Never felt more like singing the blues...

I love the Blues. I guess some people don't get "it". I don't necessarily, but hey, it matters not. I still love the Blues. From hick blues songs of Billy Wallace and the Bamba Drifters to the world weariness of delta bluesmen like Frank Frost. The Rythym & Blues that begat Soul. No, not R n' bloody B - what next?! Calling Green Day a punk band?! Jeessh.

Anyway. The Blues. Sad songs about heartbreak, loneliness, hardship. Beautiful songs of woe. Works for me. No matter what life offers up, no money fixes it like a blues song. Listening to someone else's troubles that are worse than your own - lifts my spirits!

Old cartoon stuck in my head. Wealthy looking singer, alone on a stool in the recording studio - "I've got the so much money, I don't know what to do with it Blues..."

That. And Screaming Jay Hawkins "Constipation Blues". Real pain...

Soul gladdened.

Normal service

This melancholy moment was brought to you by tidying out the cupboard beneath the stairs. Multiple years of hoarding enough memorabilia and rubbish to fill both the kitchen and the dining room packed into a five by five by three wedge.

Took two days. No, I lie. It's not finished. There's still piles of magazines to sort through for the keepers. I think I may of sprained the bin man's shoulder last week...

Two years from D-day

Awake. Fuzzy head, dehydrated, aches n' pains. Topping up on pink grapefruit squash.
In the Heat of the Night on the box.

"They call me Mister Tibbs!"

Last saw this nigh on eons ago. First night out playing after the demise of the band. Back turned climbing out of my overcoat, BOOM, CRASH, splinters. Two part bass, no playing tonight. Home to the sofa, comfort of home, comfort of love. Crazy cracked chaos to sensible sort it solution.

Delores, white trash trouble on the telly. The night I named my musical wardrobe...



It's two in the morning. To cuddle till there's breath no more. How do I explain? Oh to a future, yet the past so real.
Tickity tock.

Stir crazy

Stuck working at home - although this week of all weeks I had no desire to go into work - with my little sick Alice off school. Only a matter of time before I go down with whatever bug is getting her down. Aches, pains, sickness. Joy.

Distractions a-plenty. Broken tap, blocked drain. Just had to rush out despite the weather and wash the mould from the window to get a better view of the drizzly world...

Courgettes again for tea I reckon. The most prolific produce from the allotment so far!

Guilt tripping tick tock.

Once again too late to say I'm sorry. Missing my little Kate again.
From the half term holiday to the middle of July. All the things I should have said. And all the things I failed her on in just six weeks. Two years have gone by and still it hurts. Camped with the hot rodders whilst I left her to pack for our annual week in a drizzle lashed caravan. Running out of fuel on the late way back to help with Alice's birthday party. Happy vague nonchalance about getting married as though we had all the time in the world.

I've wound up Kate's old grandmother clock. Loping tickity tock. Sitting in the dark. Tick-erty tock. Eyes closed. Listening for her breathing upstairs.

Can hear you in my head. And feel you in my bones. G'night sweet.