Water Flowing Underground
I’m writing this tonight on a laptop that has taken a notion to be cranky. The machine is ten years old (at least) with a design life of five years, but it has worked reasonably well since the new battery and Windows reinstall some years ago. Fingers crossed I get through this.
There is a Groundhog Day feel about things at the moment. When the day’s excitement is a trip to Sainsbury’s then things are getting grim. Also as I write, the rain has started to hammer on the shed roof. Double grim. And I haven’t mentioned Brexit for a while. Strangely, although I know how that might read, I’m not especially down about this: phlegmatic might be a more apt description. I can’t do anything about the weather, and it’s far too late for anything to be done about Brexit except wait for the tumbrels to roll live on telly, a gruesome variant on the Portillo moment.
Meantime I’ll listen to fifty-year-old music and read and, fingers crossed, write. Same as it ever was. I should note, by the way, that it’s not all fifty-year old music; I did have a listen to Taylor Swift’s Folklore, her most recent album until the one that is, apparently, being released tonight. I thought it was quite good so far as it went, but there wasn’t a lot of variation in tone or mood. I have a lot of time for her, but not so much that album. Your mileage may vary.
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Music: Talking of same as it ever was, here’s Talking Heads and Once In A Lifetime. It bears repeating that, although David Byrne attracts all the attention, the heart of Talking Heads was Tina Weymouth’s bass.
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