I said that myself the other day when loads of spiders were trying to get into my bedroom, but this old fuddy duddy is going on about sales reps from fund management companies being all rude and that and not knowing anything. It's very annoying. I'm afraid I have to take my hat off to these reps if they truly don't know anything about finance because who in their right mind would want to know anything about finance? / The sun is shining, for Christ's sake! You only have one life. Get out there in the sunshine!
I was out in the sunshine yesterday, but I won't be today. (I went to Chiswick. It's amazing how many fit birds come out when the sun's shining. Have you noticed that, dear reader? It's their hormones, I suppose. I'm no scientist, but it has to be their hormones.) I've got a big conceptual to do after lunch, No. 19. I'll probably do No. 20 tomorrow because I want to get to twenty before I take my summer holiday - even though I'm not going anywhere.
I'm listening to Neil Young. Songs like Revolution Blues, Ambulance Blues, Cortez The Killer. Great stuff. Not like the pop hits I'm trying to write, but great for listening to. I wonder what that old fuddy duddy listens to. Probably Barry Manilow.
I wish I could go to Cornwall, and stay there. I've had enough of this craphole. I will get out eventually. Get rich or die tryin'. If 50 Cent can go from being a crack dealer to whatever he is now with hundreds of millions of dollars, I can certainly make £20 million or so from my songs (in the first five to ten years). I've got to be more disciplined. I've got to stop f**king around. (I blanked those letters out for Philippa. She might read this. I don't want to upset her.) Let me have my holiday, then I'll get my s**t together.
I was out in the sunshine yesterday, but I won't be today. (I went to Chiswick. It's amazing how many fit birds come out when the sun's shining. Have you noticed that, dear reader? It's their hormones, I suppose. I'm no scientist, but it has to be their hormones.) I've got a big conceptual to do after lunch, No. 19. I'll probably do No. 20 tomorrow because I want to get to twenty before I take my summer holiday - even though I'm not going anywhere.
I'm listening to Neil Young. Songs like Revolution Blues, Ambulance Blues, Cortez The Killer. Great stuff. Not like the pop hits I'm trying to write, but great for listening to. I wonder what that old fuddy duddy listens to. Probably Barry Manilow.
I wish I could go to Cornwall, and stay there. I've had enough of this craphole. I will get out eventually. Get rich or die tryin'. If 50 Cent can go from being a crack dealer to whatever he is now with hundreds of millions of dollars, I can certainly make £20 million or so from my songs (in the first five to ten years). I've got to be more disciplined. I've got to stop f**king around. (I blanked those letters out for Philippa. She might read this. I don't want to upset her.) Let me have my holiday, then I'll get my s**t together.
