It’s weird – I mean I’m not doing anything different to what I’d normally do, but there’s a looming cloud of distrust and a strange nervous feeling in my belly. Other than that, really, if you ignore BBC breakfast and the newspaper headlines everyday, you could be forgiven for not really noticing. Well, in my little world anyway. I guess I’m just worried about my flat sale – set to go through next Wednesday but I can’t relax until I have those sheets in my hand. Numbers in my bank. Ache off my head. Irrelevant anyway. I live my life in a little tunnel, buried away from any external distractions, occasionally poking my head out to check on the progress of my flat sale (another thing which once through will allow me to bury myself further) or sing a song, or answer my boss. Off to see Wishbone Ash on Sunday night with my dad – he’s a big fan, and I’m intrigued – never really got the whole twenty minute solo thing – but maybe I’ll be inspired? Who knows… A week till I’m free though, a week till I’m free. Touch all wood around me, metaphorically and literally. Jenny’s keeping a diary now, more articulate and touching than any shit I manage to get down here – I read yesterday’s entry. Beautiful it was. I can’t replicate it but I can try. Try is all I can do. So I’m playing tomorrow night again, these shows coming thick and fast, battle of the bands (shit – sounds like school doesn’t it?) in Reading, hoping to make some more noise round here, get our name on another set of posters, in other people’s mouths. That’s crazy – that should say ‘sounds in other people’s ears’ not ‘name in other people’s mouths’, but that’s the way it appears to work round here. Anywhere.

You know?