Consquently I can hear myself.

Today I manage to get up at 9:30, then do my sitting. I’m beginning to lose sympathy with myself.

I do my practise after lunch. I forget to set the timer running so I have to try to remember about when I started and then be a bit overgenerous about when I finish. Also the screensaver on the computer comes on after half an hour, so that’s a bit of a hint.

Further corrections to Pirate Pete appear throughout the day, and I do them in the late afternoon.

The bathroom light has decided to join in the flat-falling-to-pieces fun, and it takes a while after I pull the cord for the light to come on. Oh, joy. Actually, with each setback I’m becoming more and more amused – as I describe it to someone later, it’s a bit like a karaoke evening where the performers are getting worse and worse and for a while it’s painful, and then you start to feel a hysterical laughter building up inside you. It’s like that.

That might just be me, though, I’ll admit that much.

In the evening I go down to the Three Stags for the open mike. Tonight it’s a lot quieter than last week – I elect to go on first, before the bulk of the people from Morley turn up. Consquently I can hear myself and unlike last night this isn’t too much of a chore. I do Secret Agent, Unison and Comforting Lie. I still haven’t spoken to the manager about the possibility of doing Sunday afternoons, but it appears that the place is turning into a bit of a jazz venue – Thursdays and Saturdays as well.

I’m playing the classical, which I haven’t really used for a while. On the one hand it’s a fuller sound (potentially), but I have to get used to the action again (very high compared to steel string guitars) and there is a thwack to the sound, particularly on Comforting Lie that is, perhaps, less than flattering.

It all appears to appeal to the people present, anyway. I make the ritual instruction to myself to write more material, or at least finish some of those songs I’ve started.

I receive an email from a friend when I get home: so much nicer than getting all those messages from lists, scammers companies that you bought something from a long time ago in a fit of weakness and pornographers. Actually the emails from pornographers are on the increase – when I look at the mails on arrival I have to try to remember whether or not I actually know anyone who might call themselves “Naughty Nicole” or “Lucy Lips” or whatever before deleting the message. I doubt that it would go down too well if I got it wrong: “Sorry, I didn’t read your very important message, I mistook it for porn spam”. Grr.