Well, he's leaving soon. / Isn't it amazing how many people in banking have "other interests"? They're not the grey, boring souls the media make them out to be. But God knows what Rupert will do next! I reckon he should stay at Schroders. 'Why? He might get into music, like you, Mikey.' I doubt it, Voice. He doesn't look the type. 'You've seen him then?' Yeah, in my dreams. 'Oh, it's like that, is it?' Not really. They were nightmares.
Anyway, Philip Mallinckrodt has taken over as chief executive. I've been going through my archive. I thought I had written a post about Phil, but I can't find it. 'Maybe it's one of the posts you deleted.' Yeah, which makes me nervous. Why would I delete a post about Philip Mallinckrodt? 'Maybe he's evil, and you got to the point where you couldn't cope with that evil a moment longer. You wanted him gone. So you banished him from the blog!' No, there are plenty of posts about Jack Pickles, and he was really evil. I haven't deleted those posts, have I? 'Maybe you imagined it, man.' Eh? 'Mikey, you're always imagining shit that has never happened. Who says you wrote a post about Phil?' I've just got a feeling, Voice, you know? Somewhere deep inside. 'You and your feelings! You need to focus on finishing your songs, boy. Forget feelings! It's feelings, emotions all over the shop, that are holding you back.' What?! 'You need to get a grip.' Whatever, Voice. Whatever.
Maybe I had nightmares about Phil, and ... 'Oh, don't do it to yourself. What are you having for lunch?' Egg sandwich. 'Nice.' Then I might play my guitar. / I've been thinking: a lot of the greatest songs don't have choruses, like Summertime, and By The Time I Get To Phoenix, and Yesterday, and Spanish Harlem. My new tune doesn't have a chorus, and it's a great tune. I need to write a special lyric for it. That's why I can't rush it. 'Rush it?!' Shut up, Voice!
Anyway, Philip Mallinckrodt has taken over as chief executive. I've been going through my archive. I thought I had written a post about Phil, but I can't find it. 'Maybe it's one of the posts you deleted.' Yeah, which makes me nervous. Why would I delete a post about Philip Mallinckrodt? 'Maybe he's evil, and you got to the point where you couldn't cope with that evil a moment longer. You wanted him gone. So you banished him from the blog!' No, there are plenty of posts about Jack Pickles, and he was really evil. I haven't deleted those posts, have I? 'Maybe you imagined it, man.' Eh? 'Mikey, you're always imagining shit that has never happened. Who says you wrote a post about Phil?' I've just got a feeling, Voice, you know? Somewhere deep inside. 'You and your feelings! You need to focus on finishing your songs, boy. Forget feelings! It's feelings, emotions all over the shop, that are holding you back.' What?! 'You need to get a grip.' Whatever, Voice. Whatever.
Maybe I had nightmares about Phil, and ... 'Oh, don't do it to yourself. What are you having for lunch?' Egg sandwich. 'Nice.' Then I might play my guitar. / I've been thinking: a lot of the greatest songs don't have choruses, like Summertime, and By The Time I Get To Phoenix, and Yesterday, and Spanish Harlem. My new tune doesn't have a chorus, and it's a great tune. I need to write a special lyric for it. That's why I can't rush it. 'Rush it?!' Shut up, Voice!
