A Pair Of Smoking Shoes

Well, lummy-loo, what a week. I am sitting down to write to you in almost a slightly sombre frame of mind, owing to the fact that I have no milk left in the house, and cannot write with a cup of tea in my hand, or at least within ease of reach, or even in eyesight. (I am refusing to quoff the last beer in my fridge, as there has been an adequate intake this week already - I shall save this one for a special occasion.)

Anyway: what, as I said earlier, a week. Most of the thoughts in this great nation of ours were with (or, to be more accurate, against) a certain politician, who appeared to be in a competition with himself as to how many times he could say the word "rape" in a sentence within five minutes of radio time. Evidently there are better people to ask about this topic, all of whom could be named by reciting the names of the Bash Street Kids. But honestly, has it actually become something you can boil down to a parody of a Smiths song? 'Some Rapes Are Bigger Than Others'? As a people, we all crammed our collective fist into our collective mouth in horror, I'll bet. Especially when they sent the interviewer out again two hours later to see what else he could conjure up out of his Magic Brain. Criminy.

Not that the trivialisation of non-permissive sex attacks was the only thing on our minds. We were all caught up in the excitement of the oncoming Rapture, weren't we? Weren't we?* I wonder how many people quit their jobs & made themselves ready for absolutely nothing on Saturday? I heard of companies/people offering to buy the pets of those about to yanked into the Great Hereafter (non-refundable too, I hear), which I thought was hilarious, and which summed it all up for me. I am amazed that people can believe such a thing is possible. Not to say I'm completely closed-minded - I love a fantastical idea, for example the TARDIS - I love the concept of it, it's brilliant, but there is no way one is going to materialise in my garden.

I was informed via Twitter that a dog lead had been found outside a cricket ground, on a bench, but with no accompanying dog, ergo we can cite the Rapturing of at least one canine pure soul. No one's heard from Harold Camping either, tellingly. I am expecting to hear a report of his door being kicked in, only for a pair of smoking shoes to be found in front of his rocking chair...

But: despite all the space these things have taken up on my writings here (and crikey wowsers, I've never written that much about current events before - don't expect this level of running news analysis every time folks, expect more on the topic of "Why I Don't Grow Facial Hair Terribly Well" or "I Hate Food Shopping"), there has been far too much going on in my tiny brain to give all this news the credence that it may or may not deserve. Namely: gigs. Well, mainly gigs. I could list the thoughts propping the mineshaft of my mind thus:

• I really want to get my new songs recorded
• I should design a poster/flyer
• What will I play during my extra busy gig weekend?
• I should get my digital eight-track fixed so I can muck about with home demoes
• I wonder if I'll fall in love again?**
• When knuckleheads gather together in pubs and make up monosyllabic football chants in the beer garden, guffawing after every single one, does each one wish the others would show that glimmer of affection he's yearned for? That girlfriend is a front, after all...

Maybe that's more of my subconscious than you would have liked to read, and even more than I thought I would share with you, but perhaps now you have a slightly better glimpse into my battered old head now. There is now nothing I can do to eradicate that from your brain. Sorry.***

I don't know if I'm re-digressing or re-re-re-digressing, or if I even digressed in the first place, but I will attempted to stomp my way back to the point I think I was trying to make all those paragraphs ago (remember them? They were good, weren't they?), which is: it's been a good week for encouraging news.

Firstly, I have had what I take to be a Big Gig confirmed. I know a rather marvellous chap called Jack (witty lyricist, wickedly sharp guitarist), who is in a band called Our Mutual Friend. They are playing at the Artrix Theatre in Bromsgrove on 31st July & have asked me to support them. Tickets are £5 and it's all confirmed now (there's nothing they can do, bwah ha ha ha...), and so it will be my first gig in a proper theatre, a 300-seater. I am excited, daunted, and wondering how my odd brand of verbal sparring will fit in for a setting such as this will fare, but I like to think I'm fairly adaptable. I also wonder if it's that kind of setting that could suit me most, is that an "Ideas above my station" thing? Hmm...

Secondly (and as I prepare to write this I realise it's now in reverse chronological order), this coming weekend of the 27th, 28th & 29th May sees a flurry of activity that I couldn't have planned if I'd tried. 27th May involves Our Mutual Friend again, as they have a gig at my old local, The Full Moon, in Newcastle-under-Lyme. They are supporting a band, but have also gone on my website & learned the song 'Dirty Badger', which is jolly nice of them, and have asked me to join them onstage for this.

28th May is the Stone Music & Arts Festival Busking Competition, and I have gained a chance to compete. It starts at 10:30am, and I will have been guided to my spot, where upon I'll play my cotton socks off for an hour while judges peruse the acts. Not only am I praying for good weather (or at the very least, some sort of shelter!), but I am also hoping I keep it up for an hour in a high-street situation. It'll be a new & exciting experience! I initially had no idea what the competition would entail (other than 'busking' and 'competing'), but a couple of suggestions through Twitter tickled me, one of which was "Maybe the winner is the one who gets 'moved on' the least?" I'd like to see this iteration take place!

29th May is a charity event at Debees in Winsford, among the other acts playing at this all-dayer is MEME, whom I supported in Fenton a fortnight ago. It should be an exciting day, and the first time in a while that I've ventured outside of Staffordshire with a bunch of songs in my sweaty hand.

So that's all the business stuff I was going to tell you. I hope you found it informative and entertaining. If you didn't, I can only hope you found the 'back' button on the internet (if that is the case, I didn't do a very good job of hiding it, did I?). It's been a wonderfully encouraging week - those of you that have read this or listened to my music (or indeed both) and who have taken the time to tell me what you think - THANK YOU. You are lovely people and have made all this worthwhile, and you have also spurred me on to keep going.

So that's about it, folks. I am still cup-of-tea-less, as milk has failed to materialise, and I have yet to develop a freak lactating ability, much to my mingled relief/dismay. So thats about the most disappointing thing I can think of, really. Mind you, I understand some of you may be super-disappointed at not being Raptured. Understand that there are various degrees of Rapture, some of them are more serious than others. I believe Ken Clarke's going to talk about this tomorrow.

All the best, have a lovely week & take care.
John.x

*We weren't.
**We all know the answer to this will be yes - more-than-likely with an unattainable, beautiful woman who turns dusk into bright sunny afternoons with a wave of a smile.
***I'm not entirely sorry.