My gravel mattress and pumice sheets.

I am ten days away from being older than Jimi Hendrix was when he passed on to the power trio ephemeral. This morning I was sat at the bus stop, since I had woken late and was feeling lazy, and the strange thought occurred to me that, again, I was going to get a whole 1 year older. I can’t quite sum up how extremely odd it seemed.

I’m quite at ease with the march of years, although being such a weak person in a social sense I often fain a fear of my increasing age so as to be a bit more like the herd. But really I can’t say it bothers me. I look forward to developing a sense of humour and one day becoming an interesting person. I look forward to being able to hold a conversation with someone and said someone actually believing that I know what I’m talking about. I also look forward to being comfortable with the fact that some people don’t like me. I’ve had to get used to that, but it’s been a process of suppressing that adolescent desire to be liked rather than accepting that the whole issue is just smoke and mirrors.

In a musical sense it feels doubly strange, although maybe that is because it seems so right to be doing what I am doing now that it is an unfamiliar feeling of appropriateness and fruition that is confusing me. I have been in a band making music for about 10 years and it is only just now, in fact it was on the 18th of December specifically, that I feel that I have something to say with it and the ability to express it.

I also have the feeling that this blog is going to be all wistful and contemplative for the next few weeks. Sorry. It’s that time of year you know. And I don’t get out as much as I used to, what with my corns, except down the social on a Tuesday for dominos with Archie and Norman.