2008-07-25T16:17:00.001+01:00

The Tour de France makes me want to ride my bike. It makes me want to get all Lycra-clad and find the nearest damn impossible hill and climb it with ecstatic commentary by Phil Ligget and Paul Sherwin ringing in my ears. It makes me want to race from the pack in a 200-kilometre breakaway that fools the main contenders and throws me up into overall contention. It makes me want to lead the pack through braying crowds on an Alpine pass. The Spanish and Italian fans going wild and throwing water everywhere, having been sat drinking on the hillside for two days just to watch us go past. It makes me want to sit on a hillside for two days just to watch the peleton whiz and then wheeze past. It makes me want to take drugs that make my blood redder than a matador's cape. Today I've done none of these things - Richard and Judy are on next.

2008-07-24T19:28:00.002+01:00

Another day within the confines of the flat. Well, had to pop out for cat food or risk Barney's eternal grudge. Tasha I fear is a lost cause. She will never forgive me, but maintains a stubbornly tight lip as to why. No Tour on the TV on account of the rest day. Did some tidying and then started on a new tune. For about the tenth time I sat down with the sole purpose of writing a discordant, uncomfortable, Black Dice type of tune. For about the tenth time I have utterly failed. It's turned into a bit of a Bjork rip-off actually, from around Homogenic. I can cope with this. Need to write lyrics though and as I sat down to write them, I completely nodded off. I guess I am still a bit sick. Two naps in one day either indicate illness or the racing onset of old age. I hope I'm sick (which I know I am). So a half-tidy flat, some cat food and a Bjork-by-numbers tune under my belt. Today's looking far more productive than I'd thought upon waking (for the second time).

Ebbs and Flows