I have just returned from a long walk down the hill to the music shop, and am feeling much better for it. Autumn is at its most glorious, and if my colour palette vocabulary was not so limited, I'd extol the beauties of sienna, burnt umber, flaming orange, claret and palest yellow. Well whatever, tree-lined London streets are very pretty at this time of year. A slight irony perhaps, but the streets with the most planet-hating four by fours also seem to contain the most beautiful trees. Let's hope the roots are clawing at the foundations, making them structurally unsound and unsaleable, thus bringing financial ruin to the owners, forcing them to flee the city and live in mud huts in the Cotswolds. There's nothing so self-righteous as a man who's just had a walk...yes, I did say walk.
Anyway, the reason for this excursion was to purchase a new bow to play the saw with. I'm not naming names here, but a certain clumsy great brute with a moustache sat on my old one in the dressing room last night and snapped it. Whether this was his way of telling me that my sawing services were no longer required, or a simple accident remains to be seen. Anyway, I've got a new one, which I shall be debuting at Dingwalls tomorrow night.
Our gig in the city of dreaming spires was great fun, especially as Haines was near delirious with flu and said some particularly dubious things - even by his standards, which even his most ardent fans almost took exception to. Let's hope that he's rested by tomorrow, or the London audience is in for a particularly strange night. Luckily the Royal Free is close by, so if we are physically assaulted, it's only a short ambulance ride to safety.
Talking of hospitals, I visited the Radcliffe Infirmary before the show last night. This was not in my capacity as a pop star or goodwill ambassador. My dear brother-in-law has just had a major operation necessitated by years of smoking a certain French rolling tobacco. He's well on the mend thank goodness, but certainly not looking his best. Without sounding too morbid, I am afraid that we are getting to the age where things are catching up with us, and the health warnings are coming true. This giving up smoking business is extremely difficult, even when face to face with the evidence. I have to admit that my first port of call on leaving the hospital was the nearest pub for a pint and... a cig. Utterly, despicably stupid I know, but they don't call them Musician's Walking Sticks for nothing.
As John Lennon said of Sir Walter Raleigh ' he was such a stupid get'.
