JANUARY 28TH, 2005: THE DOOR TO DOOR BACON SALESMAN’S ALMANAC. | ARCHIVE

Hi

More funny days. Not funny ha ha. Funny strange. The weather is trying to do its best to charm the best out of us all, and it’s half-working.

So still that the blades of the faraway wind turbines haven’t turned at all. There they stand, seventeen miles to the southeast; my windmills on the horizon.

I know a good ghostly story that I might tell you. I also had a terrific dream last night; but dreams are so boring in the re-telling that I’ll spare you.

I got up, wheezing badly from not enough sleep. This chest thing is digging in again. My Chinese man is doing everything he can to dig me out, but it might take some time. Maybe that’s why Neil sent me off to California.

I swear I don’t know how it happened. When I went into the office this morning I was full of good intent, with a list of things battering my mental inbox. I kept switching subjects in conversation, mid-paragraph. I don’t think I was making much sense. I was talking about the record, current artwork, accounts, my ‘lecturing’ debut, a.n. other musical project, and how I was going to split my time up and be good and concientious, and I guess I was coughing quite a lot, and Neil said.

“I think you should go to San Francisco.” And I said

“Yes, I think you’re right.”

So I’ll be there on Saturday. Look out for me. I won’t quite have my bucket and spade, but I will have a frisbee that says Haight Ashbury on it. Maybe we could have a game of soccer while I’m out there, or at least we could throw a frisbee around? Watch out for me in GG park near the Glasshouses. Hey, maybe we should do a treasure hunt… no we’ve done that.

I’d like to come to California to record the record. Begin the Beguine. Is it bad luck to come now? Too late, I’m coming. I haven’t told anyone yet.

It was quite a curious thing of Neil to have suggested. He knows I’m broke, what with getting my flat and paying my tax. It’s so perverse of him to suggest that I spend my last pounds on a trip. So perverse that it couldn’t be ignored. It’s in the spirit of this photographer that Marisa was telling me about. (The guy was so famous I can’t remember his name.) When his company was near to going bust he would take the last hundred dollars and put it on a horse, win, and they’d carry on for a while.

I’m not putting the money on a horse, I’m giving it to the airline. I’ve got this emergency scheme that I might put into action when I get home. Indie Foot Massages. I’m going to start my own little boutique where you can come in and get your feet done and chat for a while. There’s a small room free in the office. Kinda like Lucy. The Psychiatrist is IN. Except you get your feet done.

The Psychiatrist is IN

That’s quite a good name for a record.

Mind you, so is

The Door To Door Bacon Salesman’s Almanac.

Better go to my bed. Try to get into that dream again. Hope yours are as sweet.



The Mission no more

Woah! Cancel all operations. I'm sick! Guess my cute little cough virus got smart. He has my whole body to ransom. I ain't going nowhere. (I ain't holding anything in!) Normal service will hopefully be resumed after a few days of California Dreaming.

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