Where have you been my blue eyed son... This has nothing to do with Dylan at all.

I bet you've all been desperately wondering where I've been all week? No? You shock me.

Well, the weekend was truly fucking awful, bringing with it no iPod (as you all know) and the death of John Spencer, which left me truly rattled. All I can say is that I've watched every episode of The West Wing currently available on DVD (seasons 1-6) so many times that I suppose I have a great deal of affection for all of the characters, but perhaps none quite like that for the Great Survivor himself, Leo. The show will go on, I'm sure, but it won't be remotely the same. It survived losing Sam well enough, but I don't know how it'll be without Leo. God go with you, Leo and John both.

Onto where I've been all week. On Monday, I was given the afternoon off to go to a real music practice studio for a dress rehearsal. A dress rehearsal for what, I hear you ponder, scritching your head with piqued interest. Well, I will tell you.

Every year, the people I work for, The MCPS-PRS Alliance have themselves a Christmas gig, being that as an integral part of the music industry (they collect royalties for musicians), they have quite a few musically-minded people. And this  year, I was second on the bill. Yes, that's right. I sang. I sang so early that most people weren't there. However, my new pal Kathy was there and took pictures for me. Would you like to see?

You would? Excellent.

( Pictures Here. There are eleven and they are big. )

Anyway, then on Wednesday, I went to meet my Very Best Friend In The Whole Wide World, Natasha at Euston. She'd come down to Slough to see her sister and some of her family before taking said sister to see Mark Owen at the Islington Academy. Yes, my best friend who lives 250 miles away, was ten minutes away listening to a former Take That dancer singing while I was doing my thing. If I weren't such a fan, I'd think Irony a bitch.

Also, Natasha got me THE BEST Christmas present. A copy, almost pristine, of the Thin Lizzy World Tour 1980 official tour programme. Can you believe it? It's like the perfect present for me! I feel like giving her the book A History of Hollywood just pales in comparison, but I'm so shite at getting gifts for people.

The programme also got the bloke I sit by at work to tell me his Thin Lizzy story. He knows/knew one of the band's secretaries and was at her 21st birthday party. So was one P. Lynott. Nobody, including Work Dude went and talked to Philip at all. Now, maybe he was in no mood to talk. Maybe he was stoned out of his head. Maybe, maybe. But don't you feel bad for my boy? He goes to this party and nobody talks to him? Even if they were just scared of talking to this Big Rock Star, it can't have felt great to be ignored/whatever. My poor boy. However, my sympathy is dented slightly by the story Work Dude told me next that said secretary related to him regarding Philip. I shan't betray what might be a confidence, but suffice to say my boy comes off entirely as the puffed up selfish rock star the more cynical among us expect guys like him to be.

Speaking of, there is no way those of you who asked for cards will get them before Christmas, or even New Year. There's a very good reason for this: I haven't sent them yet. I haven't been able to spend my full lunch hour in the queue at the post office, and I still can't find Cadey or Eb's addresses. Libbie, you'll have to wait a little longer for your Flakes, I'm afraid, but I have bought a cool box to put them in.

Love and hugs to you all, when I speak to you next, I'll be back at home. Probably next week after I've actually had some sleep.

PS. Meant to ask, anyone know the best way to get rid of the demonic, glowing red-eye in my pictures? Perhaps in photoshop?

Where have you been my blue eyed son... This has nothing to do with Dylan at all.

I bet you've all been desperately wondering where I've been all week? No? You shock me.

Well, the weekend was truly fucking awful, bringing with it no iPod (as you all know) and the death of John Spencer, which left me truly rattled. All I can say is that I've watched every episode of The West Wing currently available on DVD (seasons 1-6) so many times that I suppose I have a great deal of affection for all of the characters, but perhaps none quite like that for the Great Survivor himself, Leo. The show will go on, I'm sure, but it won't be remotely the same. It survived losing Sam well enough, but I don't know how it'll be without Leo. God go with you, Leo and John both.

Onto where I've been all week. On Monday, I was given the afternoon off to go to a real music practice studio for a dress rehearsal. A dress rehearsal for what, I hear you ponder, scritching your head with piqued interest. Well, I will tell you.

Every year, the people I work for, The MCPS-PRS Alliance have themselves a Christmas gig, being that as an integral part of the music industry (they collect royalties for musicians), they have quite a few musically-minded people. And this  year, I was second on the bill. Yes, that's right. I sang. I sang so early that most people weren't there. However, my new pal Kathy was there and took pictures for me. Would you like to see?

You would? Excellent.

( Pictures Here. There are eleven and they are big. )

Anyway, then on Wednesday, I went to meet my Very Best Friend In The Whole Wide World, Natasha at Euston. She'd come down to Slough to see her sister and some of her family before taking said sister to see Mark Owen at the Islington Academy. Yes, my best friend who lives 250 miles away, was ten minutes away listening to a former Take That dancer singing while I was doing my thing. If I weren't such a fan, I'd think Irony a bitch.

Also, Natasha got me THE BEST Christmas present. A copy, almost pristine, of the Thin Lizzy World Tour 1980 official tour programme. Can you believe it? It's like the perfect present for me! I feel like giving her the book A History of Hollywood just pales in comparison, but I'm so shite at getting gifts for people.

The programme also got the bloke I sit by at work to tell me his Thin Lizzy story. He knows/knew one of the band's secretaries and was at her 21st birthday party. So was one P. Lynott. Nobody, including Work Dude went and talked to Philip at all. Now, maybe he was in no mood to talk. Maybe he was stoned out of his head. Maybe, maybe. But don't you feel bad for my boy? He goes to this party and nobody talks to him? Even if they were just scared of talking to this Big Rock Star, it can't have felt great to be ignored/whatever. My poor boy. However, my sympathy is dented slightly by the story Work Dude told me next that said secretary related to him regarding Philip. I shan't betray what might be a confidence, but suffice to say my boy comes off entirely as the puffed up selfish rock star the more cynical among us expect guys like him to be.

Speaking of, there is no way those of you who asked for cards will get them before Christmas, or even New Year. There's a very good reason for this: I haven't sent them yet. I haven't been able to spend my full lunch hour in the queue at the post office, and I still can't find Cadey or Eb's addresses. Libbie, you'll have to wait a little longer for your Flakes, I'm afraid, but I have bought a cool box to put them in.

Love and hugs to you all, when I speak to you next, I'll be back at home. Probably next week after I've actually had some sleep.

PS. Meant to ask, anyone know the best way to get rid of the demonic, glowing red-eye in my pictures? Perhaps in photoshop?