Tuesday, 18 September 2012

What on earth is this John Chatfeild-Roberts at Jupiter?

No one told me, but now I find out. Yes, I find out about the existence of ... Chatfeild-Roberts. And at Jupiter! The home of financial shamans! And he's the chief investment officer! And he's been there for years! Oh, he's never been a-ROUND, of course. Something's not right, is it? How can he be explained?

I guess what's bothering me is the "e" before the "i". I don't like it! I think it's sinister. If we were dealing with Chatfield-Roberts, I could go to bed and get a good night's sleep, but - 'Forget about sleep, Mikey. You've got to find out why this absurd creature is called Chatfeild-Roberts, with that sinister "e" before the "i". Oh man, he gives me the creeps, I don't mind saying.' Yes, thank you, Voice. I think it's a bit strong your describing him as an absurd creature. There's probably a very reasonable explanation. 'You reckon? Don't kid yourself, Mikey. You know what goes on, how these "people" come out of nowhere with their hellish names and nutty job titles, expecting decent, God-fearing folk like us to believe in the reality of it all. I'm sick of it!' All right, Voice, that's enough. / I'll call one of my mates at Jupiter in the morning. 'Simple Simon?' Simon Somerville. He might be able to help me.


Let me write about something else to take my mind of John. Just for a short while, until I feel sleepy. Music.

I'm listening to Neil Young's Harvest Moon. / Didn't get far with my guitar/songs yesterday. I don't know if I can write songs and this blog at the same time. I haven't got the energy. I should exercise more. I have a punch bag. I'll find a solution. / I think my first "new" song was too good. I'm struggling to reach that level again. However, I've got to because: that's the level of the great songwriters. (I refuse to be a mediocrity.) And my next song will be even better. I keep telling you (and myself) that the music is finished. I just need the lyrics. Words, words, words ...

My goal is to have three songs on the demo, each one better than your average songwriter's (these days) best song ever. I don't mean guys like Dylan, Young, McCartney, Bacharach; I mean, well, I won't mention any names. Listen to the charts. Use your imagination.

What time is it? I'm tired. I'm yawning, man ...