Monday Mitherings

"... and there was one of you whose vocal control was just outstanding. Outstanding! That person was..."

I held my breath, daring to hope.

"Dame Edna Everage!"

Oh, I thought, somewhat disappointed. I didn't even know she was here.

Then my alarm went off, and I woke up. Puzzled.

As I got out of bed I took pleasure in the fact that my toenails were painted. Some football match was on in our flat the other day, and while Bec was endeavouring to impress her new French boyfriend with her knowledge of the Arsenal team, I absently drank beer out of the can and painted my nails. Every so often I would ask a deliberately stupid question, ostensibly because I was trying to make her look good when she knew the answer, but actually because I geniunely didn't know it. I still quite enjoy watching the match (whatever match it might be, as long as it's not cricket) but I do find I need something else to do at the same time. Beer is a good start.

On Friday night we went out for David's birthday, which was most amusing. David looked dashing in his cowboy-style shirt and jeans. There was resonation. Wine was drunk and dances were attempted. We had to walk for about forty-five minutes in the torrential rain in order to get our night bus home and we nearly drowned in the process. I couldn't stop thinking about Marianne in Sense and Sensibility. I felt it inevitable that the three of us would be feverishly confined to our beds for about a week, in an elegant if sweaty malaise. We are, however, all fine, and I have come the conclusion that Marianne is a bit of a weakling and should be toughened up.

Yesterday we had a rehearsal for the current bane of my existence, the concert for the Children's Society in July. (I just had to re-read that sentence to check that I didn't accidentally accuse the Children's Society of being the bane of my existence. I think I'm alright.) Harry, Bec and I rehearsed, and I think it was a productive day, we covered some things that we were concerned about, and I feel positive that the concert will be a success. My whole extended family will be there, as will numerous family friends and acquaintances, and basically I want it to be really good. Which it will be. I have faith.

On Wednesday night I have a private gig at the Savoy, and before that I am going to have another music day, doing more of my songs. Unfortunately I haven't got a date for recording them yet because the guy whose studio I'm using, and who wants to film me recording, is in the process of moving jobs and has to wait for a couple of weeks before he can take a day off. He assures me that it will happen, and I'm trying to be patient, call him enough but not too much. Trying to play the game right, which I dislike. I have realised how important it is, though. I have a had a couple of wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-nights recently. Not panicking, I used to do that and it's nightmarish and scary, no, just worrying that I'm not getting anywhere and it's too late. I know I have to banish those thoughts, but it's exhausting going through the self-reassurance process over and over. It feels like I am so small and what I want to do is so huge. If anyone else said that to me, though, I'd argue with them until they had nothing else to say (read: fucking kill them).

I promised to write about tampons. I cannot believe that anyone actually wants me to write about tampons, and the only tampon joke I know is incredibly rude (funny, though).
Perhaps a haiku?

A tampon is a
Little like a mouse in that
They both have a tail

No, I can't think of a way to write about a tampon that is in any way normal. As you may know, normality is something that has been known to elude me before, but that is not to say that it should not be encouraged.

I'm hopefully going to meet my friend Mark for a drink tonight, but we have a slight problem in that neither of us have each other's telephone number, as he has changed his. I have emailed him, but as he is only in London for the day I'm not sure he'll be checking. It would be a shame if technology had conspired to prevent us drinking together. If it does I shall write immediately to Bill Gates or someone, a strongly-worded letter.

I am going to go and sulk about Dame Edna Everage having better vocal control than I do in my subconscious.

Normality, it seems, has once again slipped through the net.

Oh well. It's Monday. It can only go uphill from here.