Monday, 23 August 2010

old guitars and

For no reason at all, it was old guitars yesterday. Now, those who know me will realise that I mean something from Woolworth's or some body's garage, rather than anything notable or priceless, like a Stradivarius equivalent. We were having breakfast with my friend and fellow singer and guitarist, Michael, and spun back to when we were young (took a lot of spinning) and remembered our very first guitars. Mine was donated to me by some well-wisher with a sense of humour, a friend of one of my brothers, who may (no may about it) have used it for cricket practice at one time. A battered twelve string, it was, with only six strings, which, if I'd known anything about guitars or had any money (more to the point) I might have replaced. But they weren't rusty, they didn't jangle too much, they seemed to be in the right place and tuned up OK, so they stayed with that guitar for some time. It didn't have a case. I constructed one out of a black plastic bag which was easy, you just bung the thing in and throttle the neck with an elastic band so that it doesn't let in the rain. It didn't protect it from the bus journey to practices, of course, the thrusts and jolts, the wheelies round corners, nor did it protect from the slings and arrows, the mockery from fellow passengers. But when the rain fell, boy, that plastic bag was something else. That guitar saw me through years of songs. It was the colour of dog-do which probably matched my playing, so it suited me down to the ground.

Monday, 16 August 2010

all to pot

You know sometimes I amaze myself. My last post wasn't in July at all. Grief! This month is being peppered with posts. If there's a chance that you are reading any of this, then it would be good to hear from you.


So here's the thing

Yes, I realise mid-August and my last post was whenever ago in July. But, I'm the only one reading this so, hey, gimme a break...know what I'm saying? This august month is when, rumour has it, I may get a publisher. Not from my horoscope, by the way (which I'm sure if I read it in a certain way would tell me exactly that, and in any other way, that my dog was about to die) but from my agent, who is as keen as I am to get Megan published, to get her out there on a shelf for a week or so in some well known bookshop. If that ever happens, by the way, then I want you all to promise to at least have a look at it. Buy it even. Move it about on the shelf so it looks as if people are intrigued by it. That sort of thing. If it ever gets on a shelf, I'll be doing that...or should I really stoop that low?

Yes. Low as it takes.

The twinlets are bursting out of their minuscule-tot baby wear I'm happy to say, so now I want them on a bus with their suitcases to come down for a visit. Is that too much to ask? Oh right. Feeding tubes. Well. maybe next month. Come on girls, you can do it!

Done the spell check, but if it's missed any, sorry.

Tuesday, 3 August 2010


So now I have pictures of the twinlets from when they were all tubes and beating-machines to the twin cot they now inhabit, with only the basic equipment to keep them from harm, like doll sized hats and mitts and a nice warm quilt. Their limbs look less like pink pipe-cleaners than they did and more like the real thing. I trust that the wide-eyed, tube-clutching twinlet is the aforementioned Jessica, who seems to seize everything she can and give it a tug, so watch out everyone...hope there are no cats in the place...and the sleepy one is Ailsa who seems to doze through everything, storing up her energy for later, I imagine, for when they're scrapping over a fluffy dinosaur, or the computer, because, of course, they'll be utter whizzes at absolutely everything, though Jessica may simply want to pull the plugs out or something, to see how it works, rather like someone else I know... Anyway, can't wait to see them. There you go! How happy I was just to want to see the pics. Now it's gimme the real thing!! Never satisfied.

All this makes the rejection of a story seem like nothing at all. And it really is nothing at all, in the scheme of such wonders as twinlets and parents and things that go lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub, all on their own. However, I shall diagnose this story's faults. I shall tube feed it, monitor it and then send it back. Besides, the pennies could come in handy, what with dinosaurs to buy. Not without a struggle will I bin this one. I like it. So, stethoscope on...
If I had that editing eye I was rabbitting on about, earlier, I could just whizz it over this and publish. As it is, Ihave only my own, limited version. So pelase exusce eerros.