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17. 17th January 2025. More vinyl

And now it's today, still, and I'm writing about today.  David Lynch died last night. 78 and not unexpected, he'd been diagnosed with COPD (or similar) and was now unable to leave the house. But sad. A towering genius, a man who approached life on his own terms; you may not have needed to watch everything he ever made but the world was a better place for having him in it.  Add David's passing to that of Tony Slattery and Linda Nolan in the last few days, both really sad moments, people who'd been there for so long, Tony having seemingly passed through a terrible period (decades apparently) in his life and got to the other side only to be taken so swiftly, Linda after 20 years of recurring illness. Joan Plowright about twenty minutes ago, 95 but a giant of her industry.  And then there's Alan Stocks. Lots of things at the Royal Court. Known well and loved by so many people I know; I only met Alan very briefly once or twice, passing on the way in to the theatre or...
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16. 16th January 2025 - a bit of a fib if we're being honest

 It's Friday now. Not Thursday. So this is me writing about yesterday. Which started with waking up at 3. Think it was cat related. Sure it was cat related. Whatever it was, it left me awake. Which meant that when I went back to bed I slept late. Which meant there was no run because there was no time. There was breakfast, then there was making lunch and heading out.  After some MIH rewrites. The afternoon was the Creative Writing class at Spider, then a 4.30 Anfield Wrap, a bit of tea (Philharmonic pub, fish and chips, a long way from impressive.) and a judging spell at 'What Happens Next' festival.  Said to J around 11am, "I'm not in the mood for the day. The day was wondrous. Joyous. All the good things.  The writing prompts for Spider were excellent, just worked. Two five minute quick burst on 'It's Going To Be Great' and the creation of an acrostic. I'd intended cut ups for the second half, brought in 12 copies of Metro with me for that purpose....
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15, January 15th 2025. The numbers will make more sense as time passes.

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 That's the first single from Edwyn Collins' 10th solo album. "Knowledge". I hadn't intended writing about that today. Because I didn't know it existed until an hour ago.  It's gorgeous for... like, a million reasons. The first verse isn't the most poetic lyric you've ever heard; it's simplistic, it's obvious. Until he says "I don't feel safe, I don't have faith" then he moves somewhere else.  The voice is the voice of a man in his 60s. A man who's been through a lot. "In my youth I was shy and awkward, anyhow I made it count, the point is keep on going, it's the same for everyone." It's a reflection on life, on living, on where you've come to, where you've been, what you've gone through.  And Edwyn's been through a lot; a series of strokes that nearly killed him, that left him without speech, that resulted in aphasia, the inability to produce or understand speech through brain damage....
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14. 14th January 2025. A note from the past.

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And sometimes social media can be brilliant. As much as I've abandoned Twitter, am considering bailing on Facebook, can't see the point of Instagram and Threads is just... weird. (My 'For You' feed just seems to be full of people announcing the deaths of loved ones, which is awful and moving and infinitely sad but I have no idea why it's being pushed toward me. I empathise massively but it's not my sadness and I'm not sure that it wants to sit with me. Maybe it's a lesson in something? I don't know.) But Bluesky. I received a reply to a post on Bluesky, from a lad asking if he could have my email. That he had something to send me that was Blue Nile related.  I followed him, messaged my email to him and received an email telling me what my 'Get Into This' piece on The Blue Nile meant to him, where he is in his life that it spoke to him.  You don't need the details. They're his details.  But it's one of the most beautiful, moving em...
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13. 13TH January. The turntablist

It occurs to me that at some point, I'm going to actually need a new turntable. The really nice Technics I got for a bargain on eBay has had a loose wire since day one. And we're a long way from day one now. The left channel drops out, distorts, vanishes. At least I think it's the left channel. It's the channel on my left as I face the speakers. Which probably makes it the right channel.  I got the deck for about £50. Which was a bargain. Didn't know I'd need a pre-amp. Which cost me about £120. Or a decent cable, which cost me about £40. And a new head shell. And a new stylus. Don't try to save money, it doesn't work.  The whole thing died again this afternoon, just as I sat down to write. Took the pre amp apart, put it back together again. Pain in the arse. One good idea though - took the MacBook into town with me. The half hour gap between finishing the 'Team talk show' (always nice to see Mr Sutton on a show) and starting the 'main show...
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12. 12th January (well, 3.15am 13th Jan)

 Monday morning. 3.15am.  I didn't get up to write this. That'd be ridiculous.  I didn't get out of bed, pull on my dressing gown, sit is a far too cold study (rather than boot up the MacBook and sit at the still fairly chilly dining table, just to catch up on the fact I didn't write a diary entry yesterday (when I was having a lovely quiet, calm day), that wasn't playing on my mind. At all. No, I'm here now because I woke up (I think I woke up, I may not have actually slept yet, which is annoying since I'm up at 8am for an early Anfield Wrap) and my mind went, "You know what's wrong with act one in the pitch NOW?" Which is a troubling thought as my deadline for this is Friday and all I've written so far is act one. Therefore, why not tweak it again. "The reality of their outside lives," I thought, "is still not there. That idea that they do something other than THIS VERY MOMENT, that the theatre asked for? You haven't gi...
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11. 11th January.

 A 12:15 kick off. 3rd round of the FA cup. Freezing getting there. Freezing being there. Freezing doing the Pink afterwards. Freezing walking back to the car. Back in before 4. Lunch after breakfast. Pretty much right after. Tea by 6. By 8 I feel like absolute shite. Eyes heavy, totally bunged up. Stomach awful. Which I think I'm ascribing to the terrible 'potato and meat (they're not even pretending anymore) pie.   Could seriously do without coming down with something, got three Anfield Wraps, a writing class, two nights of judging What Happens Next and a deadline.  Illness would be quite inconvenient. Massive intention to be better tomorrow.  Beat Accrington Stanley 4-0. Decent enough. Through to the 4th round. All that matters really. 
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