It's the early hours of Sunday morning, man. What do you want from me, reader? What do you want from anyone at this hour(s)? Go to bed. If you're in bed, go to sleep. And if you're asleep, dream, baby, dream. Nice dreams though.
It's either this or nightmares for me. The last couple of nights I haven't been sleeping right. Maybe it's the weather. They reckon it's going to be a very cold winter.
I've got the TV on. Some prat is playing the flute in a rock band, for everyone's entertainment, no doubt. A circus, apparently. Organized by The Rolling Stones. There's a lot of ego on display. That's the sort of thing you have to watch out for. It can kill creativity, unless you're like Picasso or Beethoven.
Keith Moon is all right. He played the drums like an animal in a puppet show. / There's a pub where The Who used to play twice a week. (My uncle saw them!) And it's empty most days. No pictures of the famous local band on the walls. Christ! Where's the business sense of these people?
And in breaking news ... Oh, there ain't no news. I thought you knew that. / Don't tell me you're at work? Ha! One of the Goldman lot, are you? Why do you do it to yourself? How much money do you need, son? (Or: girl.) You're working yourself to death. Life is very short. None of us are getting any younger.
I'm making slow, slow, slow progress with my new song. The fragments of lyric suggest it's going to be a great love song rather than ... the other idea I had, U2/Cash thing/style. That's fine. I'm cool with it. / Excuse me, what the fuck is Yoko screeching about?! / Sorry, reader. Yeah, I'm cool with a great love song. Bacharach or The Righteous Brothers. Not a problem for me. / Now Jagger's freaking out! / Let's get this off. Yeah. Get some Eno on.
No, hang on. Danny Dyer is on the other side. The guy is comedy gold. Not sure he realizes it ...
It's either this or nightmares for me. The last couple of nights I haven't been sleeping right. Maybe it's the weather. They reckon it's going to be a very cold winter.
I've got the TV on. Some prat is playing the flute in a rock band, for everyone's entertainment, no doubt. A circus, apparently. Organized by The Rolling Stones. There's a lot of ego on display. That's the sort of thing you have to watch out for. It can kill creativity, unless you're like Picasso or Beethoven.
Keith Moon is all right. He played the drums like an animal in a puppet show. / There's a pub where The Who used to play twice a week. (My uncle saw them!) And it's empty most days. No pictures of the famous local band on the walls. Christ! Where's the business sense of these people?
And in breaking news ... Oh, there ain't no news. I thought you knew that. / Don't tell me you're at work? Ha! One of the Goldman lot, are you? Why do you do it to yourself? How much money do you need, son? (Or: girl.) You're working yourself to death. Life is very short. None of us are getting any younger.
I'm making slow, slow, slow progress with my new song. The fragments of lyric suggest it's going to be a great love song rather than ... the other idea I had, U2/Cash thing/style. That's fine. I'm cool with it. / Excuse me, what the fuck is Yoko screeching about?! / Sorry, reader. Yeah, I'm cool with a great love song. Bacharach or The Righteous Brothers. Not a problem for me. / Now Jagger's freaking out! / Let's get this off. Yeah. Get some Eno on.
No, hang on. Danny Dyer is on the other side. The guy is comedy gold. Not sure he realizes it ...
