A reminder: Fosca are playing the Brixton Windmill on Weds Aug 1st, part of the Spiral Scratch club night. It’s our first headlining gig in London for a long time. Do come. We don’t play very often.
The Fosca Myspace page now features two new songs from the latest sessions: ‘Kim’ and ‘Come Down From The Cross’. We have one more mixing session with Alexander M, then the album is done. After that, the hunt for a suitable label begins. I’m wary of new indie labels who might rip us off: we’ve had our fingers burnt before. It would have to be someone with a track record. We also need to commission some decent CD and booklet artwork, so the album is worth owning aesthetically.
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The Latitude Festival in Suffolk has booked me twice. Once as a DJ, one half of The Beautiful & Damned with Miss Red. We’re doing sets every evening from the Thursday (July 12th) to the Sunday, in the Cabaret Arena.
In addition, I’m now reviewing selected acts in the Literary and Film tents, for the Mean Fiddler’s Latitude website.
Only problem is, I now need to find accommodation for the Thursday night. My parents take over the Southwold cottage from the Friday. It seems silly to have to procure a whole tent and sleeping bag for one night only.
The writing job comes with a weekend ticket. This latter is rather surplus to my requirements as I’m already booked as a performer, with guest passes. So I need to somehow swap this ticket for accommodation on the Thursday. Any advice to the normal address, please.
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Someone emails me to ask if I’m aware of Stephen King’s On Writing. Yes, indeed: it’s a truly brilliant guide to the craft. His sense of uncluttered, informal urgency is infectious, and it’s the only Stephen King book that the London Library will stock. Though I’m not so sure about the bit where he recommends writing to the sound of AC/DC and Metallica. For aural wallpaper, I’m more of an ambient and classical fan: stuff from Radio 3’s Late Junction, William Basinski, and so on.
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Smoking inside public places is now banned. The nearby pubs now have buckets of sand outside their doors. The TV is riddled with adverts for helplines, nicotine gum and so forth. I don’t mind either way, finding the self-righteous rants on both sides a bit boring. I still smoke very occasionally, usually when I’ve had a few drinks and someone has offered me a cigarette. I like the close camaraderie of the shared smoke, but then I like close camaraderie of any kind.
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On a tube train, I leaf through The London Paper – my personal rule is to never accept a copy from one of the notoriously pushy vendors, because I’m principled against the waste, the litter and the aggressive distribution of free newspapers in London. But picking up a copy on the train is fine, says my rule. Three articles in a recent issue are either about Facebook, or refer to Facebook. So at least Facebook is definitely useful for something: getting paid for writing umpteen articles about it.
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Kate D works at a school in King’s Cross. She says teachers no longer ask an unruly class to shut up, as ‘shut up!’ is what modern children are constantly saying to each other already (as observed by Little Britain and Catherine Tate).
Instead, when teachers need to call a class to order, they clap their hands: the one sound that cuts through. Presumably kids don’t play clapping games anymore.
