No news for a while here from the sea-front as I've been in sunny West Wales for a couple of weeks supposedly working.....if music be the food of love etc etc....mountains, babbling brooks, blue-rinse sheep, wild winds and driving rain, idyllic sunsets, overhung sunrises, trees that sound like foreign tourists but look like local hairstyles, people that say "lovely day" (for no real reason except maybe sleeping, shopping, eating, dying, as in "lovely day for shopping isn't it?").
Meanwhile time floats invisibly past, dreams don't come true, all my old friends are out there doing it, while I sit here moaning like the sad old bastard my kid brother says I've become - what more can I ask for? None of the essential trappings of modern society are forcing me to do anything except sleep for too long, talk for even longer, dreaming of some hopelessly outmoded state of consciousness beyond my comprehension let alone reach.....I have a roof over my head, a garden which could be a stepping stone to paradise but which in reality is a right old mess, a car, a computer which I still haven't paid for, loads of software I can't be bothered to learn how to use, two beautiful daughters, a soprano sax, a few flutes, all sorts of antiquated instruments both acoustic and electric, an incurable although non-lethal neurological condition, a now very loose front tooth after inexplicably banging it on the corner of the tv set, a nicotine habit which is slowly killing both me and apparently everyone else within a square kilometer of my emissions (at least the nocturnal ones are harmless enough until scientists tell me yes please do tell me otherwise), a mountain of pills to take every day, a valley of death to cross, a thousand tunes to write, a library of books to read. Theoretically this should all keep me going for a while, if I choose to continue on this road to nowhere.....I guess nowhere is better than somewhere I don't want to be?