Hip Tunes for Hep Cats!
This week I’m mostly listening to Stan Getz in his early 1960's bossanova phase. I’m a hip cat, daddy-o. Black polo neck sweater, natty goaty beard, copy of On the Road in my trench coat. Oh yeah, Peter Sellers, Princess Margaret, Profumo, Harold Macmillan. Cool beans, man.
Stan Getz – The Girl From Ipanema
Yeah, okay, so I’ve picked the Beethoven’s Fifth of bossanova. I know other stuff too – and can pick a passable Desafinado on the guitar when the mood takes me – but if I want to get into a beat-poet/ hipster mood, The Girl From Ipanema does it for me. I listen to the long version with both Joao Gilberto and Astrud Gilberto trading verses.
The story of how a gorgeous 19-year-old girl would wander past a coffee shop in Rio de Janeiro and by doing so inspired songwriter Vinicius de Moraes to pen this classic is well known. It’s a touching and lasting tribute to the temporary and fleeting virtues of beauty. A bit lechy too, of course. Add some cool bossanova chords from Antônio Carlos Jobim, some breathy sax from Getz and Gilberto’s restrained vocals and we have a jazz classic.
Madonna – Sorry
Dance floor stomper from Madge (did I mention we’ve met? I should tell you about it sometime). Always partial to a decent dance song with a hummable tune, this hit from 2006 (who knew?) helps pass four minutes whilst doing the washing up.
Shelby Lynne – Leavin’
This moody, confessional, telling it how it is, men are bastards, country tune, starts with our Shelby talking into the mike about some useless tosser of a boyfriend before blossoming out into a fully fledge ‘I Will Survive’ self empowerment affirmation of womanly strength.
Barely there acoustic guitar, hypnotic beat, great harmonies. It’s a late night conversation over the phone with someone who finally has the courage to leave. You go girl!
A mere three this week but a sturdy selection I think you’ll find. Now back to the black coffee and the thinly disguised diary dressed up as fiction I’m writing this week. Ho-hum.
DJ Tim
The Worst Beatles Tracks
A pretty routine observation I make is that, unlike most artists, you can take any Beatles album and find an abundance of classic songs not released as a single. The sort of songs lesser artists would kill to have. Such was the embarrassment of riches within the Beatles, songs would just stack up and be used as album fodder. Which is why listening to any Beatles album is also such a joy. It’s never a couple of hits bulked out with fillers. With very few exceptions, all of the Beatles output is a consistently high standard, even when they were innovating.
So I thought, I'd compile a list of The Beatles' stinkers. There aren't many. One per album.
The Worst Beatles Tracks
Abbey Road – Maxwell’s Silver Hammer. Sorry Paul, it’s drivel.
*Beatles For Sale – Honey Don't. The Ringo badge of quality is added to this borefest. Carl Perkins also managed to write the second worst song too - Everybody's Trying to Be My Baby.
Hard Day’s Night – I’m Happy Just to Dance With You. Paul and John did George no favours here by writing this dirge for him. Bizarrely, I covered this in my infamous Great Eastern solo gig in 1992. Knickers were not thrown.
Help! – You Like Me Too Much. Not a classic. George also wrote I Need You on the same album. Also crap.
Let It Be – For You Blue. George donated this derivative toss off to the Get Back project to protect better songs – Something, Here Comes The Sun – from a substandard album. Wise move.
Magical Mystery Tour – Yes, I know not a proper album. Flying, obviously. The Beatles do lounge music for the MMT film. Aural wallpaper.
Please Please Me – Boys. A Ringo filler. Pair an average singer with an average song and you get a sub average track. Probably worked better live at The Cavern. Or at weddings.
Revolver – Love You To. George and Indian music. Mordant vocals and cod philosophical lyrics to a raga beat. Same album as his fiery and brilliant Taxman.
Rubber Soul – What Goes On. Ringo got a writing credit for this Country and Western song. He should have held out and asked for the rights to Paperback Writer instead.
Sgt Pepper – Within In Without You. Yeah. I don’t really like George’s Indian influenced songs. This one goes on for over five minutes. It feels like it.
White Album – Revolution 9. Of course. John and Yoko's avant garde crap. Unlistenable.
With The Beatles. No weak tracks. Not one.
Yellow Submarine – Only A Northern Song. Sorry George, you again. Trying too hard to be different it just comes across as gauche and dissonant.
[Looking through the list now, it appears I’m overly critical of some of George Harrison’s contributions. Of all the Beatles, it was fair to say he got better as he got older. His voice, monosyllabic and nasal in 1963, matured by 1969 into a fine instrument. His song writing talents, sometimes okay, sometimes poor, had developed so much that by 1969 that he was able to go toe to toe with John and Paul. And win.]
Dirty work but someone's got to do it. Best album tracks next to cheer me up.
Cheers
Tim
*Beatles For Sale - Most critics say 'Mr Moonlight' is not only the worst song on the album but in the Beatles entire recording career. A bit harsh, I think. It's not a classic admittedly and the cheesy organ that George Martin adds doesn't help, and yet, and yet, I'm a fan of John Lennon's shouty voice going for big notes (Anna, Baby It's You, Happiness is a Warm Gun). Ironically Lennon's vocals were best demonstrated on the track they left off Beatles For Sale 'Leave My Kitten Alone' - now available on Anthology 1.
A la recherché du temps perdu
Happenings ten years time ago // Situations we really know // But the knowing is in the mind // Sinking deep into the well of time
In historical terms, the day before yesterday is always the strangest and most remote.
What was it like to live in the 70’s? It wasn’t that long ago in the grand scheme of things and yet I picture the decade in sepia - populated by horse drawn carts climbing cobbled streets passing old men in bowler hats scowling back as though the image would capture their souls. The tricks of memory.
I grew up in the 1970’s. Despite the strikes, the oil crises and IRA terrorism, I remember it as a happy decade. Tim was ever to be found playing out on the street - no worries about cars or peodos in those days - endless games of football, cricket, making dens, short trousers, street parties, church parades; egg and chips.
One abiding memory is that every August my parents would take my sister and I out into the countryside around Rochdale to pick blackberries. We would go armed with huge empty margarine tubs and come back with pounds of fruit – just waiting to be boiled up and made into soon-to-be neglected pots of jam. The weather was always sunny (I’m probably picturing 1976), the blackberries always plentiful, the thorns always benign.
In honour of my upbringing, I take my kids blackberry picking. I’m lucky enough to live near the Sussex Downs and Ditchling Common. At this time of year, the bushes on the common are weighed down by juicy blackberries. My girls and I went on our bikes yesterday, Tupperware in my backpack, to grab some of nature’s high-summer bounty.
The blackberry picking has become part of the ebb and flow of seasons in my reduced family; it’s what we do and my kids look forward to it. Probably the idea more than the reality, but that is often the way. Even now though – whilst this is actually happening - I can see that my girls’ nostalgia gene is awakening – as we bike to the Common we pass new housing developments that have laid waste to what were, ever-so-recently, green fields. The world is ever churning and nothing but memory stays the same.
But creating those memories is at the core of our humanity. The remembrance and recreation of childhood memories – sights, tastes, rituals – is something that subconsciously draws us like an alcoholic to the bottle, the moth to the late night lamp, the sinner to the pew. With artists - and I include myself loosely in this group – it is one of the central drivers of creativity. The negation of childhood memories, to veer wildly away from familiar paths, works the same way.
The quotation that starts this post is Happenings Ten Years Time Ago, a rare Yardbirds single from 1966 when the group – so briefly - boasted the duel lead guitar attack of Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page. But you knew that already, didn’t you?
And the blackberries became a rather lovely homemade ice cream.
Cheers ears,
Tim
This week's Top Ten
First in an occasional series of what I'm listening to. Of course, I'm influenced by my girls so the odd tween anthem may slip through - some would say it's merely nudging at an open door. After some frankly shocking mishaps with the latest Apple upgrade (losing music / playlists / visibility, grrrrr) I quite like their radio / playlists. That and Shazam have allowed me to cast the net wider than Beatles bootlegs or Stones concerts 1969/72. So here goes.
Random Obscure Oldie
Dion - My Girl The Month of May. Swinging 60's sub Beach boys / Carnaby Street / chuck in the kitchen sink type song from Dion. Didn't sell. Shock. Ties should be kipper. Clothes colourful.
Tim's hip. Tim's now. Daddy dancing spot.
David Guetta - Dangerous (Robin Shultz remix). Personally I don't go a bundle on remixes but this one really adds to the, er, mix. Floaty violins break into this club stomper. Light and shade.
Blonde (with Melissa Steel) - I Loved You. Took me yonks to track this down. Briefly kissed the charts last year. A 90's style club throwback. Where's my handbag? I need to dance around it.
Obligatory Stones live track
Stones - Street Fighting Man. Live at Leeds University 1971. Turn it up! Stones in their absolute pomp with Mick Taylor providing magical fluid guitar flourishes to complement Keith's relentless riffs. So good my girls wait at least ten seconds before replacing with Taylor Swift.
Country
Clare Bowen - Black Roses. From the soundtrack to the Nashville TV series. A slow builder which ends in Clare (Scarlett in the series) repeating, declaring, affirming 'I'm not under your spell'. Spell binding.
Kids Choice
Nick Jonas - Chains. This week, my kids are mostly listening to this ditty, currently in the charts.
More next week pop pickers.
DJ Tim
It's All About You. Of Course
Here's an article I wrote recently on the human side of interviewing for a job.
Sometimes it’s easy to forget central truths in the pursuit of an objective. We all know of King Pyrrhus who won the battle against the Romans but lost the war. Interviewing for a job can be a little like this – minus the body count.
I assume that when you go for an interview you have done the correct prep: You understand the company and their products. You know whether there is a verbal reasoning test or an in-tray exercise. Will the interview be biographical or competency based or a mix of both? I'm sure you’ve got your best suit out and given your shoes a good old polish.
But you may be neglecting your biggest asset, you!
Remember people buy from people. Now that truism may now be disputed in our internet age but it’s baby brother - people hire people – is very much true
So, let me give you a run through of some howlers I’ve committed in a selfless pursuit of authenticity for this article.
1) Clothes. Be comfortable in what you wear. That doesn’t mean turning up in sweat pants and an AC/DC T-shirt, but give thought to your outfit before the actual day. Got a great shirt you look fabulous in? Then make sure it’s washed and ironed the day before. Hey, it’s an obvious one but I’ve been there, done that and got the (crumpled) shirt.
2) Remember your interviewers are human too. Yes, they may have God-like powers to hire or not, but underneath their omnipotence, they’re just like you and me. Be aware of this and use the knowledge to your advantage. It’s an artificial situation, akin to speed dating. Don’t be afraid to comment on this.
3) Just as interviewers are human, so are you. Don’t be an interview robot. Remember to change posture – don’t freeze in some ‘power pose’. Gesticulate, smile, acknowledge feedback, and ask for water if you need some. These little asides show more of the warmth and breadth of your character. But don’t push it – I’m a funny guy – but leave the observational comedy for your stand up routine.
4) The technical and experiential stuff gets you through the door but it’s you that closes the deal. We spend about a half of our waking life in the office. Interviewers are looking for someone who can fit in, who can enrich their lives beyond the technicalities of the job. Simples things like chatting, banter, sharing. The human stuff.
5) Lastly, believe in yourself. You know what makes you great. It would be a privilege for the employers to hire you. Don’t lose that fire in your eyes, that sense of self worth you have in your best moments – when you graduate, when you sign that massive deal, when your first child is born, when you are spontaneously altruistic. This is you. A job offer is a contract and a contract is a two way bargain that has to work for both parties. Don’t forget that.
How to write Dystopian Fiction
I'm published in this book. Hero. Such a hero.
File under 'Random'.
In my quest for world domination of writing contests, I recently entered a competition whose theme was the end of the world. It was run by some online dystopian website.
I'll try my hand at anything - even a genre populated by adolescent boys and nerdy men (my people, my people!). All writing ultimately is good writing as the mere process improves your technique and destroys the blank page. So I entered. Having knocked out 4000 words, here is my guide on how to write Dystopian fiction:
1) Dystopian is basically a long word that tries to hide its sci-fi origins. Think Star Wars where the evil Empire wins. And it's cold and bleak and everyone dies a rat infested and lonely death.
2) Chuck in some cod philosophy. It may be gobbledegook and intellectually incoherent but don't worry about that. For example, here's one I've been working on:
"Like all misanthropes, Tim was exceedingly good company."
3) Forget morality. In some dystopian future, all people are essentially amoral. Clearly genre convention dictates that as mankind heads towards its doom, morality will go the way of my C90 home mix tapes from the 90's. Yes, into the bin.
4) Shove in a bit of sex. Hey! Your target readership is adolescent boys and nerdy men after all.
5) Like every self-authored teenage story, all endings should be a variant of "And then I went to bed and the universe blew up." (*see below)
6) For extra credibility, write a blog post slagging off the genre. Man, that's just like so subversive. Yep - that's me, a rule bending, guitar wielding, couplet writing, ex financial services professional with a specialism in payment systems technology. Hi ladies!
7) There is no seven. (Christ, that joke never gets old).
8) Lists are lame; the refuge of a bad writer using an artificial structure to cohere random thoughts in place of a good writing style.
Well, I hope that helps. I'll let you know if I win. I probably get a free black T-Shirt with some heavy rock band's logo emblazoned on the front as my prize. I wonder if it will go with pressed chinos and shiny purple shoes? Hope so.
Laters
Tim
* @Tim Robson circa 1983.
Short Stories
I've been entering competitions recently. What's interesting is that many of them have a rule that a submitted entry cannot have been published anywhere before. This even includes (vanity) websites like my own. This has meant that, sadly, some of my better efforts are ineligible under those rules. Which means that I've had to go out and write new stories. Or adapt old ones. Which is fine, of course. It's always good to have a deadline and to meet a word count.
But the ramification is that I'm more reticent that ever about publishing my work here on my website as technically, that would mean the story is barred from competitions.
It's a shame. But on the bright side: When I win I'll post them up here. And I guess when they lose, too!
Cheers
Tim
Word of the day : Bloviate
I came across this lovely word today in Peter Hitchens' blog in The Sunday Express. To quote:
“On the day that mass immigration reached levels not seen since the Blair era, the Prime Minister appeared amid a clearly staged ‘raid’ by immigration officials, bloviating about a ‘crackdown’ that will of course never take place.”
Now agree or not with Hitchens - I'm a fan as I like someone who will speak truth even if it is unpopular (so rare these days) - I love the use of the word which, to my shame, I'd never heard before. Bloviate. To bloviate. It's kind of a semi intellectual version of 'to bullshit'. Checking my Wikipedia, I notice that it comes from Ohio politics of the late 19th and early 20th century and means empty or vapid political speeches that essentially say nothing of substance.
How very apt in these shallow days! I shall endeavour to use this marvellous word from now on and if you think this is another example of Robson bloviation, then re-read my sentence!
Cheers
Tim
Methi Madness
It's gonna be a late one tonight. I know it's fashionable to pretend to be bored with party politics - the youth are interested in issues not parties (yawn) - who governs our country is still a must-view chez-moi.
Therefore, before the exit polls come in at ten, I'm off to cook myself a spicy methi chicken curry. Methi is, of course, fenugreek. I bought a couple of bunches from Taj down in Brighton over the weekend. Add plenty of chilli and spinach and I'll all be set for a late night. Like Julian in Franco's Fiesta (have you read it yet, it's on Amazon, you know) there's a bottle of Fino chilling in the fridge.
Okay - methi madness here we come!
Tim
Word of the day : Ennui
My story is much too sad to be told,
But practically ev'rything leaves me totally cold.
The only exception I know is the case
Where I'm out on a quiet spree
Fighting vainly the old ennui
And I suddenly turn and see
Your fabulous face.
(I get a kick out of you, Cole Porter)
Ah, our good friend Ol' King Cole could pen a good lyric, yes? I've decided to use 'ennui' more often. Popularise it, as it were, through the many and robust channels where my writing goes these days.
'Ennui' (pronounced On-wee) is the state of being listless, bored, unable or uninterested to raise your game anymore. Who amongst us hasn't felt that emotion?
My short story 'Yes/No' is basically a 2000 word exploration of this feeling. So much so that, when I came to re-edit it recently, I added the following couple of sentences:-
"My weary conscience has abdicated all authority; any restraint now lies tenuously with failing expectations and late night ennui. We are all fallen; we control only the manner of our descent."
Now I admit those lines won't make my next stand-up gig, but as an exploration of a compromised but sentient soul, they work pretty well.
Ennui, it's gonna be big in 2015. You mark (or use) my words!
Laters, potatas
Tim
'Yes or No' Short Story tops UK's premier peer reviewed site
March ended with my short story Yes or No topping YouWriteOn's peer reviewed chart. My story was rated highest amongst all the stories on the website which allows authors to submit pieces of work for review by fellow writers. YouWriteOn is generally acknowleged to be the premier site for peer review in the the UK. I certainly (now) think so!
To celebrate I'm going to meet my fan-base down in Brighton this weekend. Look out for me in The Basket Makers or Hotel du Vin. I'll probably be surrounded by groupies and hangers-on but if you're patient I'm sure my pint will need refilling at some point!
Hope to see you there.
Cheers
Tim
Butterflies, Elvis, Yohanna, Iceland and me.
What a good title for this blog post. Sounds like a folk song or a country music thigh slapper.
Today I posted my critique of Yohanna's Funny Thing Is which is Number 5 on my occasional series of Tim's favourite songs. Yohanna is a young singer from Iceland who specialises in power ballads. She has a great voice and has released some special songs. Funny Thing Is, happens to be my favourite.
As always in this series, I tend to waffle around the subject a bit. My views on small countries, my time as a high flying business exec and female diva / torch songs are explored as well as Yohanna's oeuvre. It's an exciting mix, a real roller coaster of a ride and I enjoyed putting together these 2000 words.
Listen, enjoy. Read, laugh.
Yohanna to read About Funny Thing Is by Yohanna
Cheers ears
Tim
New Song Review To Follow Soon - Funny Thing Is
Spent the last couple of days writing and polishing a song critique of 'Funny Thing Is' by Icelandic singer Yohanna. It's number 5 in my occasional series of my favourite songs. Yes, I'm up my own arse. No, I don't care.
It's nearly finished. The piece has been aided by help from Yohanna herself as she graciously answered some questions I threw at her on Facebook.
If you don't know Yohanna yet, check her out. My song critique in the next couple of days will explain why in much more detail.
Speak soon...
Tim
In or Out?
So, there are many big issues that I could address today.
Does Global Warming actually exist?
Who is going to address the rising UK debt and the continuing deficit?
What about the rise of militant Islam and the ramifications of a schism in that religion for the rest of the world?
Big issues all, but the topic I want to address today is whether a man over 40 should tuck his shirt into his trousers or not. Hold the front page.
Now, historically, I would have favoured the opinion that, when not at work and wearing a suit, the shirt should flow free. No one wants to see a paunch, strained shirt buttons or a fat man sweat. Also, done badly, the tuck-in looks like William Hague with a baseball cap - embarrassing and therefore detestable.
However - although I'm not known to blow my own trumpet - I'm seriously buff these days. I may be over 40 (just), but I can actually tuck my shirt into my trousers without it being a strain or, superficially to me anyway, look that bad. This, dear readers, is not a natural state but the result of many hours in the gym or, lately, body pump or MyRide classes. I am my own hero.
But back to the shirt and the tuck or not to tuck dilemma. What to do?
My answer is - increasingly - fuck it, I do what I want, man. I've reached an age where I can cover a fashion faux pas with a lifetime of savoir faire. (And if you've ever seen those two French imports in the same sentence then let me know - hashtag pretentious writer - one who can't even find the hash key on his Apple MacBook).
It's like leather trousers. We all want to but we're not sure we'd look good in them. Well - lets be honest - most of us would look like a trendy vicar getting a tattoo and riding a Harley. And yet those that do don the leather, we resent for having the goddamn balls to do so. Their bravery is almost as much a provocation as their supposed sins against fashion. They take the blows so we don't have to. They allow us our superiority but, who is looking down on who and, who gives a toss?
So, I'm groping my way towards an answer. To be honest, it was a false question anyway; I do what I want and calibrate therein based on experience and utility. I think my fashion decisions are increasingly going to be idiosyncratic. Deal with it ladies. I'm all about that bass.
So tuck-in sometimes, let it flow on bad belly days. Either way, rules are made for breaking, hearts are made for taking and yeah, that's it for now.
One for the ladies. Tucked and looking good!
Elevator Pitch
Apparently it's a phenomenon within both the corporate and creative world that you need to have an 'elevator pitch'. This is what you would say to someone powerful - someone who has the ability to change your life for the better - in the twenty / thirty seconds available if you accidentally bumped into them in a lift.
So, for example, if I bumped into the Managing Director of a major publishing company and told him I had written a book, "What's it about?" he might ask and then I would launch into my elevator pitch. "Well it's about the end of the 60's, then end of fascism in Spain, the making of movie in Franco's Spain, the collision between liberal Hollywood, authoritarian Spain and the ordinary people caught in between."
Yeah - you don't have to say it out loud: Crap, Tim. Needs work, yeah?
Let me tell you about one time that I did have need for an elevator speech. I worked for a US multi national company and I was at a sales conference in Cannes. Hungover to hell one morning, I was late for the first session of the day. I pressed the lift button, the doors opened and there, in the lift, was the CEO of my company, apparently a surprise guest on the conference agenda. Well, he looked at me, with my company laminate pass, and I looked at him, exactly as he looked on the company website. If ever there was a time for an elevator pitch, about me, about my career, about my plans, then it was now. In a company of 100,000 employees this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to make an impression, to further my career and get my name 'out there'.
Looking at him and then swallowing with my dry mouth, feeling the nausea rising from the previous night's activities, I thought, 'fuck it' and then turned to face the other corner. My plan for paperclip harmonisation could wait for another day. We spent the next thirty seconds in a conspicuous silence.
I think he appreciated my reticence - who the hell wants to be assailed by wannabes every hour of the day, with their fake smiles, fake positivity, burnished resumes? "Hi! I'm Donna from marketing, can I tell you about this exciting, game changing project I'm working on?"... "Nah, fuck off, Donna," would be my response. I guess CEO's have to be more circumspect and grimly listen to the widget reduction project in Luxembourg.
My reward for giving the CEO the space and time and courtesy he deserved, was, well, nothing, of course. My boss, when I told her the story, believed, perhaps rightly, I was an 'asshole'; that I had shockingly given up such a career advancing opportunity. She, by the way, like all powerful people, kissed butt beautifully to any passing superior. You have to drop to your knees to raise your profile. There's a lesson there Tim, somewhere.
Anyway, I tell you this story because I'm Prometheus unbound these days. I'm all about truth and honesty and authenticity (to steal back a dreadful corporate phrase into the real world).
Yeah. Authentic. Living my own values. Mainlining the personal code. But it has to be you, ultimately. Has to be your turf you're prepared to fight for. Otherwise it's an insincere elevator pitch with a hangover, with a CEO who doesn't give a toss, tired from a transatlantic flight and showing fear of intimacy in his eyes.
I'm all right. I'm cool. I am Tim. I Said. (I'm sure there's a Neil Diamond song in there somewhere!)
Hit and Run Lover, here we come.
Hit and Run Lover
First it was a song.
Then a recording.
Then a book.
Then a script.
It is coming here. Soon. To this website.
Check out the first couple of chapters on YouWriteOn.
http://www.youwriteon.com/books/bookdetail.aspx?bookguid=05185d1d-43eb-4f89-a5b5-e8d036236883
Cheers
Tim
SONG 4 : Two Gene Clark Ditties
Not one, but two Gene Clark songs make up what I'm inaccurately, but steadfastly, calling, Song 4 on my list. Hey - break the rules, man!
Gene Clark wrote many great songs both during his brief time with The Byrds in the mid 60's through to his untimely death in 1991. I've picked Eight Miles High and I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better which are probably his two most well known songs. Gene was a pioneer in many ways; none of his songs are ever straight forward in either lyric or chord structure. Even when they sound simple, they're often not.
Take I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better. Clark doesn't actually sing the title, the actual lyrics, are 'I'll probably feel a whole lot better'. Ambiguous, no?
Anyway, follow this link and enjoy The Byrds storming through I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better and my take on both songs (click on the song title for my essay). CLICK HERE
Cheers
Tim
New Writings
My quietness on the website recently could be an indication of inactivity. It's a theory and a good one. But it's also not true.
I've been writing three new short stories, alternating between them, trying out new ideas, plot lines and, for one, cooking Spanish recipes.
Yes - in order to write a story ostensibly about cooking, I've been buying Spanish ingredients and making a delicious mixture of food from that country. Catalan Cannelloni, lemon chicken with white wine, serrano ham and onions; chickpeas with chorizo and spinach. And sherry (iced dry fino) which always helps. Even when I'm not writing. This drink also turns up a lot in Franco's Fiesta. Funny that.
Anyway, once my broadband problems mentioned in the post below are fixed - tomorrow apparently - I'll be posting new material.
Welcome also to everyone in Brighton who, unwittingly perhaps, became part of my never ending author tour on Friday night.
Cheers, Tim
I Remember the 1970's
I do, I really do remember the 70's.
Large collars, wide trousers, brown ties, power cuts, strikes, rubbish public utilities.
Can't get broadband in my new house for two weeks. Literally it feels like I've gone back to the 70's and hanging on the telephone to BT pleading with them for a line.
The fact that this is the 21st Century and the company is Sky makes no difference. These things need to get quicker! I know my expectations have changed in the ensuing decades but progress is unstoppable and times for connectivity need to improve. Yes, Eon and EDF, I'm looking at you too... Having to go to the pub all the time to get my email is not a way to exist. Yeah, really.
Moan over.
I did write a short story yesterday which I need to polish but will post soon.
Tim
Rock and Roll
Playing, who knows what - blues, country, at Quench. Photo: Wayne Docherty
In my left hand is rock and in my right hand is roll.
Rocked Quench in Burgess Hill tonight... Although I'd been on a brewery tour in London came back to the Hill and played 'I'm a Man' and ' Help Me Make It through The Night".
Phew! Held those chords for the public! Maybe I'll be back next week on Thursday.
See you there.
Tim