…and said “What a good girl am I”!

because today I have sorted out and housed most of the tapes, replanned my room for big audio, I have planted my courgette seeds and I have sorted out a work problem. Woooo, yay!!!

Now all I have to do is…

Okay, the list is too long.

But I’ve done something, and later I’ll practise a new drumming pattern. I shall perfect a new drumming pattern, and I shall work on my speed (having proved that strength is no problem). El sol brilla, hace calor hoy. My seeds should grow goodly. I have a new lean-to, and it’s fantastic. It houses many plants and keeps them in tropical conditions. I’m not even sure that my pelargoniums can cope with that. I believe that the computer wants me to put “pelargonia”, though it’s wiggly lined that too. Whatever. I say “pelargoniums”. Final word to me, not to the computer. If my courgettes come through, do you want some? The seed packet stated that there were thirteen seeds, four too many for me, but actually there were twenty-three. Twenty-three courgette plants? Even if half of them fail it’s too many. Never mind, mustn’t complain. I’ll just have to eat loads of courgettes, cook millions of things and freeze them. That’s the way, baby! That’s why I’m emptying the freezer. I need to defrost it and organise it so that I can accommodate garden produce. As if! Well, we’ll see. I’ve cheated and bought some pepper plants, six in total. So, with the courgettes, given that three of the peppers will grow in pots, that’s at least thirteen grow-bags. I don’t have space for that. I’ll cope though. I’ll find a way (I think I’ve worked it out). It will look very interesting. Very interesting.

I had my main meal at 10.15 a.m. because I was hungry. Now I have to do some research, organise my notes and start to write up a topic. I have to write a review. I have to do boring stuff too. Hidden treasure. Too excited, too much caffeine. I keep getting messages from work telling me that things are not functioning, then that they are functioning. Fantastic. Il va pleuvoir, tu sais. You can tell. It’s that sort of day. I have to do some washing and some sewing today. Making an act of faith. The last time I grew courgettes I had but six seeds. They all germinated, and I was overrun with courgettes.

Just thought I’d record this dream for posterity:

I was at home with a woman who hated me (she’s long dead), my mother (!), a colleague (who wasn’t a colleague in the dream) and an ex-boyfriend (who was just a friend in the dream). This woman was doing everything in her power to irritate me: smoking, rearranging my space, trying to humiliate me, the usual stuff. So I wasn’t in the best of moods. Then, to irritate me further, she put on the television. Now I don’t have a television in real life, but this dream television was like a cinema screen, as big as that. She put it on, and it was South Pacific, the tail-end of the bit where Cable is singing “Younger than springtime” to LiYat (sorry, don’t know how that’s spelt), and, although it had all of the original colour effects, it just wasn’t right. The song finished within seconds, and the scene cut to a crowd, but it was a crowd of Disney-type animals with massive grins, clearly representing the folk of Bali Hai, and I realised that this was the dire Disney version of the film. One of the animals was a lion, and its grin was particularly silly. I was questioning why anyone would even consider remaking South Pacific when the original was so effective, when the alarm clock shattered the dream and left me reflecting on it. And when I reflected on it, I found it so hysterically funny that I spent all morning laughing at it. Until I got to work. Then things went downhill a bit rapido. But never mind, it’s the weekend, and it’s a long weekend, so that’s good.

I think we all felt like quitting today. The only thing that stopped us was the knowledge that that’s exactly what they would like. No fuss. They get rid of a whole swathe of us without the need to pay redundancy, without any tribunals, without any further forcing. Some of my colleagues are suffering hugely because of this, and this is just the beginning of the process. I think we should foment revolution through a policy of non-cooperation. Do the job, yes, but do it well, properly resourced, with genuine results. No political gloss, no cutting corners. Why would we treat people like that? Their futures are at stake, and we’re not going to play politics with them. We could revolt by sticking firmly to the company’s values. That’s what we should do.

So there I was, cataloguing some of my books, making guesstimates about their value, when I decided to look a few of them up to see what they were really worth. Maybe I should get them insured. My guess was £12 a throw, but they’re worth in excess of £100 a throw. First editions in perfect condition. Acquired from a house auction many moons ago. It’s scary sometimes. Okay, but I don’t want them sold on. Not sold on ebay, not sold through antiquarian booksellers, no. When I kick the bucket, the collection will have to be split many ways, I think. They’re to go to people who appreciate them, not for their monetary value, but for their content, or, in some cases, for their aesthetic appeal. I should set them up as a registered charity, especially now that libraries no longer house books. What’s that all about?

I ordered a book from Amazon last night and it arrived today. How did they do that? They must have set off on their trusty steed as soon as I placed the order.

For the rain it raineth every day. The Great British Summer. Fantastic.

I think I have a new hero. Hero worship. Mah.

Oh dear, this is bad.

It makes a difference when people are nice. I like nice people, they make me feel better. Nasty people make me feel bad. It’s quite simple really. I adore blues.

I don’t want to go to work tomorrow!
I don’t want to go to work ever!
I want to live, live, not work!
I know I’m lucky to have a job…
For the moment.
Damn.
Ungrateful wretch.
Oh, this track is beautiful (Missing you, Oli Brown Band).

Echoes in the desert, echoing from what? Red rocks, dry, wet, not. It’s solitary, uncertain. No light. It’s dark, oppressive, heavy. Tonight, silence perhaps. I have to book my train ticket. I have to book my plane ticket. I have to
Hidden in the leaves
Sandcastles
Must be Margate
More likely Blackpool
Black pool, black staring into the heart of light
Aranjuez
Spanish is such a posh language.
I think I’ll reread the Bhagavad Gita

Last night I drove to Sheffield to see a tribute group. Now, I was under the impression that tribute groups became tribute groups because they like the music of the group they’re paying the tribute to, and because they want to be able to play like them. I saw Freeway once, and they did exactly that, they were great. They didn’t play the music absolutely note for note, which was a very good thing, but they were true to it, and they were very true to the spirit of it. They didn’t particularly try to look like the group, though they made clear reference through their clothes and movements, but it wasn’t a pantomime; it was a performance, and a very good one at that. Simon Kirke joined them for a few numbers, and that made it really special. However, the group last night…
Tried to look like, and imitate the mannerisms of, Led Zeppelin. I’ve seen LZ, and although I know where Letz Zep were coming from, it was a parody, not a reference
Played the songs in the wrong rhythms, making them sound pedestrian and tired
Failed to play in tune with each other and in time with each other
The bass guitarist omitted the vertiginous bass-line that underlies Heartbreaker (their second number), so their interpretations sounded hollow and effete. This was the pattern for all their songs: minimalist interpretation, the sort of thing you might do if you’re just starting out with an instrument, “Led Zeppelin simplified, a guide for four-year-olds”
The lead guitarist played around one in every eight notes when interpreting the fast Jimmy Page solos. What’s the point in that?
The drummer omitted some of the most distinctive drum patterns in many of the songs. Having said this, he was probably the best player of the lot. That’s not saying much
The singer was simply embarrassing to look at. Now I know that Robert Plant didn’t always sing as well as one would hope, and he indulged in falsetto and crow imitations from time to time, but it worked. This singer didn’t even try
The whole performance was characterised by a flippant attitude that told me that they didn’t give a damn about the music they were playing, and certainly had no respect for either the musicians they were making a living from or for their fans.
I gave it a good chance, but I couldn’t stay for the whole performance. That’s only the third time I’ve left in disgust during a performance. The first time was when I was fifteen and we were taken to see something completely gross and pointless in the local theatre; the second time was during an extremely unfunny comedy sketch; and the third time was last night.
Tell you what though: it made me appreciate Led Zep even more than I already did, and I didn’t think that was possible.
Tonight, to celebrate, I shall cook a posh meal and listen to some heavy blues by candlelight. And I’ll bake some pears in red wine for afters. Fruit is good for you, baby! I’m telling you the absolute truth.
I like this lonely blog. It’s nice having somewhere to write things that are true without upsetting people by saying them. It’s like having a ruff book again. Volume 4784, or something like that. My dog is tired. Nevertheless, she’s going to be bathed. She’s a dirty dog. Life is jiùst too two to moo.
I’m hungry.
Pears in wine

Friends Reunited has its uses, it seems: I’ve found someone I was in school with. Now, you may say, that’s what Friends Reunited is supposed to be for. Maybe so, but usually it doesn’t work. The wonderful thing about this one is that the person concerned is feisty, intelligent and fun. That’s so nice. And (this is the killer) she knows where to put apostrophes. She can spell, she can construct sentences, she can use words well to express her thoughts. She has thoughts!! This is phenomenal, and I’m so happy. However, that’s not what I was going to tell you about on this occasion. I was going to tell you about the Paradise Attic. That’s not the name of a club, it’s a real place. I haven’t been there, but I’ve benefited from it. The Paradise Attic is owned by a chap who lives about ten miles from me. He used to be a teacher, and he found himself in possession of a whole lot of books and tapes that he no longer needs. These were taking up masses of space in his Paradise Attic, so he placed an advert: “free to a good home” type thing. Obviously, I responded to the advert, and I now own (on semi-loan conditions) loads of books and tapes. My bedroom looks like an audio museum. It houses three open-reel tape recorders, two pairs of speakers, an amplifier, approximately 150 tapes for the three tape recorders, my drum kit (including my Zildjian gong), a record deck, about 400 books, my CDs, my sewing machine with all its accessories, my orchid, my geraniums, a large, extendable dining table, two computers, a wardrobe, a dressing table, a filing cabinet, a tallboy and a bed – among other things. Time and Relative Dimension in Space, baby! Oh, forgot to tell you – the Paradise Attic isn’t empty yet. It’s a magic Paradise Attic, constantly renewing itself with treasures that are only treasures for people like me. Ach, don’t worry, I’m paying for these things whether I’m expected to or not. The kindness of strangers is wonderful, but it should be rewarded amply if possible, and it’s possible. I’m ecstatically happy, probably helped by the acquisition of hundreds of tapes, a glass of Merlot and so much espresso and chocolate that I’ve lost count. Therefore I shall walk with the dog. Thunder, I love you! Making holes, but that’s good sometimes, even if it hurts at the time, even if it looks terrible for a few weeks. Sometimes the pain is worth it. Never, never, nevermore. Oh, the beautiful blue sky, filled with swallows and clouds. Rescue. Wait until dawn, then pounce. Now let me share something with you that I would never share with anyone. I’m sharing it with you because you don’t exist. This will remain unread, and that’s the joy of it. My coup de foudre, whom I haven’t seen or been in contact with for many centuries, is in love with another woman! He’s like a love-sick puppy (never seen such a thing!). He leaves her messages that are almost poetic. It’s very touching (apart from the fact that he’s not suffering horribly because he’s not with me). Anyway, she looks very nice, and I don’t know the story behind it. It seems a shame that they’re not together, because he’s obviously terribly in love with her. I didn’t know he was capable of that, so he’s really gone up in my estimation. Oh, don’t worry, this is absolutely on the level. He came into my life as a coup de foudre, and he went out of my life absolutely and forever the day he proposed to me. As soon as he said it we both knew that it was over, dead and gone. Neither of us ever looked back. That’s perfect. That’s how it should be. None of this hanging on, waiting and hoping. That’s just a waste of time and effort. I need another coffee. Perhaps. Oh, why not? Black eyes, go for it! Damn, I’m in a loud mood. Loud and shallow. Damn, high as a kite, a million times higher. It doesn’t take much, just a little life, a little sunshine, my sun will shine. Oh, and I ordered a stylus today. If it’s good I’ll order a lot more. Try it first. It’s not an original, it’s a copy. That’s the problem with owning old equipment. Antique, baby. Yeah. Cement, that’s what you need. Polyfilla. That’s universal. Universal, universe, university. I suppose I’d better walk with the dog before it gets too dark. Maybe we’ll walk to the end of the universe and catch the bus back.

Life is sometimes just too frustrating for words. Time, precious commodity. Dammit. So much to do, so little will to do most of it. Sarawak turtles. Cape of Good Hope one shilling. Poste Italiane. Lo que sea. Ceskoslovensko. I was in love, you know. Still am, really. Most days I am. Sometimes I get a bit fed up though. I suppose I have to tidy up in preparation for the cataclysmic avalanche that’s about to descend on me tonight. That means something. I’m going to buy somebody a puppy. A virtual puppy, you understand, a sponsored guide dog. I think that’s a nice prezzy. I’ve had to reinstall Spotify because there was no sound. What’s the use of having Spotify without sound? Ooh, lovely blues. Ooh, Alvin Lee. And some crap Rory tracks from Against the Grain. Mmm. That’s strange. Won’t be buying that one then. Now I’m wasting it. The dog is five years old. Old. Only three more hours before the cataclysmic avalanche. What can you do in three hours? Wait. Wait. Wait.