Don't Know What It's About, But It's Good To Go: UPDATED

I had a very productive weekend. On Friday I successfully burnt Tom on the thumb with some lasagne, which is not easy and requires a very specific temperature and spooning method.

On Saturday I went to Eastbourne to do some more recording. Tom drove us both down. It was a beautiful day, the perfect weather for going the wrong way on the A27 for a few miles and arriving a bit (read: three hours) late. We got there at about six and then Isaac and I worked until about midnight while Tom highlighted stuff for his course. Then we went to bed on the floor, slept horribly and started recording again the next morning. We got loads done and there should be another song up on the MySpace this week. It has bits of my scratchy cello playing on it as well, so I am hoping no classical musicians listen to it ever.

Last night we went to a gig in Shoreditch, which was very trendy and cool. There was a guy called Bass Clef (or at least that's the name of the act, I'm sure his real name is something reassuringly normal) who played the trombone. He was standing on stage complete with copious facial hair and a very warm-looking suit, playing the trombone at the same time as mixing on some decks and adding various other sound effects. When I say "adding various other sound effects" I don't mean it euphemistically as if to imply that he was farting along or anything, I mean that he actually was adding sound effects. Like whistles. Also he waved a flag every so often, which I assumed must have been arty in some way and therefore made perfect sense. After him was the guy I knew, who is called Rod and was very good. Unfortunately after about an hour and a half tiredness frogmarched Tom and I out of the door. It was great, though, I saw some people I hadn't seen since University, including one guy who was on my course and another who my housemates and I used to nickname "Fit Philosophy Guy", collating all the information we had on him in one name: he was fit and studied Philosophy. After seeing him again last night I remain convinced that he's gay.

You may or may not remember that last week I was handed a bit of paper with some man's name and number on it when I was in the pub. This, you would think, is quite an unusual occurence. Well. Seemingly it is all the rage in London at the moment.

Yesterday afternoon I got the number 345 bus back from Clapham Junction to Clapham North. The bus was packed and I finally found a seat upstairs. It was warm and cloying, and I was just willing the journey to pass, particularly because I'd had about three hours of disturbed sleep the night before and had a pounding headache. The bus slammed to a halt at a bus stop and some people began to file past me to the stairs. As they did I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up and there was a man looming over me, clutching a scrap of pink paper. "Here" he said. "Take this." I did, murmuring thank you for no discernable reason. He hurried off the bus. I looked at the lady next to me and opened the folded paper.

"u are very attractive"

Oh, bloody hell. What is going on?

"my no is 07748******"

Alright, great.

"i'm south african"

Good to know.

"my name is gumaro"

Well, thanks Gumaro. That's flattering and nice to receive a compliment. Could you see into my soul? See that I am a kind, decent person who forms meaningful relationships and treats those she loves with care and respect? Somehow did you understand that I am a sensitive, warmhearted individual with hopes and dreams? Could you, Gumaro, see all of those things?

"i luv your BOOBS"

Ah. Perhaps not, then.

I am hoping this trend continues, because I would very much enjoy creating a collage of all the scrappy bits of paper I get given in the months and years to come. My friend said she thought it was because I look approachable, which I took to mean 'easy', but I don't think I do. Yesterday I was sporting a high necked top and a jacket, and I had a pounding headache which can't have been making me look particularly friendly.

I was planning on having a gentle week this week, but already it has packed itself out without me knowing. I've just agreed to meet a friend tonight, Wednesday is a friend's thirtieth birthday, Thursday perhaps a gig with Bec and then Friday I go to Eastbourne to get more recording done. I am simply far too busy for notes from crazy men with breast fetishes. At some point I am supposed to be finishing some more songs off to take down this weekend.

Luckily I have just bought some new lipstick, which helps me to focus and makes me a better person, not to mention far more alluring to foreigners on buses, which I think we can all agree is the main thing.

I am going to go and think up tricks to play on an idiot foolish enough to give person with feminist leanings a note about her breasts with his number on it.

UPDATED: The next song - 'Writing In Pencil' is up on the My "Good Lord Aren't I Down With The Kids" Space.