Monday, July 03, 2006


Current level of conviction in own genius: 7
Amount of creative activity achieved in last 24 hours: 10 mins
Hair day: amazing lack of wiltage given temperature hotter than the centre of the sun

No, the gutter of the title does not refer to England's customary plummet out of the World Cup (during which I wound myself up into a sweaty headachey frenzy and swore more creatively than a particularly potty-mouthed fishwife) - THAT, after all, is to be expected; don't know why everyone gets so convinced we'll scream through to the final on each and every big tournament, forgetting that we will always a) have a hot-headed young hero sent off b) have at least 2 star players injured c) play with inexplicable tactics and d) lose on penalties. Still, it has been as usual jolly fun fashioning puns for the next day's red-top headlines: my bro's best one was in the Brazil-Ghana match, with 'CONSTANT GHANA FAIL TO FIENNES THE NET' and my own was for our sorry state of affairs: 'PORTUGESE MEN OF WAR GIVE LAST STING IN ENGLAND'S TALE'. I thank you.

No, the gutter is just for me, obviously far more important than some sorry internation bout of football. Was supposed to leg it from school to train station last week in order to get up to York for a prospectively cool interview as artist-in-residence at the National Science Learning Centre. It's not as glamorous as being artist-in-residence at NASA (See Laurie Anderson), say, and would be housed at the back of my old college of Alcuin, so would have been a hilarious revisit to my early besozzled undergrad years, but these jobs don't come round very often. So I ran faster than Aaron Lennon to get there, only to find the soap-esque nightmare scenario of EVERY TRAIN CANCELLED DUE TO FIRE AND RISK OF GIANT GAS CANISTERS EXPLODING ONTO TRACKS greeting me. The Arts Council lady was fairly sympathetic of my slightly hysterical sobbing phonecall, but calmly explained that they had had to make a decision that day. Not even a chance of a re-scheduled interview. Alack, rue the day, etc. So instead I have had to make do with drinking much wine, watching DVDs, shopping therapy and having to put on the kiddiewinks' school concert (Green Day transferred to kids' choir! oh yes!).

More fun at least was Andy and my brief sojourn to the coun'ryside, for Woodendstock, run by clearly the coolest people alive, seeing as they live in a huge house in the middle of nowhere, put on a free festival and rave-up and play in the headline band, the woefully-named but very choppy and chirpy Rotating Leslie. We were there to support the ever-brill Lazy Habits, who sounded double-ace in the surroundings of balmy air, haystacks and a soundtrack of sheep and birds.

In Kerry-goes-public news, should be in Evening Standard tomorrow, the Today
programme and London Tonight on Thursday, and maybe the BBC on Friday with The Song of Doves, the 7/7 memorial piece.

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