Well here we jolly well are. After 12 sessions I’ve emerged from the studio clutching 5 brand new songs and squinting at the prospective glare of a brand new day, like an apocalyptic survivor clambering over rubble after a nuclear disaster, I inch ever closer to the light, wondering how much the world has changed since I began recording over a month ago. We now have aircraft like vehicular transport on our dual carriage ways and Manchester United have finally won a trophy, however I notice much of Runcorn’s Old Town has remained as it was before the blast, roads besieged with a cavalcade of potholes and debris, mostly discarded beer cans and unlucky scratchcards. The locals ferret around in their frayed pockets, coughing up lemon sherberts and fidgeting for coloured rocks as this is now currency and the orange burnt glow of the local Booze Buster’s sign buzzes like an old discarded refrigerator, it’s proprietor hunched down behind the counter, awaiting what geology like fayre he will be trading for the merest sip of the old amber nectar. All this seems insignificant now as I have new music, I imagine the good people of the world, those who view music as more than a quick click on Spotify’s shuffle option, the purists, the connoisseurs, they enjoy it, they share it with friends, they buy tickets for my gigs and proudly display their Far North T-shirts to all and sundry. I imagine too much, I get ahead of myself and end up lost in a fantastical daydream of being a full time musician, plying what I’ve done for the last 30 years up and down the country like I always have, but now it pays the bills and I have the slightest hint of self esteem.
Dream a little dream for me.
Till next time, all the best.