listening to How to Save a Life by The Fray, by the way.
I was lying on my bed, partaking of some serious navel contemplation.
I pop downstairs for a drink, return to my bed and…
It’s on the floor.
I pick it up, drop it back in to the middle of the bed, sprawl across it untidily (is there any other way?) and do some more contemplation of the navel variety.
now listening to Big Girls Don’t Cry by Fergie.
After a while I lurch more or less perpendicular, drain my drink and head to the bathroom where I wash, clean my teeth and wonder which day this month I’m supposed to take my contact lenses out.
Back to my bed for a spot of reading and…
It’s on the floor.
I pick it up, put it at the head of the bed wondering precisely when it was I misplaced my marbles.
I get undressed, do my exercises, pick up my guitar, get in to bed and do a different kind of exercise.
I seem to have invented a new chord.
It sounds excellent by itself but strangely discordant when arranged back-to-back with any Major chord.
It’s a kind of G-sus-four-and-a-quarter but a semi-tone higher.
Sounds very bluesy.
The Best Is Yet To Come, Clifford T Ward on iTunes now.
He used to be a teacher of English you know.
I get out of bed to put the guitar back in its stand.
Turn around and.
On the floor.
I pick it up and notice a thing.
In the pillow case.
A long, thin thing.
A long, thin, tortoise-shell-coloured thing.
A cat’s tail.
One of the cats has climbed in to the pillow case.
I ease the cat out of the pillow case and show it the door (the cat, not the pillow case).
She takes three steps then turns her head, fixes me with a baleful stare as if to say ‘why the hell didn’t you get me out of there sooner?‘ then flounces off downstairs towards the kitchen.
now listening to Hide Me by Grandadbob.
It’s the second week running I’ve had a girl in my bedroom.
But the maid’s been since last week.
Which means I can’t even smell The Lovely S’s perfume on my sheets.