(Soundtrack: Miles Davis “Milestones”)
We got a copy of the book of graphic novellas inspired by our songs. It is odd and brilliant to see it in print. Some of the songs are treated quite literally and some have totally different interpretations. Si and I were leafing through it, really excited. It is a very strange sensation to see things that started out as in jokes and then made their way into songs, now featuring in cartoons by somebody else. For instance, when we both lived in South London, and we would travel home late at night after gigs or the studio we would always see urban foxes crossing the road, and we would talk about Mr City Fox making his way home. I later put Mr City Fox into the lyrics for “The Last Bus Home”, and now there he is, in cartoon form, watching proceedings in the cartoon version of that song.
Devising cartoons inspired by songs really does work – it makes me want to explore it more in the future – it is a lot more satisfying than videos of songs. The book is gorgeous and we are thrilled with it and honoured that it exists. It is a great companion for anyone who enjoys our songs, but manages to stand alone nicely too. Ronan has gone off with the one copy, so hopefully we will get more soon. We are completely indebted to Eric who pulled the book together. He also sent me a copy of their Tori Amos collection of graphic songs, which is great too. In fact, Bridie seems a lot more excited about that one than ours (being Tori mad).
The two of us are now drinking again after our forty days of abstinence. I am really glad we did it, as I now feel in control of drink, rather than the other way round. After about twenty days of not drinking the cravings disappeared and our habits were reset. So by the end we were not that bothered about starting again. I found that I slept better and felt a bit clearer headed during the forty days, and it certainly saved us some money, but on the whole it did not make a huge difference. It has been nice to have a few since though! We had a lock-in at the local on Saturday night and it was great.
We were looking for something to replace going to the pub, and we came up with learning to speak French. Clearly the first thing you think of rather than a pint is to conjugate a few French verbs… We got a book and CD of thirty lessons and are about halfway through it. I spent several years learning the language at school and did well at it. However, because it was all written rather than spoken, the net result was that I could speak it falteringly, but as soon as anybody responded at as normal speed, I could not understand a word. I would like to pick it up again and actually be able to converse properly. Imagine being able to watch French movies without needing subtitles! Bridie loves all things French so for her it is about learning the language and then spending more time there. We are off to Lille in a few weeks so we can have a go at speaking it then.
The dayjob I am doing has been extended until late June, which is great, but I am getting seriously restless about getting on with some writing. I am going to talk to them this week about the chances of staying on doing three days a week. That would then give me two days to write. I would have less money, but it would suit me really well, at least until the next album is written. I have an idea for a long, sprawling Shirley Lee album, and I can’t wait to write it. As usual I will probably start out with this idea and end up writing something completely different though…
The other night I met up with my old school friend Nick to go the Hackney Empire to see Paul Merton presenting classic silent movies. I hadn’t seen Nick for six years. He used to have a huge shock of wild black hair, and I wasn’t sure how he would look after six year. It turns but he looks exactly the same, in fact his hair was blacker and wilder than before. We went to quite a few things at the Hackney Empire years ago, including Frankie Howerd and Joe Strummer (not together). It is a really nice venue and it was great to see Nick again. The main film shown was supposed to be Buster Keaton’s “Steamboat Bill Jnr”, but was changed at the last minute to Buster’s “Seven Chances”. I was quite pleased as I saw “Steamboat Bill” recently, and hadn’t seen “Seven Chances”, which turned out to be even better.
We watch a lot of Laurel and Hardy talkies at home. Paul Merton showed a late silent short of theirs which was hilarious and he told the story of how they got together, which put me in mind of when I used to work as a Video Buyer for Our Price stores. A small supplier kept ringing me wanting to meet me. I didn’t want to spend time meeting him as I knew the videos he had were a load of old baloney. Then he told me that he had Laurel and Hardy movies, so I relented and agreed to meet him. It turned out that he did have Laurel and Hardy videos: he had Stan Laurel videos and he had Oliver Hardy videos.
I remember once, when I was doing that job the marketing department came up with an idea for a promotion: the poster showed a squid sitting on a pile of CDs at the bottom of the ocean. He had a couple of legs in plaster and the line was “CDs Under Six Quid”. Get it? Unfortunately the buying team then discovered that they couldn’t make the promotion work with the CDs at less than six pounds. The net result? A poster of a poorly squid sat on a pile of CDs at the bottom of the ocean with the line “CDs Under Seven Quid”.

(Soundtrack: Jeffrey Lewis “’Em Are I”)
I had to go to Manchester for work. It was annoying because I had to be at the offices for 8.30 am on Tuesday morning, so I decided to go up on Monday night and stay over.
I have been to Manchester before, years ago for work, and I had stayed in a huge, old, grand hotel which I had really liked. I was sure it was called The Great Railway, but when I looked online it wasn’t listed. I supposed it had closed, which was a shame. It was like stepping back in time there: red velvet and gold fittings everywhere, a massive foyer with the biggest chandelier hanging high above. The staircase was amazing – really wide stairs like something out of an old Hollywood movie, spiraling up around the chandelier. If you climbed to the top floor and looked down, you could see the chandelier hanging way below. You would feel dizzy looking down within the staircase, but also shocked just how grand and sumptious it all was. It was slightly crumbling too, increasing the air of it being from another age.
Assuming it had closed, I booked into a modern chain hotel near the station. I got there around 6.30, checked in, and headed straight out towards Chinatown. I remembered where The Great Railway hotel was, so I decided to go that way, just out of curiosity. There it was, just as I remembered it. It was closed, the main doors padlocked, and some of the windows boarded up, the higher ones with smashed gaping glass. Its huge red-brick structure still looked imposing.
The walls at ground level were plastered with posters for gigs and clubs. I stood looking at what was on, wondering if I could spot anything for that night. The only one was “Hodgsons’s Authentic Victorian Music Hall, 7.30 every Monday night at The Variety Theatre, Relive the good old days!” After initially dismissing the idea, I decided on impulse to go. I knew where the theatre was, just ten minutes walk away, and it sounded interesting at least… I could always leave if it was awful.
So I walked round there and took my seat just as the lights were dimned and it turned 7.30. I sat towards the back as I have a fear of being “volunteered” for things like this. The theatre was beautiful inside; small, but full of atmosphere, and well worth seeing, even if the show turned out to be no good. It was a third full – maybe thirty people altogether, of which about ten had come along in Victorian fancy dress.
The show started with a song from a troupe of women in colourful frocks and then continued with the cheeky M.C. doing his best to get the audience going, followed by a succession of magicians, ventriloquists and boardy songs.
The audience loved it, joining in and clapping along with the songs, and laughing at the weakest jokes. I noticed one gentleman though, who laughed loudly, but at different times to everyone else. He would guffaw suddenly when there hadn’t been a joke, or halfway through a story. His laugh was strange: loud, hollow, and somehow seemed to have pain in it.
It struck me as odd. What was it that particularly tickled him? Was he taking the mick? Were the comments he responded to particularly relevant to his life? Or was he laughing at something else entirely? Did he always laugh like that? I thought it odd, but somehow fascinating – he captured my attention more than what was going on onstage.
It seemed strange, yet I kind of longed to be unselfconscious enough to laugh like that. When was it that I had last laughed out loud like that? I remember laughing a lot as i boy, but recently?
Back onstage, the M.C. was explaining that there was to be a fifteen minute interval. The audience applauded loudly then started to stand up. I watched the laughing gentleman, and he stood, put on a dark overcoat, picked up a black, silver-tipped cane, and instead of heading down the aisle to the door with the rest of the crowd, he went alone out of a door at the side marked “Exit”.
I wasn’t that bothered if I missed the second half of the show. In fact, I had no real plan for the evening, except to get dinner in Chinatown at some point. So I picked up my jacket, slipped through the people shuffling towards the bar, and followed him through the same exit.
The door opened onto the street – a side-alley. It was now dark. To the left, at the end of the alley, I just saw the man disappearing round the corner. I let the door slam behind me and hurried after him. For some reason I wanted to follow him, maybe find out something about him, at least get a proper look at him.
I found myself on a street I didn’t know behind the theatre. I could see the man walking briskly in front, so, walking close to the walls, I followed him through the almost gothic red-brick streets of Manchester.
It was the first time I had ever followed anyone. I felt like characters from hundreds of old films, and started thinking about how I would react if he spotted me, or turned, or glanced around. But he didn’t and I had still not seen his face.
I now recognised the street. In fact, we were retracing the steps I had taken earlier to get to the theatre.
A few minutes later we were on the same street as The Great Railway hotel. There was only the two of us about. He crossed over and walked straight up to the hotel. He took something from his pocket – a key? He appeared to be unlocking the main door. I stayed back in shadow across the street, holding my breath.
Sure enough, he opened the door, and without looking around, he went in. After a few seconds I crossed the road, went up to the door and looked in. It was dark inside. I walked along to see if there were any windows I could look through, but they were all boarded up. One strange thing was that the poster for the Music Hall show was no longer there – odd that it should have been removed in the last hour or so.
I returned to the door, intending to now carry on to Chinatown to eat. It puzzled me that he had gone inside, at night, alone, especially into this hotel of all places.
I tried the door. It opened. I slowly pushed it and went inside. I stood for a moment, adjusting to the darkness. High above, the ceiling must have had glass because moonlight shone down over the staircase. I could see the giant chandelier still hanging, the empty reception desk, the armchairs in the foyer. It looked exactly as I remembered, except deserted and dark.
I looked up and caught a glimpse of the man – he was climbing the staircase. He was about two floors up already. Without hesitating, I hurried to the stairs as quietly as possible and climbed, two stairs at a time.
I looked up again and saw him leaving the staircase and go through some double doors. I memorised where, and hurried after him. It was the fourth floor. With blood pounding in my ears, I gently opened the double doors and peered down the corridor. He was nowhere to be seen.
I walked past the rooms: 412, 413… it was really dark. Then I noticed a light coming from beneath the door of room 417.
My legs felt weird as I slowly approached the door. It felt like I was walking on a spongy floor, a trick floor in a house of fun. I stood motionless outside the room, looking down at the thin line of light.
Very slowly, I leaned towards the door and listened. Silence. I leaned closer so my ear was almost touching the wood. I stood trying to hear something above the roar of blood in my ears.
After a minute or so, I heard it.
His laugh was strange: loud, hollow, and somehow seemed to have pain in it.

(Soundtrack: Ruts “The Crack”)
Last week Brian and I finished mixing the tracks for the forthcoming Spearmint EP. Brian ends sessions by standing on a chair and taking photos of the mixing desk. It always looks to me like some kind of Home Guard observation manoeuvre when he is up there. He then puts the photos onto his computer, so that he can zoom in at a later date to recreate all the settings quickly, should he need to revisit the mix.
I left the session on a real high as I thought the tracks sounded amazing. Brian posted me a CD of the mixes, which I got a couple of days later, and I made the usual mistake of sticking them straight on and being disappointed by how they sounded. I don’t know why I always fall for this; it is an expectations game, constantly expecting things to sound great and being disappointed, or expecting things to be disappointing and them sounding great. “Good soundcheck / bad gig … bad soundcheck / good gig” over and over again. But lots of things in life are like this aren’t they – so much of our reaction depends on preconceptions.
I then listened to the tracks again the next day and they sounded great. I envisaged the project as a kind of 10” vinyl expansion of an EP we did a few years ago called “The Last Bus Home”, which I really liked. Pleasingly that is exactly how it has come out. Thematically it has a link to “A Week Away”, which suits the timing, musically it is quite “Goldmine” / “Leopard”, but a bit different to anything we have done before. Jim is now back from holiday, so we will meet this week to start talking about the artwork.
I have always wanted us to do a ten inch, as am very fond of the ones by The Fall, The Clash, The Rudolph Rocker, etc – ten inch records are such gorgeous things! I figure that if our releases are going to become more and more geared to downloads, then we might as well make sure that the “physical version” is on a lovely format. Andy suggested doing a double-seven inch EP and I would love to do that at some point!
On these new tracks you may notice that I annunciate my t’s slightly clearer than usual. I have been making an effort to reclaim my t’s recently. After so many years living in London, I find that my t’s have been eroded, and I hear myself increasingly saying things like “wanned” rather than “wanted”. Halting this slide is not that easy and I find myself over-pronouncing t’s to compensate. I don’t want my words to be eroded by others. It is like when you hear Brits singing without g’s like “goin” instead of “going”. I know this comes from hearing so many Americans singing that way, but that is no reason for us to do it. Let me keep my t’s and g’s! If they go I won’t have that much left to work with.
Yesterday Bridie and I went to see a really excellent Swedish vampire film called “Let The Right One In”. Quite arthouse in approach and nice and sparing in use of special effects so that it was genuinely creepy and involving. Good soundtrack too. Hollywood horrors have a habit of starting well then losing all the tension once they start revealing things and showering us with special effects and unsubtle music, which I find dull, and never scary. there are a few horror films out now, I think so that the DVD then comes out around Halloween.
Each morning during the week I go to the Starbucks before work. There is a big American guy who works there. As I approach the counter he shouts “What can I DO you for, BUD?” To be fair, he shouts this at everyone. The other chaps in the queue are all wearing suits and carrying laptops. One of these guys will respond by grabbing his collar, pretending to be choking with thirst after a long trek across the desert, and cry “Cawffee!” Or “I don’t care what it is as long as it’s brown and wet!”. I tend to order a filter coffee, which they call “Drip” and this week has been an Ethiopian blend. I go for the small size, which they call “Tall”. So I ask him for this, and he shouts “A TALL ETHIOPIAN” I always expect to see a tall Ethiopian come walking out of the back room at this point. I ask for a blueberry muffin, and he shouts “the muffin BLUE”. He rings up the till, and the digital display says “TALL DRIP”, which I always feel I should take offense at. I pay and he says “Thank you BIG MAN”.
Last year, Bridie and I nipped into a Starbucks at Piccadilly for a quick coffee before we got the tube to Battersea to see a show (the wonderful Will Adamsdale in fact). I paid with a twenty pound note, but the girl gave me change for a ten. I hesitated about whether to say anything, but when I went through my pockets and thought back to getting cash out and what had been spent, I felt sure I had been short-changed. So I went and queried it, but the girl was adamant that I had given her ten. Having worked in record shops I know what the crack is – there is no need to get angry, no point in getting angry about it – it is the customer’s right to ask them to check the tills there and then and see if there is a discrepancy. So I asked for the manager and made them cash up. It took them fifteen minutes, but it was worth it as the till was ten pounds out – result: I was ten pounds better off than if I had just let it go.
Unfortunately, due to the delay caused by the cashing-up, we were then too late to catch the tube to Battersea, so we got a cab – cost: eleven pounds.