Parakeets have moved into the trees opposite our house. I saw a tell-tell flash of luminous green earlier on. It doesn't surprise me that they've come. The ravine around Highgate tube is full of wildlife and very very tall trees, and I'm told that parakeets are drawn towards areas of wildlife near city buildings. They like the warmth apparently. One day I'll see a parakeet sitting in my garden and I'll be thrilled.
It's been a quiet day. I've been slowly coming down from my ELO-induced high. I worked from the kitchen table on a single lyric. It's not right yet, but I'm placing a huge amount of pressure on myself to improve my lyric writing, which I've always considered to be the poor cousin in the world of my writing.
The dreadful lyrics that I used to pen were legendary in my family when I was growing up. People would howl with laughter at the shite I used to come up with, to the extent that if anyone questions my lyrics these days I'll instantly assume that they're right and I'm rubbish!
So today I'm trying to write lyrics that actually matter or at least lyrics that aren't predictable. I'm also trying to limit the rhymes I'm using. I'm never going to be a Sondheim with loads of clever internal rhymes. I'm also not sure rhyming is the be-all-and-end-all of song writing. And yet I persist...
Llio came over tonight to watch Suffragette on DVD. The film was directed by the lovely Sarah Gavron with whom I recently reacquainted myself at Arnold's funeral. Some years ago I worked as the casting assistant on Brick Lane which Sarah also directed. I used to get her into terrible trouble by giggling in auditions. On one occasion we both got so hysterical that the producer of the film sent us out of the room. We stood outside like naughty school children wondering when we'd be allowed back in.