The Colour Of Your Dreams
A bitty kind of day, with trips to the shops this morning and writing a couple of 1970 music posts this afternoon, before making a risotto for supper. As I write, it is pouring with rain and all thoughts of a late walk have been abandoned.
The 1970 music posts have been pretty much the only writing I’ve done today, though I’m accumulating notes for the work in progress. Annoyingly, I have some vague thoughts for a story set in the Star Wars universe floating around in my head, although it might be something I can lift out of that particular context and write in its own world. Generally speaking, the only thing to do in this circumstance is to keep making notes of ideas, even if many of them will later not go anywhere.
It’s all a bit like moisture condensing on a cold window pane on winter mornings which, now I come to think about it, is in part what the story might be about, if it ever gets written. Presently it feels more like a short story idea than anything longer.
Oh yes, since this was conceived as a Covid Diary: our politicians, blessed with the news of a vaccine, are managing to fuck up their messaging, not least by lying.
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Music: According to Spotify, I’ve listened to the Beatles a lot this year which, I must say, surprised me as I don’t remember listening to them much at all. Of all of the Fab Four, the one who’s solo work I have least affinity with is John Lennon, but this is one of his best. I think there have been better versions of this recorded since 1966, notably by Los Lobos and 801, but this hit the airwaves of the day like a bucket of icy water on a sunny day. It’s also a textbook example of why Ringo is such a great drummer.
Tomorrow Never Knows
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