Mumbling Into The Void (slight return)

 That's a message to self. Mally's birthday unattended on Saturday, a request for a TAW show turned down this morning. Haven't walked more than 30 yards in a week, been nowhere, hardly left the house. And now the worst stomach I've had in ages. Brilliant. So the message to self is, stop whinging, concentrate on the good stuff.  Genuinely good weekend, though J's going through the worst of the virus at the moment. Watched a lot of TV, read a fair bit, learned a couple of country licks and - in the middle of watching a note overly great Motown doc (with stunning bits) - The Temptations' My Girl riff. As with most works of genius, it's easier and more obvious than you'd expect. The wonder is thinking of it and making it work. Why be tricksy when you can catch people? That's why Zappa is a minority interest, and Northern Soul makes your hear leap - one wants to be clever, the other just wants to 'be'. So, today, back to DD act two. With a bit of ...

 I can feel a little energy returning.  Unfortunately, J now has it. And she has no choice but to keep working. Which is massively unfair. I can indulge in feeling shit, she can't.  But there's no way we're making Mally's 60th tomorrow - it'd be wrong to take this large into a party.  Last night - the planets aligning in a fantastically clear sky. No idea which planet was which but tink we had a once in a lifetime view. That followed by watching the SNL 50th concert. All a bit self congratulatory but topped off by Nirvana doing Teen Spirit with Post Malone doing a fine job filling in for Kurt, then Arcade Fire with St Vincent and David Byrne with Heroes followed by Wake Up. As ever, Win Butler (who we seem to have forgotten was problematic, was there a resolution to that? Was it shown that he actually wasn't?) tries too hard. J pointed out that he has Simon LeBon qualities, I tink Bono. Not really a rock star but LOOK AT ME! Wake Up is great though.  Highlight o...

 So tonight's the night I'm not going to see Sturgill Simpson with our Tom. I drove to Boots in Aintree before and that nearly destroyed me. Chances of me making Mal's 60th diminishing by the moment.  It's not covid. I know that 'cause I took a test. Not entirely sure what would have altered if it had been positive, other than knowing why I feel so shit. And the response from FB has been that so bloody many have got the same thing. Everyone's wiped out, people cancelling stuff through sickness when they normally never would. This is the new new new normal then? The first draft of DD limped over the finishing line yesterday. Act two feels short, and weak. The illness permeated the script and everything got sad. Which is sound in parts, parts are supposed to be sad, but the whole? Wasn't gelling. First set of rewrites today, get on the way to a finished first draft. If I can be arsed that is. J thinks I should just do nothing. Shack announcement last night - a...

 This James Brown lad's good isn't he? Could go far. And that's just on the jazz blues RnB stuff, wait till I get to disc 2 of the box set and he invents the actual funk.  Just given the ticket for tonight's game, which could be such a glorious atmosphere, to our Josh. There's no way I'm walking from the car to the ground, then sitting there for two hours before walking back - couldn't hack it. Walking upstairs is tiring.  Feeling my age. Actually feeling slightly better this morning. So, just shite rather than absolute shite.  All word from last night's guest night for Peaceful Hour massive positive, have to make sure I see it next week. Giving away a match ticket, giving away a gig ticket, turning down a freebie so I can pay for it - expensive infection (insert laughing wildly emoji) On the positive though? Positive moves re MIH this morning, London suddenly very much a thing.  More of this please, less of the moaning. 

 There's no way of typing the word 'Ill' without it looking like the Roman numeral for 3. Call of Duty before bed? Appalling idea. Played till 11.30 last night, went to bed. Came down again at 1. Back to bed at 1.30, awake till somewhere around 5. Not helping the general torpor, not bringing light into the world.  Writing script but the illness appears to be bleeding into it.  Listening to the U2 Eno album 'Passengers', which is better than the 2nd disc of their debut Boy reissue - god that stuff's dated. Sometimes there's a reason that tracks weren't released at the time.  Cancelled going to see The Peaceful Hour tonight (missing guest night, rubbish), cancelled an Anfield Wrap this morning, given Tom my Sturgill Simpson ticket for him to do with as he pleases - the idea of driving to Manchester, standing for three hours, driving back, does not appeal. May well be letting Josh have my season ticket for the Newcastle game tomorrow, watch from the warmth ...

Nothing for two days again. The weekend a write off. Other than the footy, obviously. A 2-0 win away at City where we were happy to cede them the majority of the possession, knowing that they could do nothing with it, is not to be sniffed at. The rest of the weekend though? Plenty of sniffing, sneezing, blowing, coughing. Wiped out, feverish. The hideous cold I had last Monday and shook off in 24 hours came back with a vengeance.  I'm about two hours away from deciding that I seriously can't go to the Royal Court for the Peaceful Hour guest night to borrow and telling them to let my tickets go, ditto cancelling tomorrow's TAW. I'm just not up to it.  Nor am I up to writing. But. J works through these things because she has no alternative. And I've always worked through everything. So work through it I will.  Awake at 5am with thoughts on additions/alterations to make to Derby Days act one, thought of getting up and writing them there and then. Didn't. And now I ...