Ian Drury

I went to bed feeling pretty lousy last night. I think the massage drew all sorts of toxins out of my system and I fell asleep genuinely wondering if I was going to see the dawn!

I woke up instead feeling refreshed and, for the first time in an age, without pains in my shoulders. If only I could afford more regular massages. I think my generation is getting to that stage now, where we can't take our health for granted any more. 

I worked in the cafe all morning, listening, with one ear, to the Highgate  mummies and their First World crises. One was really worried today about the lack of nuts in her porridge, and a few days ago I was party to a hellish conversation: After asking for her sandwich to come "deconstructed", one woman said to her friend; "Daisy-May's just bought an iPad!" "Really?" said the other one, "Tilly's not allowed to buy anything. She's just bought herself a horse."

I mean, Jesus Christ...

I wrote a song for the White City film this afternoon seemingly via a process of osmosis. A lot of these songs seem to be writing themselves, which either means I'm entering some kind of Imperial period, or that I'm simply coming up with a load of absolute rubbish. I cried my eyes out after singing it through, which is about the only gage I have that I've written from the heart. Vital for me. 

Mind you, I cry at everything these days...

Today's song was about Frank, who wants to sing a love song to his partner of 40 years. Tomorrow will find me diving into the back catalogue of Ian Drury to find inspiration for a song about epilepsy! Sometimes my life feels really rather surreal!