Back amongst the pastry-eating toddlers; taking spare change from disturbed grannies; dancing to Tom Waits covers with Indian families; shaking my tail feathers with orthodox jews.
Well-meaning teeny-boppers crowd us for Weezer songs; female police ‘officers’ point out one brief lapse in political consideration.
Charvas put on incredulous faces, offended that a head should permit hair. Disgusted that a man with such decadent cranial decoration should be allowed (“allowed!”) to play on the street.
Security guard from Marks and Spencers makes regular cigarette breaks to come and grin at us and pour water in a bin (?). Hot-assed blonde flyer-distributors regularly float past like obvious Truman Shows.
And other things.
Epic shopping missions. Walking. Helpful bus drivers.
Small room with keyboards. Hours bashing things in time with similarly frustrated young men and women. Long sessions spent multi-tracking guitar parts and simulated basslines.
Communal meals cooked in sociable kitchen with accompanying slabs of tasteful vinyl.
Sleep, irregular and warmly appreciated.
Plans to get to the Middle East. To sort it all out.
No bloody time for reading.
How are you?
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