Avid reader as I am of BBC news, it seems I still need to rely on Parkes for digging out the gems such as this. If I'm ever a judge, this is the guy I want to be working closely with.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to get my tits out.

Their nest fell into the acid bath again.

So I've spent the last fourteen years putting the finishing touches on the lyrics to "Existentialism on Folk Night", designed as the 'sister-song' to the one which still doesn't have a title yet. Both are songs in which I question the courage of my convictions, though the results are different in each. Or something. Anyway. Ahem.

Speakers are blasting out bass
Massive crowds are pulling shapes
Rhymes are busted, skirts adjusted
Beverages to friends entrusted
On the Cornish cliffs tonight
No reckless wreckers hove in sight
Just fabric from a growing trend
& we've mixed up our means and ends
So there's no conversation, no
Just silent animation
Looming through three-coloured smoke
Which chokes on turned-up tune vibrations
& the DJ spins some records
Which got big when we were small
& says "Music really quite unites us all"

Meanwhile on some lonesome beach,
Just out of that scene's ear-reach
A campfire figure with guitar
Is getting freaked out by the stars
Lacking style, with poor physique
Happily deploying critique
Yet using tuning to decree
A swathe of insecurities
"Maintenant ou Jamais, je sais
Far too darn much these days"
All this cerebral travelling
The hidden angst unravelling
Pinioned in opinion
& lost in history's thrall, yeah
"If only music could unite us all"

Two scenes going on tonight,
& who's to say which one is right:
Parties shallow and distressing,
Seaside sojourns quite depressing?
Funny how our race relaxes
Funny how this shit attracts us
Surely, though, some aspiration,
Even slight, beats degradation
Let's keep idealism flowing
Let's keep music live and growing
Let's all hang out, not for sex
But just to see what happens next
Let's loud it, but not so loud
We can't hear each other call
& one day music might unite us all

Let's not take the easy road, or any road at all
Let's keep hoping music can unite us all.

Important lessons learned from the hideous writing process this time:
1) "Cerebral" doesn't rhyme with anything
2) Espresso is good
3) Lines 24-5 are really true and I need to radically revise my approach to songwriting

Forthcoming writing projects:
P G Wodehouse: A Life
Secret Chord Song (Dutch Lullaby)
As-yet-untitled-big-bruce-springsteen-power-country-melody-massive

So the other day, that was Thom Yorke. A man whose toilet habits I've written a song about. Walking past me. On the street. Then, yesterday, I met someone who had not only seen me play in Exeter about two years ago but is also in charge of lettings at the company that I'm renting my flat from. Now, today, Sam's story, which mysteriously vanished from within my soundbox shortly after having been written on the princess bride tour (see 2/8) has turned up... in my soundbox. I've cleaned that soundbox twice since the tour and IT WAS NOT THERE.

I'm just one stilton goose away from complete, overwhelming insanity. Let's hope I can get this tune lyric'd first. It might be called Existentialism on Folk Night, but I'm not sure yet.

Yeahhh

Anyway, saw Thom Yorke today

Weird.

That is all.

I suppose I was asking for this.

ACT ONE:
An autumnal schoolyard. Leaves whip from the trees. Two fifteen year old boys pace across the tarmac.
James Hinds: So I've got this new band, and you should see the drummer. They call him simply "Alex". Come to our garage and I'll show you more, you prattling nerd.
Will Tattersdill: Spaceships &c.?

ACT TWO:
Winterbourne, some time later. What was all that about eh lads?
Alex Jackson: I learnt the drum beat to 'In Bloom'! This is the best day of my life! You probably don't know it.
Will: Au contraire, I heard 'Nevermind' for the first time just last night, despite this being around 2001. Odd you should choose today to mention it.
Jamie Hinds: What's Gandalf's Horse called then Billyvanilly ahahahaha*

ACT THREE:
The Garage, early 2002. Twilight. Our two protagonists, alone.
Fatman Packson: That's a pretty good rhythm you have going there, Will.
Will: It is?
Whacko Packo: Yeah, you just need to hold the sticks like... this
He puts his arms around will from behind, holding the drum sticks.
Will: Oo! Sorry, your hands are so cold!
Alex: Let the beat come from within you...
Will: (gazing into Packo's eyes) Yes... from within me...
Wait a second. This never happened!
Jim Hinds: What's going on in here lads? And can I join you?
This is spiralling out of control.

ACT FOUR:
Paris; the the spring. Of 2007.
Alex: J'ai oublie mon cayer
Will: I see that, unlike me, you speak french
Alex: I simply said, have you played Black on the PS2?
Will: I have not sir.
Alex: The graphics are exceptional, much like my Pro Evo skills. Would you like to play against me?
Will: Whilst I am glad that after years of vaguery and one curtailed romantic escapade involving rhythm we finally have a point of common interest which we can discuss, I have no desire to get rinsed by you at this average football sim.
Alex: Metal Slug 3 then?
Will: Zing!
The Jones: Swindling Secret Tech Digi Multi Hyper Special

ACT FIVE:
London/Oxford, the following Autumn.
Jim O'Reilly: Yeah I'm like so THE BIGGEST FAN of your blog, I mean like I read it EVERY DAY it's like SO COOL, I mean it's THE BEST.
Alex: (to himself, in the corner) Puny fanboy. I won't demean myself with this, despite liking Will's blog at least 4 per cent more than Jim.
Will: I bask in the adulation of everybody present, and will write a five-act tragedy surrounding my enduring relationship with you all.
Jim: But doesn't everyone die at the end of them?
Will: Tits?
Enter Geldred, stage right: the Deus Ex.
Geldred: Taste my savage fury!
He machineguns everyone. Fin. 

* of course, everyone knows now. fucking peter jackson.

PS. "Nick has spearheaded the Liberal Democrats' defence of civil liberties, proposing a Freedom Bill to repeal unnecessary and illiberal legislation, campaigning against Identity Cards and the retention of innocent people's DNA, and arguing against excessive counter-terrorism legislation. He has campaigned for prison reform, a liberal approach to immigration, and defended the Human Rights Act against ongoing attacks from across the political spectrum."

Liberal Democrat - You Know It Makes Sense(TM)

Would all of you out there reading this blog please take this moment to join hands and celebrate the life and face of James O'Reilly, the only person who reads this blog.

Now that you've done that, let me tell you what you already know - which is that I went to Birmingham for a couple of gigs, to whit, a fun one at the sunflower lounge while the england game was happening and a less fun one at ceol castle where my voice went (and from which it still hasn't returned). Max invented the car pint, then we came to Oxford, ate a pie, went to London, plugged elite beat agents into max's speaker system, met lauren (max) / sat with sherlock for an hour reading private eye (will), and finally parted ways because I had a gig in oxfordshire. The Talbot Inn provided probably the most satisfactory wage:crowd size ratio I've yet experienced, and I can honestly say I've never eaten a roast dinner by an A road whilst playing a set before.

So that's my news. Yes, that Lauren. More weird stuff has happened but I don't want Jim knowing about it so we'll keep it minty for now...

It's pretty nasty that Anton is over two years old now. Time flies past and nothing changes. I'm helpless, moving neither forwards or backwards, getting nowhere. I'm in a complete rut, and to demonstrate this:

...I'm still playing the same game, even. Tabitha Sackbutt is a level 8 Dervish Elementalist who, fortunately, does not share Anton's avariciousness (her armour is already nearly as good as Anton's as a result lol), but she DOES have a scythe. Oh yes.

She's mainly hanging out with Parkes' muscular adonis, Ibn Al Qalanisi. Expect updates which you don't really want, constantly.