I’m not looking after myself at the moment. My rib is so much better, thankfully, but it’s still mending. I sneezed twice today with no painkillers, and both times it was shit but manageable. But there’s details like the fact that the torn out quick of my thumb has gone septic to the extent I’m on antibiotics. My body can only do so much. It’s trying…
Right now I’m sitting on the sofa beside a box of 100 assorted glowsticks. I’m trying to switch my head into packing for Wilderness Festival, but tomorrow I’m off to Leeds to teach teachers which is a totally different headspace. Meantime I’m still coming to terms with quite how much I hated working at the golf. Plus my septic thumb hurts and the last thing I feel I’m ready for right now is four nights in a tent. But perhaps it’s what I need. It will be relaxing if I let it be relaxing. But I’ve been trying to wind down for days and not really managing.
So I’m sitting at home, missing loads of people I love who are doing beautiful things at Gerry’s in Soho. There’s an evening of sharing, poetry and music, fronted by some deeply lovely people. It will be beautiful. In fact, fuck it. I’m going. Yes I’m working tomorrow. Yes I feel sad and weird and a bit sick. Best reason. I’ve just booked an uber. I’m walking out the door. You’re getting this live, kids.
I’m in the uber. With Abraham. He must have farted just before I got in. Bastard. He was trying to hot box me with it but I expressed disgust vocally (by mistake) and reached for the window switch. He immediately dropped all four windows and guiltily asked “Are you okay?” He’ll still get 5 stars because this is England. If he knifed me and stole my clothes it might drop to 4 stars. 3 stars? Genocide.
I’ve hit Gerry’s. This little tiny glorious underground club in Soho. I’ve rehearsed here. I’ve had bitter arguments here. I’ve laughed here. I’ve sang here. Now I’m live blogging here. They just tried to make me sit in the front row but tonight I am the dude that sits at the back and let’s the sexy people be sexy while I write about them. It’s The Amazing Devil next. New material. This is Maddy and Robbie and band. They were staying in my flat when they put down their first album. Their first album is bloody great. Get it.
They’ve started now. “Give me back my heart you wingless thing.” It’s a highly performative classical folk rock life passion smash act. Maddy is one of the most connected and immediate performers I know, across the board. The gig, even here in this tiny room, is being executed with utter conviction passion and skill. Someone needs to put these guys on a festival stage. My mood is changing. I’m going to let it change and drop my blog until later.
Glorious. I’m still feeling sick but it’s happy sick now. Although a smidgeon too close to nauseous to be entirely comfortable. And I keep sneezing. I’m not particularly well, in the final analysis. Ach well. I have talented and passionate friends. The Amazing Devil amongst them. I just hope I’m not sick in the bus home.