You were the sun in my Sunday morning

Published on Mon 30 Jun 2008

I can't believe Hollyoaks killed Max off like that. I wonder how long they'll keep the grieving process going this time. It's normally about a week in soap land but Hollyoaks is pretty good at dragging things out.

It's been a little while since I wrote because Jason's been staying and I've not really had a spare minute (in a good way - it's been really nice actually having someone around the house - I should probably get a lodger to keep me a bit saner. Or a pet.) I'm not sure where to begin.

In no particular order and no great detail then...

Last Friday I had the single most discouraging gig I can remember. I should know better than to go back to places that have been really good in the past. I was feeling a bit funny to begin with after a chance encounter at the station (I say encounter, I turned white and gallantly ran and hid behind a ticket machine) which tore down my carefully constructed belief that the tail end of my 20s was some kind of nice, if frankly unrealistic, dream. I think I've built up most of it again now. We (me, Jason and his girlfriend Krys who had come over for the weekend) got to the venue pretty early and hung around while the main act soundchecked, eating some of the food that Tony (the really nice guy who runs the night) had laid on. I appeared to have been billed as some kind of comedian because I kept saying funny stuff last time (guilty as charged). Even the barman went on about it. Unfortunately it's not something I can control. It bit me in the arse too, as some woman started laughing really loudly about 2 1/2 songs into my set, seemingly at the hilarity/crapness of my lyrics. I dunno what you're meant to do about that kind of thing - it's never happened before. So I got angry and sang that Ballboy song at her. She eventually walked out giggling and I felt like a complete loser. 

Setlist: Edinburgh, Watertight, Grace Cathedral Hill (curtailed slightly due to guffaw), You Won't Break my Heart, You Can't Spend Your Whole Life Hanging Round With Arseholes (with added venom - I played it pretty well I think), So Finally a Love Song.

However, as massively humiliating as my set was, it wasn't nearly as discouraging as watching the main band. It was sub-mediocre old guy folk/country music with lyrics that ranged from the uninspired to the vomit inducing. I see a lot of this stuff at open mics, but this was made especially offensive by the fact that the man clearly believed himself to be some kind of genius. They also had the least competent drummer I've heard for some time (even though the guy proclaimed them all "fantastic musicians"). After it was over (he played for longer than everyone else put together for some reason) he said to Jason, who is clearly an order of magnitude better than him in every single respect, "yeah, that 3rd song you played was alright - you'd make a pretty good support act". Blimey. Just watching him made me want to give up for fear of turning into that. Or for fear that people are thinking the same things when they're politely watching me as I was while politely watching him. I left with my eyes staring intently at the floor so as not to catch those of laughing woman and we went to Bury St Edmunds to stay with Jason's (really generous - thank you!) friends Kat and Ed, who had fortunately missed most of the fun. There was an amusing incident on the way back when we got pulled over by the police so they could breathalise Ed (he passed, obviously) and with perfect timing the window fell down into the car door as he opened it. Maybe you had to be there. We then stayed up pretty late listening to the Flight of the Conchords, who I'm going to give another chance - I must have just seen a duff episode in the past because it's funny stuff.

I can't remember being so down about music as I was when I woke up the next day. It all seems a lot of heartache for very little return sometimes. I think, right now, I'd almost certainly stop if I had anything else at all to focus on. I don't help myself though. This place in London that I've always wanted to play at offered me a gig the other week, but I've not done anything about it due to my irrational phobia of ever phoning anyone. The 'release date' for the album is slowly drifting back too as day after day I fail to do any of the things I'm meant to be doing to promote it. I'm a little bit concerned about my state of mind at the moment.

When we got back from Bury (thanks for the lift Ed!) I had a real and actual letter waiting for me from someone saying how much a song I wrote had touched them. That made me feel a bit better. And kind of a fraud.

Anyway I had a much more enjoyable gig on the Tuesday before last, supporting Sam Isaac at The Portland. I was on first, and I thought nobody was going to come in, but eventually a fair few did and seemed to like it. There was certainly very little laughter. Give me a younger audience any day.

Setlist: Take it All, Watertight, So Finally a Love Song, 60 Miles With a Slow Puncture, Grace Cathedral Hill, You Won't Break My Heart, Radio Silence.

I really enjoyed the other acts, My First Tooth and Sam Isaac. His band looked like they were all mates from school or something, and were so obviously so happy to be there and on tour. The music was pounding and joyful and I grinned and stamped my foot the whole way through.

The next day I went to see Joesph Arthur at the Union Chapel. He is another of these people for who I have a very clear picture of the first time I heard their music. In this case at an HMV listening post in Edinburgh when I was passing through there with a ceilidh band 10 years ago. The same afternoon I discovered The Mutton Birds. He was also the first thing I ever saw at the Boat Race in 1998, supporting Ron Sexsmith. He was using a loop pedal a good 5 years before anybody else though he seems to have stopped now, which is a shame, because he was the best I've ever seen at it. I blame Tunstall for making it passé. I had a great time, but he does do that slightly annoying thing that Counting Crows used to do, of changing the melody to the best (or best known) songs to make them slightly less good (and consequently a bit frustrating). It's art I guess. The Union Chapel is such a lovely venue I could happily watch anything there (except for the support band in this case - don't remember the name, they were shit though and we went to the bar).

Jason came a week ago on Thursday and a fair amount of the stuff we did seems to have revolved around eating. We had a couple of impressive breakfasts. Here is a short film of some black pudding being prepared.

And here is a picture of a (different day's) breakfast

We also had a breakfast pizza for dinner one day

I also got to use my barbecue for the first time in 2 years (it seems a bit pathetic firing up a barbecue just to cook a single lamb chop for myself). Here is a picture.

Here is a picture of the tell tale signs of a Hakin:

I'm being slightly unfair - 3 of those cans are mine.

I think Jason did cultural things while I was at work (genius quote about the Fitzwilliam museum: "It's pretty good, but it's not The Louvre is it?") and the three of us went for a walk round town yesterday. I forget these days how pretty Cambridge is. It was also quite nice walking round remembering funny stuff I've got up to over the years. Like that time I was sick on Trinity Ball from above. And that time I sicked up half a burger fully formed. And that time Pete accidentally walked into the Cam up to his knees while going for a piss. We also watched a respectable amount of QI and Two and a Half Men.

Wow - how good was the tennis just now? Murray is like the anti-Henman - you wouldn't take him to meet your parents, and he wins from behind instead of losing from in front. I don't think I approve of all that punching the air on every single point. A little unsporting.

In other news, I recently discovered "Great Expectations" by Elbow, and have been listening to it over and over again. It's this week's "Slow Show" by The National.