The human mind and the human body are, of course, at constant war. The mind organises all sorts of delights and the body decides that it’s a good time to go to sleep, then after lights out when the schedule says it’s time to sleep, the body comes to the conclusion that it wants to go on a five mile run. The mind organises a complicated timetable of demanding activities and the body decides that it’s going to succumb to some debilitating disease. Oh, alright, a mild ‘flu isn’t technically a debilitating disease; I realise I’m going to get an award for Hypochondria Above and Beyond from the Royal Society of Drama Queens and a stern warning from the W.H.O. for saying that, but you know what I mean.
Which is my way of saying that the Lurgi continues to develop into something deeper and more satisying while at the same time I need to be several quite widely spaced places throughout the course of the day.
Firstly, I was going to go into Walker extra-early to try to finish the Maisy job, which is in danger of turning into a life-time vocation. The bod vetoes that by the simple expedient of refusing to move when I ask it to. “Up?” it says, “Up? I know no Up. All I know is prone“. So I scrap the early rise and leave the bod to its own devices.
Eventually I struggle out of bed and enlist the help of the Aged P to get me, the Will Q bass, my amp and a rucksack across to Dave’s for a Jeays rehearsal for the Vortex gig tomorrow night. We do tea, tunes and biscuits for a bit.
The biscuits are often the most important part of a rehearsal. Ms Coffey, for example, provides us with Jaffa Cakes.
From there, over to Walker in a state of Lurgi-induced zombification, where I work my way through the rest of the preparation for print. I get it to some state of togetherness, but not what Est-ers would consider completion. Anyway, I’m not needed for a few days, apparantly. Now I have to drag the Bass gear over to the Three Stags (on the way home, thankfully) for the Jam. I’ve missed the run-through, but that’s all right, because for a while it seems that we’re going to have to do a different set because the drummer’s late.
I have played worse. I have played better. At least I was able to count the bars successfully, but then in cases where everybody has their own idea of where in the song they are, the strongest personality wins. For example, Albert the Octogenarian sings the lines whenever he feels like it and the whole band has to jump to follow him. It’s very educational.
Anyway, we were a bit raggedy… no, wait, I was very raggedy indeed, which might have had an effect on the other players. Or perhaps the raggediness was all in my head.
Then I drag the equipment home, find a place for it, check my email and the Bod can reacquaint itself with prone.