I decide to go to Chappell’s to buy myself a Grigson. For those of you who don’t know, a Grigson is a jazz chord book, where a large number of songs are represented by their chords alone, so you can get several to a page. I really ought to have got one a long time ago, to replace the swiftly disintegrating Real Book in my bag. I take the bus, which turns out to be a bad move on account of the buses being shifted around by an anti-war demo. I go for a 12 to escape having to go down Oxford Street, then find that it’s diverted down Oxford Street anyway. Why it should be fate that I am to go down Oxford street, I don’t know, but I embrace fate and buy myself a pair of shorts from Byright. I presume that that was what fate was getting at. You never really know with fate.
I love Chappell. I don’t know why. I could browse in there for hours.
In these days of databases it really ought to be possible to do a super-Grigson, you know – render all the songs one might want to in a database. That said, it sounds an awful lot like hard work and I’ve got enough of that on my plate at the moment.
I don’t get to the gym on account of trying out all the chords and applying various chord substitution strategies to them. Which sounds a lot more constructive than it actually was.