OK, so summer is drawing to a close. The evenings are shorter, days cooler and actually increasingly miserable. However, it is not too late to sit outside and watch the world go by with a friend. But what the hell have they gone and done to the 'garden' at the Gardener's? Noooo, Den and I are just lost now. It feels a bit like being homeless.

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I have got myself stuck a little. No posts in a while and I invariably get thinking, 'oh, better have something really interesting to say to come back with'. Well I don't. And do I have any interesting pictures to put up? Nope, not really either.

So, here are three random images from the past few months. They are not really significant, they don't tell a story, they are not even that interesting. Just three snippets of me, clippings from a scrapbook. And I will try and think of something more to tell you next time.

In the meantime, make up your own story. I hope you like the colours though.

Of course life has been interesting. Really interesting these past couple of weeks. But that would be telling.

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a guitar

Like cement, that is what it feels like. Like cementing firm a friendship before the time comes to say goodbye, to move on in life, perhaps in terms of geography or perhaps just because it is for the best really. And maybe this is what the term lovesick is for? Not the real obsessive compulsive, manic, tearfully full-on psychological definition. Simply the pop song summertime heartbreak version... and no one will really understand and that is probably for the best too.

So, as therapy, this evening I finally restrung the Jazzmaster (with strings that are long enough). And though we are still in the horrible tuning-all-over-the-place stretchy new strings stage, there is something so beautiful about the sound of brand new today strings. A single note becomes a chorus of angel twinkling harps, the bottom end is pianoey and warm and the top sparkles like the dew of childhood. But as time wears on we forget just how beautiful beginings can be. Like a fresh dawn becoming mid morning indifference or the warmth of bread from the oven that slowly goes dry. And just as that happens it is easy to get used to something, like retuning our ears to dull, over-played guitar strings.

I don't know if there is a point to this. Sometimes ideas spill out and turn into sentences, which is probably why I started record collection. But perhaps the thought is something along the line of 'don't let the intoxicating excitement of novelty - a new record, a new pair of shoes, a new lover - make a mockery of reality'. Because true love is not the strings on the guitar, it is the guitar itself.

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goodnight (and go)

And he is just sitting across the landing, having a drink from his bowl. He is the most beautiful, the calmest, the grandest and finest of cats that ever could be. It is just him and me in this world sometimes, but that is fine, because we are OK with that. We can get up in the morning and go to bed at night and be just as we are. Don't ever worry about us - because there is nothing that makes us anything that we are, other than each other.

I love Tobias just for what he is. A fine cat. And I am a perfectly good cat father that he loves too. There might be something - indefinable in his small cat mind - missing from our world, hard to put a finger or a paw on maybe... but we love each other more than you can understand.

And this evening, as well as booking tickets, we Limewired some new stuff.

There, there, baby
It’s just text book stuff
It’s in the ABC of growing up
Now, now, darlin’
Oh don’t kill yourself
'Cause none of us were angels
And you know I love you, ...

And Tobias loves Immi too.

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hit me baby...

one more time.

And it has been commented that things might have been getting a little dark on this blog. A little too serious for comfort perhaps. There has been no talk of cute kittens setting out to discover the exciting newness of life, no tales of drinks on the pavements of southern France, or even of an engorged though dissapointing rocky monty. So is life all brooding skies, like a week of Tuesdays or a month without weekends? Have I been limiting my listening time to the most downbeat music I can find on the shelf?

No, of course not. For those of you who know me, should know me better. There is always sun behind that heavy cloud cover, and just to give an example, later on that Monday brought candle lit chilled out wine drinking socialising with some fine new friends time. Magical moments in a tall town house nearer the city centre, conversation, songs, happiness and more answers and questions about the mysteries of light sensitive media - more of which at a later date, as that seems quite important at present. And I was myself, a happy man. Wonderful.

Of course there was opportunity for pictures (and since then a chance to work out exactly what to do with all these photos taken in the dark). There even came a time, late into the evening, when Dennis and I finally sat down and made tentative covering sounds of that Spears hit. But not for very long.

I must confess I still believe...

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about me

Weeks and months turn into years and who knows what surprises a new day will bring? As shelves fill with more songs, dust collects, memories accumulate and we pass through the lives of others, sometimes pausing, sometimes pulling up a chair, sometimes moving on. Thinking that tomorrow is going to be like yesterday. What do we know? I just like words and pictures, so why make excuses for collecting those either? But some things will never change, the sad songs will always be the best ones.


old old old

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