songs for a new album in 2019.
One of them has kept me awake for days; it started about a week ago. I did what I suggested to students that they do: moved the second verse to the top, change the structure, etc. etc. etc.
It ended up back where it started.
It is a song about politics since 2016, where liars insist it is they who are the truthful ones, and it's everyone else who's lying. Or is it?
This is Trump's trick, and he's not the only one at it. It's the 21st Century way (and there's the title!).

Dennis Bovell's Joke

I offered Dennis a Fisherman's Friend last night.
He declined, but said,
"What's the name of the fisherman's friend?
Annette".

I Found My Favourite Hat!

The Bikini Beach Band at What's Cookin'

This is the last music event I'm going to write about this year, but I sort of have to because it was such fun. It was a Works Outing; we met in the street, and most of us were lost.
Luckily, our Local Guide is an expert at knowing where gigs are and verily, we were glad.
The Ex-Serviceman's Club (wot, no women?) was warm, welcoming, had carpets, and a shopping trolley downstairs full of raffle prizes. Disorientated by losing my favourite hat, I almost followed Sound Engineer into the Gents but made the correction just in time.
We sat in front of the stage and were excited like children at Christmas time; soon afterwards, the announcement was made and four extraordinary creatures strode to the stage. They all appeared to be taller than average but that could have been crafty costume construction: their magnificent matching attire shouted out to Heatwave and Barry Manilow with ruffled orange sleeves, flared nylon-looking trousers and horrid frightening white patent shoes (don't look! don't look!). Each of their heads was adorned with a fez sporting a nod to the festive season in the form of tinsel wound around the rim.
They had super duper guitars that made the guitar fetishists at our table (yes, I'm one of them) green with envy, and they blasted us with a set of scorching envy-inducing medleys to boot.
They reminded me of a set of lovebirds I saw once in Palmer's Pets in Camden before it became an expensive tearoom: the birds elegantly followed each other in slow motion claw-over-claw up the sides of the cage, and then hanging upside down turned their heads simultaneously in perfect formation, looking at me and my pal as though they were completely taking the p*ss out of us.
Whoever wasn't playing a busy bit of an instrumental (no vocals here, hence perfect and crystal clear sound) was posing in instagram-friendly p*sstakery, absolutely seriously, and rehearsed within an inch of their lives.
We were blown away by their musicianship. Talk about tight! The two guitarists swap lead parts and their guitar sounds are to die for. Standing in the centre, the bass player seemed to be lead poser, but never missed a note. And the drummer is brilliant. There was much consulting of phones in our company to work out what the songs were: many of them were cunningly disguised by the fact that their intros sounded like other songs. The Omen was in there.... Emerson Lake and Palmer, and even a bit of Kraftwerk. The buggers! It was very funny. Half the time you were laughing, the rest listening in astonishment to their musical jiggery-pokery.
The majority of the audience sat there po-faced with their arms folded, despite Stephen's exhortations to them to get up and dance. It was only at the very end, when they exploded into massive applause and the band had to come back for an encore, that they (and we) finally made it to the dance floor and danced like loons, led by the bass player whose headstock narrowly missed several of the dancers, but Health and Safety weren't looking.
It had taken tequila shots for the Works Outing to pluck up courage to dance. The only teetotaller would have got up right at the start if anyone would have joined her. Next time, everybody, remember how good it felt to dance! Ha ha!
That's my Christmas moralising over and done with (one member of the Works Outing is excused as she went swimming beforehand and she bought the crisps).
Thoroughly, thoroughly recommended. You will never be miserable with a show by this lot in your calendar!

Ironing

Someone has to do it, sometime.
Crumpled checked shirts: collar, facings, sleeves, front, back, shoulders, put it on a hanger.
Over and over again, with the hissing steam iron.
I'm seeing plaid, instead of stars.
The perils of being a cowgirl!

Musical Musing

Writing melodies and chords is easy. It's the words that are difficult. You have to sing them to bring them to life; lyrics are different from poetry.
Sometimes its great to leave them to lie for a while, and then go back to them with a fresh mind; you can see what needs to change as clearly as day, and the song feels complete.
The latest one, I've got so many extra lyrics that I'm thinking of giving them away as Christmas presents.
I keep waking up early in the morning singing new words to the same melody.
Maybe they are poems? Who knows?
Not me.