...if anyone's still out there reading this, a hearty and warm welcome to you....
....it's with a tinge of sadness and sentiment that I've finally decided to wrap it up here....
....it was great when I started, back in 06 or whenever it was, I really enjoyed it, and I really enjoyed reading my friends' blogs too....
...then I left it for a while....
....then I thought I could get back on the horse, late last year, but it just wasn't to be...
....does this mean that there's less happening in my life now than when I started? Hell no, in fact there's so much more I couldn't even begin to write about it....well, maybe I could, but that same impetus just isn't there anymore....
...so, I think this might be it....
...although I'm not going to close the site down....who knows, now I'm drawing it to a close, a rush of ideas might come to my head or inspiration might suddenly strike, and as the artist in all of us knows, you can't turn off to that....
....so, I guess this is goodbye, maybe forever! maybe not.....but for now at least....
...thanks for reading!...
04 February 2010
23 October 2009
Unashamed Navel Gazing part 1
..I feel I should be working harder at enjoying it all...
...Once again, I'm not entirely sure what this means, although it could have something to do with having led such a blessed life, having so many opportunities made available and having experienced so many amazing things, and still having days and moments where this is not right and that's a worry and if this isn't done then I won't get anywhere et al...
...like I'm just sitting here living my wonderful life and allowing silly, day-to-day, transient stuff, the flotsam and jetsam, just come and bump up against me, and letting it get me down, or not so much that, more like allowing these things to hinder me from experiencing life to the fullest...it's really something, how powerful those small daily miseries can be...
...I guess what I'm trying to say is that I seem to be having some trouble with self-motivation.
....In regards to career, the music business is full of the uber-motivated, and many if not all of my heroes fall under that category. I don't think I have trouble with becoming motivated about things, it's the maintenance of it, seeing projects through to completion, or even just sticking with a project, working at following through...
...As for enjoying it all, day to day....I went to a wedding with my girlfriend last weekend and met a lot of her friends who seem to have loads more fun than I do.....also with the show I work on, I seem to come across a lot of people like this, people not content with how amazing it already is, people who put their heart and soul into wringing from life absolutely every last drop of fun and enjoyment to be had...
...I think I'm feeling like this because of the age I'm at now....
...people seem to shy away from the dreaded thirty years old...maybe they're just saying that....It's been nearly five months now and I'm loving it....it's a particularly amazing time in this life, and even if it wasn't, I feel as though just being this age....it's like a new level of self-respect....after the various self-doubts and insecurities of teenagedom, university years and then the first ten years of being a musician (apparently the hardest according to an old lecturer), it feels like some sort of achievement just having reached this age, being able to take stock of that many years of experience and having them inform you on the choices that lie ahead....
....so, maybe it's the trick of just grabbing the bull by the horns and not letting go...
...Once again, I'm not entirely sure what this means, although it could have something to do with having led such a blessed life, having so many opportunities made available and having experienced so many amazing things, and still having days and moments where this is not right and that's a worry and if this isn't done then I won't get anywhere et al...
...like I'm just sitting here living my wonderful life and allowing silly, day-to-day, transient stuff, the flotsam and jetsam, just come and bump up against me, and letting it get me down, or not so much that, more like allowing these things to hinder me from experiencing life to the fullest...it's really something, how powerful those small daily miseries can be...
...I guess what I'm trying to say is that I seem to be having some trouble with self-motivation.
....In regards to career, the music business is full of the uber-motivated, and many if not all of my heroes fall under that category. I don't think I have trouble with becoming motivated about things, it's the maintenance of it, seeing projects through to completion, or even just sticking with a project, working at following through...
...As for enjoying it all, day to day....I went to a wedding with my girlfriend last weekend and met a lot of her friends who seem to have loads more fun than I do.....also with the show I work on, I seem to come across a lot of people like this, people not content with how amazing it already is, people who put their heart and soul into wringing from life absolutely every last drop of fun and enjoyment to be had...
...I think I'm feeling like this because of the age I'm at now....
...people seem to shy away from the dreaded thirty years old...maybe they're just saying that....It's been nearly five months now and I'm loving it....it's a particularly amazing time in this life, and even if it wasn't, I feel as though just being this age....it's like a new level of self-respect....after the various self-doubts and insecurities of teenagedom, university years and then the first ten years of being a musician (apparently the hardest according to an old lecturer), it feels like some sort of achievement just having reached this age, being able to take stock of that many years of experience and having them inform you on the choices that lie ahead....
....so, maybe it's the trick of just grabbing the bull by the horns and not letting go...
06 October 2009
The Show
Currently Listening: Tomasz Stanko, "On The Green Hill"
Currently Reading: 'Underbelly'
....I'm so exhausted!...
This past week has been sometimes twelve hour days, rehearsing all day with the tour cast for the new Thriller Live World tour starting in a few weeks, then going to do the show in town at night....or it's been the usual weekend of doing two shows back to back on both Saturday and Sunday. I don't want to sound whingey by saying that I'm exhausted, it's just that I don't think I've ever worked as many hours on anything as demanding in my life!
Truth be told, it wasn't so hectic on Sunday though...rockstar guitarist D from the town band and I depped out the show (found someone to fill in for us, for those of you not up with show talk) and went and did our little originals gig at a pub in North London.
Show world and Jazz world are so vastly different, I'd like to write about them more in future entries....playing eight shows a week to audiences of roughly nine hundred, our audience on Sunday night began with two girlfriends of band members (of four in the band), and then progressed to about half a dozen...that's right, it was half a dozen because there were four people that paid, earning us a total sum of £20 (which ended up being, yes that's right, £5 each!).
But it was two sets of all original material, and unusually, it was loads of fun!
Just recently (last week in fact) I decided that for myself, playing gigs of original music is far more satisfying in the days and weeks following, knowing that you got your own thing out there, knowing that the compositions all work and are reasonably enjoyable to listen to and improvise over. These factors keep me optimistic about following through to the next one, and also keep me in a state of forgetfulness about how much of a trial they usually are (no money, tiny audiences, potentially psycho band members, difficult venue, rubbish improvising, general failure of realising any sort of artistic vision, et al)...
But then, last Sunday, a couple of things clicked into place with the playing, the tunes all worked on very little rehearsal, and for moments quite a bit longer than the wink of an eye, there were actually times where I genuinely enjoyed myself. And not enjoyed myself in the usual way at these gigs of maybe getting through a passage of music without making a mistake or playing with a passable time feel, but moments where I enjoyed myself like I was laughing with a friend telling a funny story (there was actually a point where I laughed out loud, along with the music)....so it is possible!...
Currently Reading: 'Underbelly'
....I'm so exhausted!...
This past week has been sometimes twelve hour days, rehearsing all day with the tour cast for the new Thriller Live World tour starting in a few weeks, then going to do the show in town at night....or it's been the usual weekend of doing two shows back to back on both Saturday and Sunday. I don't want to sound whingey by saying that I'm exhausted, it's just that I don't think I've ever worked as many hours on anything as demanding in my life!
Truth be told, it wasn't so hectic on Sunday though...rockstar guitarist D from the town band and I depped out the show (found someone to fill in for us, for those of you not up with show talk) and went and did our little originals gig at a pub in North London.
Show world and Jazz world are so vastly different, I'd like to write about them more in future entries....playing eight shows a week to audiences of roughly nine hundred, our audience on Sunday night began with two girlfriends of band members (of four in the band), and then progressed to about half a dozen...that's right, it was half a dozen because there were four people that paid, earning us a total sum of £20 (which ended up being, yes that's right, £5 each!).
But it was two sets of all original material, and unusually, it was loads of fun!
Just recently (last week in fact) I decided that for myself, playing gigs of original music is far more satisfying in the days and weeks following, knowing that you got your own thing out there, knowing that the compositions all work and are reasonably enjoyable to listen to and improvise over. These factors keep me optimistic about following through to the next one, and also keep me in a state of forgetfulness about how much of a trial they usually are (no money, tiny audiences, potentially psycho band members, difficult venue, rubbish improvising, general failure of realising any sort of artistic vision, et al)...
But then, last Sunday, a couple of things clicked into place with the playing, the tunes all worked on very little rehearsal, and for moments quite a bit longer than the wink of an eye, there were actually times where I genuinely enjoyed myself. And not enjoyed myself in the usual way at these gigs of maybe getting through a passage of music without making a mistake or playing with a passable time feel, but moments where I enjoyed myself like I was laughing with a friend telling a funny story (there was actually a point where I laughed out loud, along with the music)....so it is possible!...
30 August 2009
Great Moments In Musical Theatre History
...yes yes, regular fans, it's been a while...I could possibly apologise for not writing as much lately but that'd be pointless...it's been summer holidays for E and we've been living it up as much as we can on some spectacular sunny days lately, days that make it worthwhile living in London, make you forget the nine-month winter ever happens! We've just lapsed into this timetable where I get home after the show about 11.30pm and we stay up until about 2, which is normally blogging time for me, oh well....
Just thought I'd share this one with you all...it's halfway through act 2, and I'm conducting tonight's show. Part of the set-up that surrounds my keyboard is a big round red light and an old-school black plastic telephone that's connected to most of the people backstage. Tonight the deputy stage manager has a malfunctioning something that's already made this red light flash in the first act. I've had dreams about this red light going off - it means that I have to talk to someone because something's wrong (bomb? psycho fan? actor with headache? could be anything!).
So we've just hit 'em with 'Dangerous', the powerhouse dance number, and now it's time to grab their hearts at three-quarter time with the power ballad, 'Earth Song'. The subdued synth-based intro begins, and the digital screen that hides the band for most of the show opens and reveals us to the stage, covered in a gentle blue wash of light with a little smoke machine work at the edges.
A solitary singer dressed in white walks to centre stage to take the spotlight and open the first verse.
And what do you think happens after that?
The red light goes off again!
It must have looked great from the stalls...a stage looking like that with a singer wailing about what we've done to the earth, and in the background a flashing pin-prick of red light with the MD madly trying to get someone's attention on a big black plastic phone.
Priceless!...
Just thought I'd share this one with you all...it's halfway through act 2, and I'm conducting tonight's show. Part of the set-up that surrounds my keyboard is a big round red light and an old-school black plastic telephone that's connected to most of the people backstage. Tonight the deputy stage manager has a malfunctioning something that's already made this red light flash in the first act. I've had dreams about this red light going off - it means that I have to talk to someone because something's wrong (bomb? psycho fan? actor with headache? could be anything!).
So we've just hit 'em with 'Dangerous', the powerhouse dance number, and now it's time to grab their hearts at three-quarter time with the power ballad, 'Earth Song'. The subdued synth-based intro begins, and the digital screen that hides the band for most of the show opens and reveals us to the stage, covered in a gentle blue wash of light with a little smoke machine work at the edges.
A solitary singer dressed in white walks to centre stage to take the spotlight and open the first verse.
And what do you think happens after that?
The red light goes off again!
It must have looked great from the stalls...a stage looking like that with a singer wailing about what we've done to the earth, and in the background a flashing pin-prick of red light with the MD madly trying to get someone's attention on a big black plastic phone.
Priceless!...
25 July 2009
The Gateway
...9am Friday morning, about two months ago...
Everything's green, everything's wonderful...it's a rare sunny London day, and beams shine through evergreens towering over grassy fields. A squirrel darts across the ground to the right...
My path circuits a large pond, carefully sculptured between meandering bank and weeping willow, so that one might accidentally come across past an eye-catching viewpoint.
I'm wandering through Battersea Park, one of London's gorgeous old 19th century parks, now my local park, and probably the only one that borders the Thames River. Between the original village of Battersea (in parts dating back to the 9th century AD) and the city, this part of the south bank was marshland until the mid 19th century.
And when I arrive at the north-eastern corner of the park to cross the river on Chelsea Bridge, one realises just how different this part of town really is.
To my left, on the opposite bank is the green of Chelsea Barracks, and the view naturally follows west along the shore to the next crossing, Albert Bridge. Most Jazz musicians will know of the Billy Strayhorn tune named apparently after this bridge, the one I'm currently walking over, although for the life of me I can't understand why a tune hasn't been written about the other one, it's glittering, ornate counterpart further upstream.
Behind me to the left is the complementary green of Battersea Park. Halfway between the bridges is the recently constructed Buddhist pagoda; apparently a monk lives somewhere in the park, presumably nearby.
In total contrast to this symbol of peace (indeed in total contrast to anything other than itself!), behind me to the right is Battersea Power Station, the dominant feature of the landscape. The largest brick building in Europe, poised strategically at a bend in the river, it appears to be some long abandoned art-deco fortress defending the city from invaders.
It's hard to describe the overpowering nature of this building using words or even photos. Catching the train into work each afternoon, the line passes to the left of the station, running parallel to another trainline situated on a kind of aqueduct which, in the view from my train, hides where the building meets the ground, giving the building the appearance of floating above it, only adding to it's immensity.
There's a certain unreality to it that has passed over into the world of fantasy...a friend of mine who also lives locally recalls moving here a decade ago, seeing it for the first time, and being totally amazed that the building he'd seen on a particular Pink Floyd album cover actually existed in real life!
The station and the two giant cranes directly in front of it, sitting face to face on the river bank, haven't seen any action since the mid 70s. For this massive open space on the river not far from the heart of the city, every few years, various redevelopment plans come and go. What is to happen with this particular part of London? A housing estate complex, looking rather like a fleet of cruise ships, seems to watch with trepidation from the opposite bank.
I reach the northern side of the river and turn right, past a tall, narrow Victorian-era water tower (?) several stories high. The doors of the pumphouse are open to the street and as I walk past I get a glimpse of the giant silvery intestines within. Jammed in next to them are a collection of sidings from Victoria station, nearly a mile away, the ends of stationary trains parked perpendicularly to the road that runs along the riverbank.
What an odd part of town this is, with its giant mysterious structures littered arbitrarily on both sides of the river!
Everything's green, everything's wonderful...it's a rare sunny London day, and beams shine through evergreens towering over grassy fields. A squirrel darts across the ground to the right...
My path circuits a large pond, carefully sculptured between meandering bank and weeping willow, so that one might accidentally come across past an eye-catching viewpoint.
I'm wandering through Battersea Park, one of London's gorgeous old 19th century parks, now my local park, and probably the only one that borders the Thames River. Between the original village of Battersea (in parts dating back to the 9th century AD) and the city, this part of the south bank was marshland until the mid 19th century.
And when I arrive at the north-eastern corner of the park to cross the river on Chelsea Bridge, one realises just how different this part of town really is.
To my left, on the opposite bank is the green of Chelsea Barracks, and the view naturally follows west along the shore to the next crossing, Albert Bridge. Most Jazz musicians will know of the Billy Strayhorn tune named apparently after this bridge, the one I'm currently walking over, although for the life of me I can't understand why a tune hasn't been written about the other one, it's glittering, ornate counterpart further upstream.
Behind me to the left is the complementary green of Battersea Park. Halfway between the bridges is the recently constructed Buddhist pagoda; apparently a monk lives somewhere in the park, presumably nearby.
In total contrast to this symbol of peace (indeed in total contrast to anything other than itself!), behind me to the right is Battersea Power Station, the dominant feature of the landscape. The largest brick building in Europe, poised strategically at a bend in the river, it appears to be some long abandoned art-deco fortress defending the city from invaders.
It's hard to describe the overpowering nature of this building using words or even photos. Catching the train into work each afternoon, the line passes to the left of the station, running parallel to another trainline situated on a kind of aqueduct which, in the view from my train, hides where the building meets the ground, giving the building the appearance of floating above it, only adding to it's immensity.
There's a certain unreality to it that has passed over into the world of fantasy...a friend of mine who also lives locally recalls moving here a decade ago, seeing it for the first time, and being totally amazed that the building he'd seen on a particular Pink Floyd album cover actually existed in real life!
The station and the two giant cranes directly in front of it, sitting face to face on the river bank, haven't seen any action since the mid 70s. For this massive open space on the river not far from the heart of the city, every few years, various redevelopment plans come and go. What is to happen with this particular part of London? A housing estate complex, looking rather like a fleet of cruise ships, seems to watch with trepidation from the opposite bank.
I reach the northern side of the river and turn right, past a tall, narrow Victorian-era water tower (?) several stories high. The doors of the pumphouse are open to the street and as I walk past I get a glimpse of the giant silvery intestines within. Jammed in next to them are a collection of sidings from Victoria station, nearly a mile away, the ends of stationary trains parked perpendicularly to the road that runs along the riverbank.
What an odd part of town this is, with its giant mysterious structures littered arbitrarily on both sides of the river!
The Groove
S has been with us in town for most of the week, and contrary to my earlier blog, has been in remarkably good spirits considering...is it the joy of being off the road and playing a show in the one place for more than a day? Is it the strange relief of the passing of a long-suffering family member? Is it just plain enjoyment of the gig? Customary to our surroundings, S is a pretty reserved character at the best of times, so I guess we'll never really know...
...and in the last couple of days playing with D, our co-number one dep on drums, the groove has been fatter than anything! It's incredible how, especially on a two-show day like today (matinee 4pm, evening show 8pm), when you're playing a show centred on groove-based music and the groove is great, everything is great!, everyone's in a good mood, the sun shines...well, it feels like it anyway...
...and in the last couple of days playing with D, our co-number one dep on drums, the groove has been fatter than anything! It's incredible how, especially on a two-show day like today (matinee 4pm, evening show 8pm), when you're playing a show centred on groove-based music and the groove is great, everything is great!, everyone's in a good mood, the sun shines...well, it feels like it anyway...
23 July 2009
From The Road: Pasta of Love
...so S has just had a fairly major death in the family, and I'm feeling pretty terrible having just paid him out in prose (unbeknownst to him of course). However he had his first show in town last night and was in remarkably good form, so I thought I'd relate an anecdote from our three months on the road together (which I was going to do anyway, really!)...
It was about six weeks in, the tour was up and running, and some dates were approaching where the production company (for some unknown reason) decided to offer three nights of accommodation at a Butlins.
For anyone not from the UK, Butlins is a chain of ultra-cheap holiday camps dotted around the country, infamous for getting exactly what you pay for.
I didn't quite know how I was going to break this one to the band, but I had a fair idea how they'd react. I had already accepted staying there - it would end up only being two nights for me, and I guess it was part of the adventure. The three English members, well aware of the situation, all opted out immediately. The two continental members however were quite unknowing, even though S had been here for ten years!
On my weekend home beforehand, E and I found photos this particular one on the internet and it looked uncannily like a concentration camp - six miles from town, a complex of long blocks of flats in the middle of nowhere by the sea.
I rejoined the tour on the second day of their stay, and when I met S and G at the theatre they were pissed off, and rightly so I suppose. Having been an effective employee of this production company for more than two years now, one becomes glazed over to the liberties it regularly takes with people who work for it.
Cabbing back there after the show however, the situation turned a little for the better. Unlike the norm, where everyone's accommodation was dotted throughout whatever town we were in, dancers and crew were only in the next block over, and there was absolutely nothing to do out there, so S decided to cook his Pasta Of Love. Word spread to our two favourite dancers who were torn between joining us or the crew for spicy pepper soup (I think they somehow ended up making it to both!)
It was a rubbish situation and everyone had complained far more than enough about it, but at the end of the day, literally, everyone made do...some of us even enjoyed the camaraderie of staying in the one place, a holiday camp after all.
I couldn't believe how S made it and so simply...pasta, tomato sauce, olive oil, a little salt, but cooked and timed absolutely to perfection with generous helpings of parmesan. I've never had pasta quite like it, before or since...and there we were, the three immigrants of the tour, in the flat, waves breaking in the night breeze not far away.
It was about six weeks in, the tour was up and running, and some dates were approaching where the production company (for some unknown reason) decided to offer three nights of accommodation at a Butlins.
For anyone not from the UK, Butlins is a chain of ultra-cheap holiday camps dotted around the country, infamous for getting exactly what you pay for.
I didn't quite know how I was going to break this one to the band, but I had a fair idea how they'd react. I had already accepted staying there - it would end up only being two nights for me, and I guess it was part of the adventure. The three English members, well aware of the situation, all opted out immediately. The two continental members however were quite unknowing, even though S had been here for ten years!
On my weekend home beforehand, E and I found photos this particular one on the internet and it looked uncannily like a concentration camp - six miles from town, a complex of long blocks of flats in the middle of nowhere by the sea.
I rejoined the tour on the second day of their stay, and when I met S and G at the theatre they were pissed off, and rightly so I suppose. Having been an effective employee of this production company for more than two years now, one becomes glazed over to the liberties it regularly takes with people who work for it.
Cabbing back there after the show however, the situation turned a little for the better. Unlike the norm, where everyone's accommodation was dotted throughout whatever town we were in, dancers and crew were only in the next block over, and there was absolutely nothing to do out there, so S decided to cook his Pasta Of Love. Word spread to our two favourite dancers who were torn between joining us or the crew for spicy pepper soup (I think they somehow ended up making it to both!)
It was a rubbish situation and everyone had complained far more than enough about it, but at the end of the day, literally, everyone made do...some of us even enjoyed the camaraderie of staying in the one place, a holiday camp after all.
I couldn't believe how S made it and so simply...pasta, tomato sauce, olive oil, a little salt, but cooked and timed absolutely to perfection with generous helpings of parmesan. I've never had pasta quite like it, before or since...and there we were, the three immigrants of the tour, in the flat, waves breaking in the night breeze not far away.
16 July 2009
Meeting 'S'
...saw S a couple of nights ago at the theatre. Hadn't seen him since I left the tour more than six weeks ago.
Astonishing how once I left the tour and came into town, unintentionally the blinkers went on and it was all about Town World, as opposed to Road World I guess. Previously, during the three months on tour, I'd come in to the town production to fill in for the odd show and the band guys, good friends of mine whom I'd worked with closely on four tours over the past two years, would look at me with a faint suggestion of, "Yeah I remember you"...and now I know why!
S was in to observe the town show as the tour is going abroad next week for two weeks, and our resident bass player is doing a swap. Our guy goes out on the road, and S comes in to fill his place while he's gone. Dashing needlessly yet again between stage and bandroom, I chance upon meeting him in the backstage stairwell before the show...his large frame, shaved head, and wiry goatee belie a quietly spoken, gentle manner. For most of the show I was looking forward to a cheerful post-match drink, a catch up on the current tour gossip, maybe even a laugh over an anecdote in days gone by...
Usually in ones and twos we file out of stage door, through the nightly throng of audience well-wishers and autograph hunters, across Great Windmill Street to the small stage door pub, funnily enough called the Lyric. It appears to be pretty crowded outside with cast, crew and associates, and S is standing with the rest of the bandies directly out front.
We couldn't have been more than half a dozen sentences in, just catching up on the tour, searching for a subject to latch on to, and it was on an alternate work offer for S where things seemed to change sharply, and I felt I had to look for something to hang on to as the vibe of the conversation started hurtling inexorably downward. Personal difference this and politics that and money issue the other...we'd worked together six nights a week for three months, I hadn't seen the guy in a month and a half, and this is what I get?
I let him finish his rave, unsure of how to respond to such negativity.
Amidst waves of chatter, we're suddenly on an island in an ocean of show talk, just he and I.
Hours seem to pass....and then....
"So how is it working out in the flat, with your girlfriend?"
Yeah, that's it mate, don't work too hard, it's only been six weeks...and you're joining us for how long? How many of these do I have to look forward to?!
Sure enough, I only learnt today that continuing family problems for S might have cast a shadow over his mood, which could be understood completely...but then, was my hope of a silly bit of laugh and talk just too much to expect?
Astonishing how once I left the tour and came into town, unintentionally the blinkers went on and it was all about Town World, as opposed to Road World I guess. Previously, during the three months on tour, I'd come in to the town production to fill in for the odd show and the band guys, good friends of mine whom I'd worked with closely on four tours over the past two years, would look at me with a faint suggestion of, "Yeah I remember you"...and now I know why!
S was in to observe the town show as the tour is going abroad next week for two weeks, and our resident bass player is doing a swap. Our guy goes out on the road, and S comes in to fill his place while he's gone. Dashing needlessly yet again between stage and bandroom, I chance upon meeting him in the backstage stairwell before the show...his large frame, shaved head, and wiry goatee belie a quietly spoken, gentle manner. For most of the show I was looking forward to a cheerful post-match drink, a catch up on the current tour gossip, maybe even a laugh over an anecdote in days gone by...
Usually in ones and twos we file out of stage door, through the nightly throng of audience well-wishers and autograph hunters, across Great Windmill Street to the small stage door pub, funnily enough called the Lyric. It appears to be pretty crowded outside with cast, crew and associates, and S is standing with the rest of the bandies directly out front.
We couldn't have been more than half a dozen sentences in, just catching up on the tour, searching for a subject to latch on to, and it was on an alternate work offer for S where things seemed to change sharply, and I felt I had to look for something to hang on to as the vibe of the conversation started hurtling inexorably downward. Personal difference this and politics that and money issue the other...we'd worked together six nights a week for three months, I hadn't seen the guy in a month and a half, and this is what I get?
I let him finish his rave, unsure of how to respond to such negativity.
Amidst waves of chatter, we're suddenly on an island in an ocean of show talk, just he and I.
Hours seem to pass....and then....
"So how is it working out in the flat, with your girlfriend?"
Yeah, that's it mate, don't work too hard, it's only been six weeks...and you're joining us for how long? How many of these do I have to look forward to?!
Sure enough, I only learnt today that continuing family problems for S might have cast a shadow over his mood, which could be understood completely...but then, was my hope of a silly bit of laugh and talk just too much to expect?
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