Eastbourne Again

Debating about the nature of love! Makes for some quite interesting conversation, the like of which can usually only be found in halls of residences at five o'clock on a Wednesday morning being had by stoned, long-haired Philosophy students with artfully-positioned copies of The Koran on their bookshelves.

I was, I confess, a bit drunk when I wrote that last post. I thought to myself "maybe I shouldn't... no, fuck it" and wrote about My Heart And Soul, throwing caution to the wind. I was a bit cross, a bit upset, a bit pissed. Add that to having access to the Internet and it makes for a heady and not-necessarily-advisable combination. I did find it interesting to read the different responses, though.

It turns out that Love Is Not Massively Fathomable. That is my conclusion. I shall set about writing to my local Gazette at once.

I am in the studio again. I sit here next to the mixing desk and blog away whilst Ike does things I don't understand with buttons that all look the same and every so often I look up and say "That sounds good!" and get on with my Important Writing Shit On The Internet.

I exaggerate.

(Shocker)

We have been recording the first song I ever wrote, which is most gratifying. I remember writing it and thinking, bloody hell, this is rubbish. Now it is a whole song, with guitar and drums and backing vocals and possibly a cello part and it sounds considerably less rubbish. Almost, and I hesitate to say this, good. It is quite peculiar for me.

Now, I need some help. Next weekend I am going on a Murder Mystery Weekend. My friend has organised and written the whole thing. Eighteen of us are going to Coombe Abbey in Warwickshire to have dinner, stay the night and get horribly drunk whilst being in character and working out who is the murderer of the person who has been murdered. I absolutely LOVE this sort of thing, because I am a show-off and also dressing-up is one of my favourite things ever. Also Coombe Abbey is gorgeous and very fancy, and I do like things that are gorgeous and fancy, which is why I look in the mirror all the time.

Everyone else is shopping for their costumes this weekend. I cannot join them because a) I am in the studio and b) I do not possess any of that stuff that other people exchange for goods and services. I forget the name of it. Sex? Maybe.

I am going to tell you my character and you must come up with ideas of what I can wear. I want to look convincing, but also, because I am a stupid girl, nice and pretty.

Busty LeRoux
An obnoxious American who despises foreigners. Chief Editor of the New York Times.

(There is not a huge amount to go on.)

Also the weekend is set in the forties.

The key for this sort of thing is in the accessories, so think of good accessories for the character. I was thing long fake red fingernails, which actually negates what I just said about looking nice, but never mind. I was thinking I could drum them on stuff, tables, the bar, people's heads, whilst making sweeping statements about The French in a New York accent.

So, help me please. A hat? A cigarette holder? A vial of the blood of The Foreign?

Come on...