Oh, and the second Fosca album’s title Diary of An Antibody is a reference to the Grossmith book. I suppose a proper antibody in the human world is a police officer or community worker, but I like to think this suits this the double-edged nature of many Fosca song narrators – or so I attempt, anyway. Everyone thinks they’re doing good, even when they’re doing bad. Or doing nothing.
I have a list of Pledges To The Diary Angels which I’m still honing, but it’ll have to wait till I get back from Cambridge tomorrow.
Yesterday: to the Flask pub in Highgate for drinks with Jennifer C, her boyfriend Chris, Bill M, and their friends Kate, Dan and Hannah. Have started to drink strawberry beer, which has begun to pop up in London bars. Terribly faddy of me, like limited edition chocolate bars. But I don’t entirely dislike it, so I drink it for now. If I order something I don’t entirely like, it’ll last longer than if I order a drink I entirely enjoy and wolf down in minutes. This is actually a variation on something in Andy Warhol’s book From A To B And Back Again. The Andy Warhol Diet is to only eat food you don’t entirely like, and therefore don’t finish, or at least don’t wolf down and ask for seconds.
Noted connections from Friday. While writing my diary, a ladybird crawls onto my hand. I pop into Archway Video and chat with Ms M, who mentions she sometimes leaves the house in her pyjamas, if she’s only popping out to the a shop for a few minutes. I presume this isn’t your actual classic stripey ensemble, but whatever casual layers she wears AS pyjamas.
Looking for a lightbulb in Archway Woolworths, I note the shop sound system is playing Savage Garden. That hit single from years ago that goes “I wanna stand… dum-dum-de-dum-dum, I wanna dum-dum-do-be-dum…” It’s the only pop music I hear all day.
Later at the Flask, we’re talking about relationships when Jen C tells me about a friend of hers dating the Savage Garden singer without realising who he was. She is wearing a ladybird brooch. And a kind of shawl affair which she tells me is effectively her pyjamas.
Jen’s friend Kate P co-edits the long-running literary magazine Ambit, which I’ve bought on occasion over the years. She gives me a gratis copy of the latest issue, No 188. As usual it’s a beautifully made, spined affair with colour plates; half magazine, half book. What I didn’t realise is that it’s put together in Highgate, near the woods. They have little literary parties at the other editor’s place there.
Some mail:
I’ve been idly flicking through some early installments of Dickon’s Diary; is there any way I can get hold of the early Fosca recordings you mention (‘Leopard of Lime Street’, ‘Girl Selfish’ etc)?
Not from me. Those are from my 1998 dark-haired rockist period, when I was trying to make music normal people might like. One should always have a go at being normal, just in case you can do it sincerely. It wasn’t really me though, and the bleach soon came out of the cupboard again. And the Nirvana-y rock songs went away. I’d wince to hear those recordings these days, though I have since recycled the tune to one of those two mentioned above, on the next Fosca album. Waste not.
From reader Mr M, whose idea the Diary Angels was (along with Victoria Clarke):
…asking at the end of the month just as people are getting paid by their slave owners was good timing.
Oh yes, I didn’t realise that.
Right, off to Cambridge I go.
