Still dragging my self unwillingly from my bed.
I have to deliver something to the Tyrannical Tim at Tyrany Towers, so I avail myself of the opportunity to drop by The Dover Bookshop where I browse woodcut books and pick up a copy of the hugely wonderful book How to Fold – many many royalty-free packaging designs, which I hope to steal for some of my bespoke CD covers.
Down the road from The Dover Bookshop is Orc’s nest, where I buy more RPG dice (which I use to make decisions when I can’t be bothered to do it myself) and over the road from that is Fopp so I spend valuable time and money in there accumulating the following CDs:
- The Beach Boys: Sunflower/Surf’s Up
- Elvis Costello and Burt bacharach: Painted From Memory
- Jimmy Giuffre: Western Suite
- Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks: Where’s the Money
- Barney Kessell: Kessell Plays Standards
- King Crimson: In the Court of the Crimson King
- John Mclaughlin and Shakti: Shakti
- Vivian Stanshall: Sir Henry at Ndidi’s Kraal
- Van Der Graaf Generator: H to He Who Am the Only One
And I felt rather restrained. Didn’t want to go too mad. I catch a 176 home and listen to my new acquisitions while I try to catch up with Stuff.
In the evening there’s a final run-through at the Three Stags. I’m feeling more together than I did the last couple, although there’s no drummer tonight and I have to say, for a blues, Au Privave is pretty damn scary. I feel a lot happier than I did on Monday night, though, partly because I get to vent. Some noodling and a bit of croonery. That life could be this good all the time.