Mud and accessories

3°C, dry, thin cloud.

Group walk up the chase, Rosie gets accessorised.

Throwing ice sheets across this frozen pond is strangely satisfying. It must be the same satisfaction that vandals get, (the vandals who wreck things, not the ones who ran around Germany a few centuries ago). Further- if you make a small hole in the ice, then splash around in the shallows, the water gushes up through the hole like a miniature geyser. Well, in a is-that-it kind of way. You had to be there.

I need a little poison

10°C, penetrating rain this real wind.

Hands still stained with black: oil, rubber and aluminium corrosion, that stuff doesn’t want to wash out.

iPod Classic: possible sound quality improvement on the square Nano. Not sure yet, they need comparing with a wide range of music.
Bright Yellow Gun

With your bright yellow gun
You own the sun
And I think I need a little poison
To keep me tame
Keep me awake
I have nothing to offer but confusion
And the circus in my head
And the middle of the bed
In the middle of the night
With your bright silver frown
You own the town
And I think I need a little poison
I have no secrets
I have no lies
I have nothing to offer
But the middle of the night
And I think you need a little poison
You leak one apple a week to survive
And you still have to ask if you’re alive
You have nothing to offer
But police my dreams
Keep me clean
Keep me awake
With your bright yellow gun
You own the sun
And I think I need a little poison
With your bright silver grin
You own sin
And I think I need a little poison

Bright yellow gun

~Throwing Muses

7½ mile walk.

9°C, still, light cloud.

Walk home, Why?: The rear axle of my commuting bike seems to have snapped on the way home. Not sure because it has all seized up and can’t be unscrewed with the tools I carry each day. All I could do is walk. So walk I did; 7½ miles, that would be terrible but for my liking walking and the mild interval in the weather.


4°C, sleety showers; no ride today

Borderline: this is going to be complicated, drive to North London to help someone move house, then to the gig at Borderline near Tottenham Court road. Ice and rain will have cleared, and I have company. Tomorrow will be for recovery from lack of sleep and eat Japanese food.
The audience was an uneven demographic distribution: lots of blokes (about my age), some couples, and lots of lesbian couples. I never suspected that KH would have a large lesbian following. The venue turned out to be likable, we were all close, the sound was adequate (very important to me as you know). There was a cloakroom and nice bar with drinks at fairly normal prices for London.

i(*)Classic due

5°C, winter storms imminent

Monday is a day to deliver things to this house. That’s wishful thinking, I ordered myself a birthday pres. – a bigger capacity iPod. No more removing music to make space for additions. A full iPod is a terrible thing in these decadent/materialistic times. I’m in want of something materialistic to soften the fact that Monday I will no longer be a 43: Birthday presents as a form of compensation.
That’s pales in comparison to my organisational skills which are taut past the Hook’s-law limit (oh dear, suggest better metaphors someone).
Kristin Hersh, tomorrow, me and my spare ticket.

Back to Tom Waits

9°C, clearing, windy.

Watch Her Disappear :

(Tom Waits/Kathleen Brennan)

Last night I dreamed that I was dreaming of you

And from a window across the lawn I watched you undress

Wearing your sunset of purple tightly woven around your hair

That rose in strangled ebony curls

Moving in a yellow bedroom light

The air is wet with sound

The faraway yelping of a wounded dog

And the ground is drinking a slow faucet leak

Your house is so soft and fading as it soaks the black summer heat

A light goes on and the door opens

And a yellow cat runs out on the stream of hall light and into the yard

A wooden cherry scent is faintly breathing the air

I hear your champagne laugh

You wear two lavender orchids

One in your hair and one on your hip

A string of yellow carnival lights comes on with the dusk

Circling the lake with a slowly dipping halo

And I hear a banjo tango

And you dance into the shadow of a black poplar tree

And I watched you as you disappeared

I watched you as you disappeared


9°C, rain.

Drive home from work in a car. The traffic was thick, the rain was thick and the journey – retarded. Looking out through sparkling drips on the windscreen you can see into a  world of lead. The surface of Venus must be like this. Surfaces are shiny with molten lead, wet, gunmetal-grey, and filthy. Well, cool temperatures and only about 15psi. not really crushing, so not Venus then. That place must be hell.

What can I read after "Norwegian Wood"? More Murakami, but which one? (South Of the Border, Sputnik Sweetheart or Wind Up Bird Chronicle)


Drizzle, 13°C. c 18 miles

Still firing off fireworks outside.

Fixing a puncture in the drizzle today, a funny time to get a phone call & a text.Out in the country, near a river confluence, drizzley mist wafting between trees wrapped in moss and dead vines. Water drops grew on the trees before dropping on me, the bike and the phone wrapped in a plastic bag. The caller heard me clearly never-the-less. The puncture, though filthy, fixed well enough. I returned then.