Fear and Loathing/Loving/Leaving.

1.

And so it goes… And so it went… And so it is…

Since I started writing music, and since I have tried (mostly, lets face it, in vain) to express that which floats around in my confused mind through the vaguely artistic medium in which I spend most of my time (be it directing, performing or writing/composing), I’ve searched for a modicum of clarity. We all have and do, no doubt. Mine, doubtless like many others, seems to have been particularly hard to find, harder to maintain and even harder to express. Essentially it doesn’t matter what that clarity is, what it pertains to or how one finds it. The only thing I know is that I need and demand it.

If I had the intellect I could envisage a sprawling Pirsig-esque or Hessian (would that be the word for something akin to Herman Hesse?….you know like Orwellian for Orwell) essay. Like the ‘Quality’ essay in ‘The Art of Zen and Motorcycle maintenance’, or the wordy Steppenwolf with its ever-reaching, never-ending self-analysis and toweringly grey critiques. As it is, my humble mind with it’s self defeating rhythms could never begin to explain the things I think and so I invite you once again to join me as I ramble through the unkempt and misinformed notions that occur to me as I sit here, once again, in the Black Cat on Brunswick street in Fitzroy, and try to collate these word into a substanceless form that at least means something to me…

“Excuse me, another strong flat white please!”…

I’ve long since abandoned my idea of trying to emulate, in however a pretentious a manner, a different author in each blog (it was fun while it lasted eh?). This is due at least in part to the fact that I can now (having become utterly obsessed) only write and think like either Jack Kerouac or myself. Having already rinsed old Jack, I’ll have to stick to writing like myself and hope that it’s not to monotonous, boring or derivative.

I’ve truly had some mad adventures in the past five months. Like I said in a recent FB (the ultimate harbinger of woe) post, some of the most brilliant and heartbreaking moments I’m ever likely to have to deal with have come to pass. I feel however that I do seem to have come through this all with at least part of my (tenuous at times) sanity intact. I’m still alive, haven’t gone completely mad, or out of my mind with depression and anxiety, and have at least enough ‘get up and go’ left to tell you all how I feel and whats been happening.

“Excuse me, another strong flat white please!”…

The last week has been utterly brilliant and very testing all at the same time. Learning to bite one’s tongue has been a big lesson for me. I have been trying very hard to be off grid, not post too much or give too much away to those who don’t need to hear it. At the same time I’ve been putting a great deal of effort into maintaining some of the wonderful connections I’ve made since I’ve been in Australia. Some of the people I’ve met since I went off on my own and my wonderfully kind and friendly crew in Melbourne have been a true source of strength and inspiration to me. It’s only really fair that I keep in touch with them. However, being online as always, has its downfalls. You’re always going to see things you don’t want to see. The connections that we have now made as a species are now so infinitely vast and manifold that it is literally impossible to stay away from every thing without being totally off grid and ignoring and worrying my friends and loved ones. Once again I refer to the ancient Chinese proverb, “Its better to be on the Internet less, than see all the totally and incomprehensibly shit stuff that’s gonna fuck me up good”. Man, the Chinese knew their stuff eh!?!?!

“Excuse me, another strong flat white please!”…

It occurs to me that you can never truly know anyone. I wish this weren’t true. I wish you could, but recent events have told me this just isn’t the case. I guess this has been what half my battle has been. Not just the gut-wrenching realities of what has occurred in my life recently, but more me simply trying to come to terms with the fact that people do change, make ridiculous decisions and fuck themselves and many others up. The middle two months of my trip away really helped me, especially on the ‘ignorance is bliss’ front, but a recent discovery (not that I’ve watched the new music video or ever will, for those in the know) has surely helped on the clarity front. I’d class myself as even more of a COMPLETE MUG if I didn’t allow this new revelation to show me the light and moreover the simplicity of my situation. How anyone in their right minds could ever think that this mindless move could benefit them or NOT hurt anyone else is just way beyond me. Clarity…..aaaaah clarity, how I have searched for your icy grip and what gloom ridden joy your presence provides. If I was searching for a sign, as I have so often beseeched the heavens for, then surely this is it. The next month or so is probably going to be properly brutal, but no longer as complex and vague as it once threatened to be. Perhaps this was the ultimate intention behind this bizarre act of non-empathy.

“Excuse me, another strong flat white please!”…

I return home in but a few short days, and to be honest I’m kind of looking forward to it now. I can’t wait to move into my new place with one of the most positive and brilliant guys I know, Matt Brooks. This dude is one of the finest musicians I have ever met and I know that his very presence is gonna kick start my musical mind back into production mode. I cannot wait to see my crew in the gnarly little punk hub of Plymouth again and I know that it’s going to be wonderful to see my supportive family again too. I have had a bunch of work related emails in the last few weeks and despite purposefully putting them all off (my sincerest apologies) I have plenty to be getting on with and sorting out upon my return to England's fair and familiar shores.

So, it would appear that we all struggle throughout our lives with the most base of emotions, fear. That shit can hold you under the water real good! It seems that it’s only as we begin to black out, our chests heaving, our starving brains pounding and our minds on the edge of resignation to our fates that we see the flicker of hope. The hand reaching to drag us roughly by our collars back to the safety of the shore. I’ve been there plenty and am about fucking done with it. Why should I let the actions of others and more importantly (more fool me for allowing this of course) my own attachments to non-existent realities drag me down repeatedly to the depths of insanity? Well I shouldn’t and from here on in my energies, as depleted as they are, are going to be devoted to seeing through that shit and writing the best music I can. Its not like I don’t have enough emotional impetus to get started eh?

“Excuse me, another strong flat white please!”…

I said many posts ago now that I wasn’t going to let myself become embittered and cynical. I’m not. I’m certainly not going to let my loathing of the situation that I’ve found myself in take hold. This isn’t a witch-hunt and I’m not doing any hunting. I’m just simply telling you all how I feel. That was the purpose of this blog and I’m sure like me (if I indeed allow myself to view it) you’ll see a change in how I’m writing and how you may think I’m seeing the world. Hate is far too strong an emotion to get caught up in and so I really will be trying to be the bigger man, to be the better person and to see the world from as wider view as possible. Of course it’s also possible that I may relapse into the blood soaked nightmares and stomach churning spite of old. I’m only human.

I think that part of my so-called recovery has been due to the wonderful energy and warmth afforded me all across this huge red land of untold beauty and opportunity. I cannot thank my Melbourne crew enough. I’ve told them all just to imagine that I’m just going travelling to the UK for a while. They’ll see me again. I have some REAL friends here. Not just friends of convenience, but real connections. My heartfelt thanks and admiration must go out to one of the best and funniest mates a little blue skink (reference) like me could have, Doug. Kept me laughinf for weeks bro! Dougs trusty sidekick and most beautiful yang to his ying, the lovely Doll (good save Dobson!...please forgive the brain mush)... without you this trip would have been far too normal and much less noisey, always there with a hug, and normally all other kinds of helpful things (phones/bikes/antidotes!). Love you. Chris (Hancock), you are a legend, comedy, talented and smart as fuck. Bromance at its finest. Albert, you drongo, you’re a special kid. That sounds patronising, but you know me well enough to know how I think of our friendship (god I’m soft eh!?!?!). Soulful and intelligent WAY beyond your years mate. Nina and Mad dog, so great hanging with you both. Kyle, Liam, Knives, Stew, Pablo, Janita, Shayli, Lexi, Ruby, Patch… you’ve made this all way easier than it might have been, my heart is with you all, we’ll see each other again in no time….Simmo Dobbo don’t forget kindness like this!

Elsewhere…. Flower Fairy Amy, Kelly, Josh (lobes), Jack (beard), Dave (Chef), Nicole (bags), Jessie-cat, Lee (dean), Vincent, Andy4, Ollie, Wreckhead Andy, Max, Celeine, Becky, Candace, Cera, Emily, Rich, Katia, Mitch, Shu, Tash, Jimmy, Melodie, Steve, Felipe (x2), Sarah-jane, Jessie-Rose, Mohawk Andy and anyone else who I’ve forgotten (please do forgive me…. that’s what six weeks at the ARTS does to ones brain!)… You’ve made the last three months so exciting and brilliant that I could never forget a single one of you. X

2.

So…. What have I been up to? I’m sure you simply can’t wait to find out eh!? “Tell us Simmo!” I hear you cry, “Regale us with your stories of debauchery and heartbreak, do oh please do!” I hear you shout in python-esque unison across the deserts and mountains of red!

Well…I’ve been up to stuff, as it goes…

“Excuse me, another strong flat white please!”…

Since last we one sidedly conversed via the “Internet” I’ve got up to some pretty exciting stuff. Upon leaving Sydney I met my new and wonderful friend Phil Anderton. Phil is brass bander, an intelligent and kindly one too. Phil plays with and is immensely proud of the Gunnadah Shire Band, a brass band nearly in the outback up north near the border to Queenland. Gunnadah with their conductor (and old friend of mine) Jason Katsikaris have played some of my music and so Phil decided when he heard I was going to be in Oz that I should meet the players. As a composer, you don’t turn down opportunities like this. To meet players the other side of the world that have put effort and emotion into learning your music is a rare honour.

A magnificent man in his flying machine!

Phil met me in Sydney and we drove the six hours (via Newcastle) to the gliding club where he stays when he’s playing with the band. Why a gliding club? Well, good ol’ Phil has a two seater prop plane THAT HE BUILT HIMSELF!!!! On the Monday went out flying. We got to 7000 feet and 200 knots in a plane no bigger than a small car! Much fun. Then Phil said, “you wanna fly it”… “yes” I said, “yes I do!”. I took over the controls (Phil still had complete control of everything except the steering I must add) and gunned the little red and white devil across the skies and over the mountains and deserts of Australia. The feeling was like very few things I’ve ever felt! Thanks for the opportunity Phil. Another big tick on the unexpected holiday wishlist! (Incidentally, when we landed the little dirt track runway was filled with roos and we had to buzz them with our plane to get them to scatter, before attempting a second landing! Bloody roos!) That night we drank red wine in the clubhouse on the deserted dirt track runway of the little gliding club in the middle of fucking nowhere.

As I returned to my cabin I noticed the stars. Now dig, I’m from Cornwall and sometimes the stars are pretty epic there, but nothing like this. I’ve literally never seen anything like it. Iridescent and transcendent. No light pollution at all and a perfectly clear sky meant that the clarity of the night scape was just unreal. The Milky Way stretched out to form a perfect and defined white line directly across the sky and as I lay down to view it from the horizontal I felt a true feeling of connectedness and a humbling sense of my own insignificance in the greater sense. “Come on! Take me, come down and get me!” I whispered to myself, and I meant it. If they had come down right then to take me away I’d have welcomed it. I returned to the clubhouse to ask Phil if he thought it was arrogant for any one of us to presume that we are alone in the universe. He said he thought it was and I agreed. I donated money to SETI (the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence) there and then and slept to dreams of worlds afar.

Roos. Loads of Roos!

When I awoke the next morning to clear blue skies I was greeted by the sight of hundreds of wild roo’s grazing on the runway. What a sight! After breakfast Phil and I flew an hour across the red desert to see one of my kindly pilots work colleagues, a wonderful aboriginal woman called Phillis. She worked as an optometrist in a town with a 70% aboriginal population. The place was amazing, she told me some more about the plight of Australia’s indigenous people and showed me the parts of the small town where people still lived in huts. Tradition is strong here. We flew back and I slipped into reveries about dreaming and the vastness of this place and its untold millenia of history prior to the arrival to its shores of the white man, with his greed for power and wealth.

Conducting the wonderful Gunnadah
Youth Brass Band.

Later that night we attended a rehearsal with the Gunnadah Shire Youth Band and I was introduced to a wonderful group of musicians and ever supportive parents, including the hugely hard working Lawrence Rowe and his son the talented youth band MD. I was lucky enough to be given a cornet and I sat ‘4^th man down’ and split notes all over the ceiling for an hour or so. Later I was even luckier to be allowed to conduct the band. We had a great time! After we drank beers and made plans and schemes for the future. I’m sure I’ll see them all again. I must extend my most heartfelt thanks for the opportunity to meet this brilliant gang. Keep going! You’re doing everything right!!!!!

“Excuse me, another strong flat white please!”…

The next day I flew back down to Melbourne and into the loving arms of my crew here. Things kicked off straight away and a week of partying got me back to full flow.

Shred! Smash! Shred! Smash!

On Friday night, and in a great mood (due in part to the clarity found that day from hearing the news from home) we went to the Tote. The Tote is one of Melbourne's best live music venues with a rig the size of England AND a sound guy who knew the score. We were there to see local heroes Mesa Cosa. Mexi-thrash punk. Can you imagine? Exactly what you’re thinking is how it sounded only with ten times more mayhem and chaos. Fucking awesome! Having met a good portion of the band (Stew, Knives, Pablo and Marty) on my previous stay in Melbourne and having bought new mouthpieces that very day I ended up taking a solo in one tune. I’m not gonna say it was the neatest I’ve ever played, but it did suit. Unbridled slaying and shredding was the name of the game. I was so drunk I could only just stand, but this (I sincerely hope) only added to the sense of mayhem and unhinged energy that the band had! Nearly the whole Fitzroy crew was in the audience and most of them ended the gig either injured, vomiting or both. ROCK! I got to bed at 4am and was up at 9am to skydive. Yeah, I said it!

So so so rad! Hancock (left piece) and Heesco, killin' it!

I made my way out to the airfield almost deaf thanks to Mesa Cosa and so so hungover. Luckily it was raining like hell and I had to rebook for Monday. The weekend passed, as it often seems to in Fitzroy by simply trying to recover from Friday. On Sunday we heard tell that our good friend and uber talented street artist ‘Hancock’ had secured a previously illegal wall right next to the Black Cat, where I sit now to pen this rambling tome. We bought beers and watched a whole group of artists (most from different crews, although the mainstay were from Melbourne based ‘Blender’) paint and spray their way to artistic freedom. Hancock and Heesco (a lovely guy from Mongolia) painted the best of the bunch to my mind and created a truly epic piece featuring Skelator from He-man. These guys work on an amazing level. This isn’t just graff, this is art, plain and simple. Made even more impressive by how laid back the artists and atmosphere was. We had a great time and I retired early knowing that the morning bought with it the distinct possibility that I was going to throw myself out of a plane travelling at 300 mph and at 14’000 feet…. Fuck!

“Excuse me, another strong flat white please!”…

I actually slept pretty well and got under way in plenty of time. I have to admit that as I approached the airfield a little bit of me wished the skies weren’t quite so blue and the air quite so windless!!! “Fuck!” I thought, I’m actually going to do this!!! It kinda felt mad to be doing something like a skydive with no-one there with me, but as I’ve made obvious in previous posts the most alive I’ve felt on this trip has been when I’m alone. I turned up to the Melbourne Skydive centre and met a couple of real cool people. We were given a (very) quick brief, trained in a harness and got suited up. The guy who was my tandem partner had 5000 jumps under his belt so I felt in about as safe a hands as it were possible to be in. It’s an odd feeling when you know for sure that your life is in the hands of someone else. Considering this I felt pretty easy about it all. Jumping out of a plane really shouldn’t be that hard considering what my brain has been through in the last five months eh?!

I was in load three and so had to watch eight other jumpers come down before it was my turn to load up. Soon enough though it was time to get into the little plane. I paid an extra $50 for an outside camera man to jump and film with us (so totally worth it, if only for the oh-so-obvious profile pic moment) and after a few setup shots and interviews I was packed into the little plane. We rumbled, shaking our way across the airfield and took off. The journey up seemed to take forever. 14’000 feet is super high like! Then at 11’000 my tandem instructor said to the whole plane in a super calm voice, “Ok, everyone be real cool but we’ve just got to sort a few things out here”, at the same moment the pilot turned round and mouthed “two minutes till drop!….ALARM BELLS!!!! The instructors’ pilot chute (the little tiny thing that slows your free fall from 375 kph to 300 kph and keeps you straight) wasn’t in his pack and was instead hanging out on the deck on the plane behind him. I have to admit that all the colour drained from my cheeks at this point. The other jumpers laughed about this. Brilliant. After a hasty but measured re-pack (that had unbeknownst to me taken a further 2000 feet of climbing time) I was re-clipped to the instructor and literally before I knew it the door slid back and I was shuffled to the edge of the abyss over looking Melbourne, the surrounding areas and feeling the chill of a -15, 300mph wind!!!

FUUUUUCK YEEEEAAAHHHHH!

Now dig, it is utterly impossible to maintain cool under these circumstances and I’m in no way ashamed to say that I was pretty scared, but before there was time to think the count had begun, “Ready, steady, jump!”, and we were over the edge! Holy Shit….I have never in my life felt anything like those first few moments of free fall. I could have been on another planet for all I knew. Complete sensory overload!!! The forces exerted on your body and mind are unreal. Suddenly, after tumbling this way and that we were in free fall, this lasted 55 seconds, or so I’m told, it could have been any amount of time! My hands instantly and instinctively found the double ‘fuck yeah’ pose and the following minute blew my tiny, fragile, warped little mind! Free fall is the most exhilarating and alien thing a human can do I think. But thank science above that I did it…. Many people will die never having felt that scared and high! What kicks!!! The canopy opened, my goggles were off and we flew, like literally flew. It doesn’t get much better than that. The instructor let me steer and we came in with a perfect landing, after which I could have almost been sick with the amount of adrenalin coursing around my veins. This as for sure one of the most brilliant experiences of my life! The rest of the day seemed pretty slow after that. Everyone needs to try skydiving once…

“Excuse me, another strong flat white please!”…

After a slow start Tuesday happened (as I was convinced it would). I went to meet my lovely friends Kyle, Ruby and Lexi for breakfast, which included bloody marys and soon we were sat in Kyles back yard with a slab of cider tying to convince each other that we were not in fact alcoholics! We went to party in the evening and cycled along Melbourne's die straight roads with me and Doug hell drunk, trying to out stupid-cycle each other. Think the ministry of silly walks, on bikes…laughed pretty hard!

Wednesday I sat and wrote a great deal of what you see here before being met at the Black Cat by an old friend from the southwest of the UK called Chris Lane. We know all the Freshly Squeezed (my old band) crew in common and so had a great deal to yarn about. Much fun, but WAY too much coffee!!!! Wednesday night I thought I’d go to see some of the artist friends I’ve made since being introduced to the street at scene in Melbourne. My mate Hancock has just been given studio space at the famous ‘Blender’ Studios. Sick! I cycled across town, lights ablinkin’ and he showed me all the stuff he’s working on (including his plans for my denim jacket!!!!) and introduced me to some great art and artists (Heesco, you’re the boy!). Tick!

“Excuse me, another strong flat white please!”…(Ummmm…….)

Tonight I am lucky enough to be able to meet another Plymouth friend. Sally Geraghty. We’ve got a lot to catch up on and I know it’s going to be great to see her. Tomorrow there's going to be a lot of packing, downsizing and organising for me to do before I chill at the Napier Street crib for one final blow out with the Fitzroy crew….this promises to be a pretty serious party. It’s probably best if I don’t even speculate as to what might happen eh?!?!?

So, I’ve pretty much come to the end of my trip… Travelling alone and meeting the people I have has been without doubt the best thing I’ve ever done. I’ve done things I never thought I would or could do. Got myself into situations that have surprised me no end and navigated through every twist and turn without a single hitch so far. I reckon after the year I’ve had I was deserved of a bit of good luck eh?!

Looking at the odd bits of news that I’ve seen from home I have to admit that I’m finding it on occasion hard to bite my tongue, but bite my tongue I will. I have realised I’m not in control and probably never have been. You simply can’t account for the actions of someone who either no longer cares about you or maybe no longer cares about themselves, despite seeming righteous to the last. Yes, sometimes you may have to admit to yourself that in order to fully devote yourself to an artistic endeavour you may have to give up a few things, but only if you don't care about them enough in the first place. We’re not all the Picasso’ we think we are, struggling and raging against an unfair and cruel world. I suppose however that level of selfish devotion to ones art should be on some level admired, perhaps I’ll not be doing the admiring though. I seem to have made it to an OK enough level (still admittedly miles from were I really want to be) without feeling the need to drop everyone and everything. I guess life is all about priorities and choices eh?

Well, I made mine! I came to a new land, had a ball, made great friends, got great kicks and still managed not to hurt anyone as far as I can tell. Hopefully I’ve learnt enough about my life, how to treat others and the art of the world in the last five months of mountainous ups and downs that I’ll be as mindful of peoples feelings as possible. Empathy is such an important thing. Isn’t it what makes us human?

One thing that is for sure is that nothing is for certain. Nothing. I’ll probably make some bad choices in my life at some point too but I’ll try damn hard not to.

As ever, my love and thoughts are with my home crew back in the gnarly little punk town of Plymouth UK, I’m putting money on the fact that it’s blood soaked gutters and booze strewn streets haven’t changed a bit! I cant wait to see you all in but a tiny sliver of passing moments. To my supportive family, thanks for everything, I’ll be home soon to tell you tales a plenty.

Goodbye Australia! I love you. It’s been epic. I’ll be back. Soon hopefully…

…And So it Goes….

xxxxx

Coffee and Country.

1.

The Skink with the think in his head.

Once there was a skink, and I’m tempted to think,

That this skink had a think in his head.

He flew far away, travelled night and travelled day,

Till he sat by a river, and said:

“I am a skink, and skinks like to think,

Though it sometimes doesn’t do us much good.

We think all the time (and because skinks like to rhyme),

We think much much more than we should!”

“The problem with thought”, said the skink who was thinking,

“Is that it often distracts us from life”.

But he continued to think that thought in his head,

Till that thought in his head caused him strife.

He thought it longways and upwards, and leftwise and right.

He thought it under and over with all of his might.

He thought it forwards and backwards, and down to the ground.

Then back up to the top, and d’you know what he found?

The thought that he’d thunk wouldn’t leave him alone!

The skink was trapped thinking, and was all on his own.

This thought that he’d thunk wouldn’t do him much good,

And besides which, I’ve said, he thought it more than he should.

So this thought in question that’s the think of our skink,

Why’d he think it so much, and why’d his heart sink?

Well, this thought was sad and made our skink blue,

And he couldn’t stop thinking, so what more could he do?

He knew if he thought it, it could ruin his day,

But skinks like to think, what more can I say?

“Well, I need a plan”, our little skink said,

“That’ll help me not to think such thinks in my head!”

So, the skink sat to think, low down by that river,

And as the hot sun set our little skink shivered,

But he stayed there till night, to think of a plan,

And think hard he did, as only skinks can!

So after hours of thought, sat there by that river,

He cried, “I’ve got a plan, I just need think BIGGER”.

“I need to smile and grin!” he said,

“To help me not to think these thinks in my head!”

Really, in truth, the skink wanted to be happy.

He wanted to forget and be a normal skink chappy.

So he started pretending in order to smile.

Our little skink thought happy! (If just for a while).

But the problem with the skink, as I’ve already said,

Is that he just couldn’t help think that think in his head.

Though he tried and he tried to shove it right out,

In his dreams it crept back and he’d let out a shout.

“Can I ever forget?” our little skink cried!

“Am I destined to always have this sadness inside?

Can I really let go?” our little skink said,

“Will I always have this awful think in my head?”

And d’you know, often that think was still there.

In the odd word, a look or occasional nightmare.

Often that think did rear its sorry head,

But the skink could try to think another think instead.

So little by little, and bit by bit,

Perhaps the skink would get rid of it.

Perhaps in time he’d be all right,

Perhaps he wouldn’t lay wide-awake at night.

Perhaps on a sunny day he’d feel OK,

Perhaps eventually he’d just find a way,

Perhaps some time he’d feel really glad,

To let go of that think and the life he’d once had.

And that’s where we leave that lonesome low skink,

The one with the head filled right up with think.

He’ll probably just keep thinking, sat where he’s sat,

Until realises he could be better that.

But…..much later…..

(There’s one more thing about our skink left unsaid,

Eventually he forgot that awful think in his head,

One day he smiled, but a real smile instead,

And he went off happy and thoughtless, home to bed.)

2.

This week has been a sleeves up affair, except for a few sleeves down setbacks.  I’ve been pushing on and trying to find fun and distraction in such places as it might be found. I’ve spent my last week (for the time being) in Melbourne, partied lots and tried to make plans for what happens next. I have begun to see a pattern emerging.

Other than posting photos of my trip so far and ‘liking’ a few bits and kibbles, i’ve found that the “internet” and Facebook in particular (being the omi-present harbinger that it is) is the place that I connect most with being made to feel shit. Of course it’s my fault for using it in a manner that leads to my grumbling sorrow. This week I’ve realised that however false I feel when I say “Ignorence is indeed bliss”, it is indeed true, and I’m better off staying away from things that I know are gonna fuck me up… as the old saying goes.

I’ve begun to feel a begrudging numbness. I feel a kind of exsistance that is possible through lying to oneself, consistantly. You can’t see me because my hands are over my face.

Some things that I’ve felt shift this week have lead me to believe that the choice to be happier is mine, and some things I’ve noticed have been circumstantial and an imagining of what can happen depending entirely on how I see a situation in the immediacy of the moment.

My ridiculous schoolboy nightmares have nearly passed and are now more sad and confusing than excruciating and hellish. Not to say I haven’t had dreams that have been gut-wrenchingly beautiful in their masterfully engineered sorrow, but thankfully I no longer wake sweating and with a lust for revenge and compensation.

In a way I was sad to say goodbye to Melbourne for a month. I was so extremely lucky to find a group of friends I would genuinely say are friends (despite me knowing them all a very short amount of time). Hancock, Albert, Maddog, Nina, Shaylie, Siena, Liam, Lewis, Ruby, Dave, Dave and Kyle, I’m talking to you. Thanks for being brilliant, understanding, funny and drunk with me. I’ll see you all before I go back to the UK I’m sure.

My top 5 places that I drank too much coffee in Fitzroy:


1) The Provenance (simply bitchin’ coffee and service…thanks Stew and Knives x)
2) Atomica (Awesome and tasty, not too hot and not too cold...Goldilocks coffee)
3) The Black Cat (I drank here lots..... Cheers Nina x)
4) ICI (great food too, but deep dark coffee goodness at its best)
5) The Convent (beautifully made coffee and amazing surroundings)

Coffee is mad here. I’m only going to say this. It means something and is very important to the area… and I might not drink it upon my return to the UK!

I got very much into country music during my time at the house in Napier Street. Thanks, for the most part must go to Alby and Nina. Their unrelenting Deep South accents and unstoppable enthusiasm for showing me new music did the job great. Sometimes you just need an ‘in’ for some genres of music. Plenty of people (though really only a notable few with any level of success) have tried to initiate me into the world of country music. Most have failed mainly because they actually only played me country and western music, which not only is a whole other ballpark, but as it turns out, is something I actually am not into no matter how hard I try.

I found however that given the right introduction and back story I didn’t need to try to get into country. Mournful stories of heartache and despair, told with a touching simplicity made me think again and listen in a whole new way. “These things also make me sad….you understand!” I said to myself.  It was remarkable how plainly and obviously I was able to feel part of the music and the singers intentions, and moreover how many country singers were singing of the same woes that I bitch at you about here in this rambling narrative of unfocused prose.

Since my last blog, which admittedly has been a few days longer than normal in coming, I’ve been up to a fair bit…. Tell you what, I’ll let you know using my words eh? What about that? Lets get growing!!!

Last Friday I journied the meagre few yards to Chris and Kyles house where upon we began the first proper rehearsal with our new band, ‘Redbone Dead’. Possibly together for one gig only, we are basically based around Alberts soulful yet manic country guitar pickings and vocal howlings, Hancocks tech-death snare accompaniment and my all too obvious but hopefully acceptable mariachi trumpet screeching. Later we added m’boy Doug on the wrench and chain and Lewis (Kyles little bro and Nick Cave look-a-like) on lead guitar. We basically got drunk and jammed away at the three riffs we know. Well it seemed to work. I’m pretty sure none of us would say we were the best band around, or for that matter, even that we were a band at all, but music is the most powerful and intense universal language there is and connections were made that can now not be broken. As with all music, good or bad (of the sort, that is played or produced with at least an amount of soul, integrity and passion) we expressed our own feelings through our instruments, out into the air and into the ears of those unlucky enough to be there…. mostly we expressed drunk feelings. But, man, what fun. We hope to make a demo, for posterity more than anything in August!

On Saturday I dragged myself loathsome and bedraggled (and far too late) from my sleeping hole and began the preparations for Kyle and Rubys ‘Onsie’ party! Oh, and what an affair it was to be!

Doug had on a onsie that made him look like the house dog, Major. Mine was an altogether more practical offering and I went in Alberts spare welding overalls. I thought I looked quite dashing. Every made the effort and we piled into our local ‘The Prov’ to drink, drink and drink some more. Redbone Dead kicked off, drinks went flying, tales were wailed and dances were flailed. Our first gig was memorable, in that it definitely happened, and I’ve seen photos that prove I was there, but musically we’ve got a bit of growing to do… that's all I’m saying…. All hail the Redbone Dead!

Redbone Dead. Mariachi-thrash-country-bluegrass-punkcore pioneers.

Once again, Sunday didn’t happen.

On Monday I did something, that as lame as it sounds I’ve never done before. I went to the cinema on my own. I watched Prometheus. Much fun I thought! I wanted more answers however and was bummed that although in a linear sense it was an impossibility for Riply to have shown up, if the writers had tried hard enough I’m sure she could have popped in for a one liner or two! In the evening the whole house of people landed in a pile on Alberts bed to watch the first Terminator movie. Fiiiiiiiiilllllllllllmmmmm! Dush Dush Dush Dush Dush!!!!! All this and I was gifted a new and deeply moving nickname. Simmo Dobbo….. great!

On Tuesday I got my hair cut…. $28 with a free beer. I’m in! I got this weird mullety mohowky thing that I think looks at the very least, interesting if not altogether conventionally cool. I thought I’d got a hip buzz but Doug thought I looked like a creepy teacher. Albert on the other hand was overwhelmed with redneck sympathy and loved it!

Wednesday meant tourist time (not sure why) and so I packed all my things being that I was in my last day in the city before flying to warmer climbs in Brisbane. I walked out in near gale force winds and headed to the Melbourne museum where I enjoyed a whole variety of stuffed animals, geodes, exhibitions and interactive gubbins before finding out that my weight in gold would mean that I was worth $3,701,899. Not bad eh…. anyone wanna start some kind of scam with me?

I also found out that when you are on your own people aren’t constantly judging you on why you are on your own. They are not, despite what my head would have me believe, whispering that I am some kind of idiot loner who can’t tie his own shoelaces or find his way out of the complex at the end of the day. I have discovered that of the three or four times that I have genuinely felt happy since I’ve been in Australia, three or four of those times have been when I’ve been entirely alone and of some kind of mission. Telling. I think my next four weeks are going to be a great and exciting learning curve. I feel like child learning all over again. You’re never really alone. There’s always music, imagined or otherwise.

On Wednesday night I gathered a few friends at ‘The Cat’ and got stuck in. I drank far too much cider, but had a lovely night with Doug, Siena, Janita, Albert, Dave and Nina, culminating in drunken story telling, reassurance and more country music. I went to bed with a list of albums to upload as long as my arm.

So, Thursday arrived and I blag a taxi to the airport $20 cheaper than normal. Sweet. I have an ipod full of country and happy making bluegrass and fly to Brisbane to meet my old school friend Andrew, who I haven’t seen since 2007. We drink and smoke and stay up way too late. It’s like no time has passed and both relish the idea that we have five years of musical conversation to catch up on! Never have so many albums been shown to so few people in so little time. Just how I like it!

this thing wot I found.

The next morning Brisbane is baking hot. It is literally amazing what a bit of vitamin D can do for the lightness of ones soul. I walked all the way into the city following the river and drink in the suns every last ray. Brisbane (or at least the most watery parts) are service by the CityCat, a super fast catamaran that shoots up and down the river ferrying commuters and tourist alike around the main business district of the town. It felt really good not knowing where I was going but following my nose regardless. I spent half the day whizzing up and down the great river and all for the cost of fuck all. I also must have walked a good 5 miles between stops and through town and soon I came to the botanical gardens and the South Bank. In the early afternoon light this place was stunning. Terraces in a fire of bloom and studious types relaxing in the warmth. I chose my spot. Inhaled. Exhaled. Felt good. Drank a beer. Felt better. Started writing a poem. Felt purged and proud.

Eventually when the rays had exited my personal field of coverage I walked back across the goodwill bridge, stopping half way to see the sun set and drink (another) coffee. I walked through the botanical gardens an put the new PJP band album as loud as it would go into my cans. Oh how my spirits began to fly. Happiness? Abandon? So this is how it felt! By the end of my 30 minute walk and having listened to ‘I am a Racer’ on repeat I was very nearly dancing my way through the balmy heat of the evening kick out rush hour and feeling so good I was almost high. And it was free! I met my friend Andrew, sunk a few beers and after heading home to change we trekked to a joint called ‘The HiFi”. Very cool. Except that you always need ID in Oz. I’d forgotten. Well, an annoying but unavoidable $40 cab journey later and we get into the show. The crowd reminds me of the crowd in the club in ‘Buffy’. What was that called….I cant remember. Trendies, hipsters, throwbacks, bogans, goths, dreads, 90’s freaks and punks mingled to hear a thumping bunch of reggae bands skank away the night. We lose our minds and float away.

Andrew, his gal Jess and I.

On Sunday morning, groggily it must be said, we got out of bed and put on our glad rags and met Andrews girlfriend for another first for me. A day at the races. Wow! Like, really? Uh huh, a day at the races. The poshest thing ever. I had a shirt, tie and hat, but no shoes or trousers. I borrowed them, and although not my normal cut (I’ve been in skinnies for years now) we hit the track. Madness and too much white wine, but very fun, and it was only after the champange started to flow that I realised that I looked for all the world like Charlie Chaplin (minus the Hitler tash and cane). Too funny! The race was on to find a cane. No luck, but fun trying. I even placed a bet. We went simply on the funniest horses names. I chose 'Gay Deceiver'. Who wouldn’t? Obviously it came in last, and I lost $2! Later we bet $6 either way between us on a horse called 'Ginga Dude' and we won $50… Swings and roundabouts eh?! Oh an we blagged our way into the poshest marque ever and drank as much free wine as we could before feeling so lowly and out of place that we legged it and rejoined the collective.

Now its today and we’ve taken it easy. We’re gonna stay up real late and watch the England v Italy football match, not that either of us is into football, but it seems a funny thing to do. The beers are in the fridge.

We plan to make a road trip to the jungle on Tuesday, and on Wednesday I get another tattoo. Not telling what of yet. All that and I still gotta see my friends Deano and Claire yet! Phew.

Upon leaving Melbourne I felt a sense of foreboding and adventure in the air. I feel it now even as I type these pretentious words. I cannot wait to get off on my own to see how I do. I’m gonna head to Byron Bay to chill for a few days before trying to find adventure up north where the rocks steam and the ocean boils.

I’ll try to ensure that the blogs continue while I’m off adventuring, but without my laptop they may be much more basic. Its all about the lyrics though right?

Much much love to my home tribe in Plymouth. May the gin soaked carriages and blood ivory tower see you through the night and deliver you warm home to your loved ones and friends.

Keep in touch y’all. Email is ever so easy. I wont be offended if any of you fancy keeping me up to speed with whats happening in the state of this… (thanks Rach btw x)

Until next time, Oh my brothers and sisters,

…And So it Goes

xxxxxxxxxx

Well.We.Just.Can't.Quit.What.We.Know.Best.

IMPORTANT: Unless you've read 'A Clockwork Orange', or have a basic founding in slavic futurist propagandan Russian (?) you might find part 1. of this weeks blog a little hard to digest... for translations please refer to the glossary here.

1.

"... Oh my Brothers and only friends, on this day I have seen that all of ones jeezny is about realisation and acceptance. The problem is that both of these states are hard to achieve when you feel half beezoomny already. A cally situation indeed.....unfair bog above.

Your humble narrator does not know which way to turn and although I don't feel as razdrazzled or baddiwad right now as I did last week I feel no less confused, out of place and still on my oddy-knocky. I feel that my identity has been crasted away from me. When I look in the mirror the litso I viddy is unfortunately that of a starry chelloveck, oh my brothers. Trying to viddy who onesy was or who onesy should be is very difficult and just to find peace of mind without getting so easily drawn back into the grahzny reality of my train-wreck jeezny is near impossible. Everything I viddy and everything I slooshy of the ptitsa I loved so much makes me feel like creeching and blubbing. That's no way to live; to feel a nazz all the time?! 

I cannot stop the old red krovvy flowing over this devotchka. To accept the realisation that the ptitsa perhaps 'loves' me but is not 'in love' with me must be one of the most stracky, cally things to pony in ones vonny jeezny. Especially when I can see no fault lying at my own grahzny nogas. But, I fear, oh kind friends, that I cannot start to rebuild my plott and enjoy my train-wreck life until I take a glazzy at this painful truth, and break from these oozies.

The nochy-mares still visit most days but have decreased in there oozhassny viciousness to a level of dull pressing sickness and incessancy, allowing me to at least fall into the old spatchka, one nochy in two. Slooshying choodessny music from my droogs back home has been one of the only veshchs to keep me smiling. Having also had the old needles stick me with their inkfull blackyness three times already has increased my physical pain, but not decreased the mental! So much for that vareet!!!

How does one simply let go of seven years of jeezny? Ignore it and turn ones gulliever the other way? How do you unlearn so much learning? how do I forget, when my heart, oh dear brothers, be loveted?!

Devotchkas don't seem pretty, music sounds all cally, swilling the firegold and suds keeps me sober, pischa tastes rotten and sleep consistently invites.

I spend most of my time smoking the cancers and peeting the coffee....tis where most of my cutter goes.

I find myself in the midst of bolnoy once again and my plott aches daily. I have to pretend to every veck else, just to avoid seeming screaming beezoomny! It is true that we are what we pretend to be, oh my brothers, but pretending is a cally, grahzny business, my friends, and you are bound to get found out eventually.

My slovos are told like this to prevent your shilarny and worry (my appy polly loggies for the mystery), but those malchickiwicks and ptitsas in the know or willing to put in a malenky bit of work will be able to understand my slovos. I have a real proper horroshow gang of droogs here, and we have fun, but I find myself constantly missing; the never-present narrator...... oh, to smeck again!

I must press on, dratsing with my rookers held high....lest I snuff it!!!!

In just over one week this friendly nadsat goes to Brisbane to warm his heart and soul.

I will visit you in yet another guise next week....for now, oh my brothers and only friends, I must itty off to another mesto...."

2.

Another funny week. Sometimes genuinely funny.....sometimes just funny...like weird funny or not funny, funny.

I've been genuinely trying to distance myself from my perceived former life out here. But the internet being, as it is, an omnipresent harbinger, it's never that easy. Sometimes you just stumble upon stuff huh?! I've been practicing the age old ancient Chinese art of 'not letting everything I see utterly fuck me up'. Right now it seems to be working.......right now.

I've been finding myself being pretty quiet though. 

Sometimes my mind is filled with a silent but sonorous inner monologue. Poetry, music, madness and darkness, gliding around, pushing and prodding me into confusion and crisis. Sometimes my mind is filled with nothing, nada, static. I realise however that everyone has my best interests at heart when I hear them say "why so quiet", or "what's wrong". Sometimes "it's probably better not to get into it", I say. 

It strikes me that one simply cannot be quiet anymore. And though I know I have reason, it 'just isn't the done thing'. If, at a party, you stand alone and stare out of a window, you are a weird, lonesome, pathetic idiot. Yet with a cigarette in hand, you are a fucking philosopher.

Though, fear ye not, oh fearers of thine knots, I'm having a good time out here in Oz. Much in the same way I was having a good time in Plymouth before I left. That kind of unfocused, slightly unreal, numb, pretend fun that it is possible to have regardless of how messed up you feel. Perhaps all this pretending will solidify into reality at some point eh? Perhaps I use the word perhaps too much..... perhaps.

It's true to say that my physical state isn't the strongest it's ever been and obviously this will effect my mental state greatly. I do understand that the old adage "You'll get better when you're sick of being sick" is correct, I've seen it in motion, but quite how to apply this to my current life situation is blinding at best, but.....oh fuck it, i'll work it out.

I promised myself months ago now that I would not let things make me bitter and cynical (lord knows i've seen enough of that over the last year), but I can already feel myself thinking that I was too soft in many parts of my life. A walk over, unattractive and pathetic. But.....oh fuck it, i'll work it out...

Onwards, once again, to the good stuff....

So, "what have you been up to?" I hear you cry in your millions untold. "Please tell, Simon!" I hear you shout in unison, as if the very heavens themselves were to demand of my tales and tomes....

Well....bits and bobs, as it goes.

On Thursday I was honoured to be asked to conduct the Kew Band from Melbourne for the night (Former Aussie Champions don't you know!!!). The band were on their last rehearsal before their break and I was essentially on holiday so this was a great, relaxed way for us to make music together for the evening. I was able to be a slightly less hardcore version of my conducting self for the night, not a situation a conductor will find themselves in all that often. Much fun. I was very lucky that the band were open to playing through some on the compositions wot i've written in recent years and although the music sounded fairly far-out to start with the band gave it some and ended up finding pretty clear musical direction and making a good sound. They could swing too!!! 

The bands normal conductor, a lovely gent by the name of Mark Ford asked if I could run the band through some sight-reading and presented me with the fearsome, fiendish, primal, hideous and sarcastic 'Blitz' by pommie composer Derek Bourgeois. "Uh huh", I said, "let's hit it!!!!!!". Despite the ferocious nature of this music the band coped pretty well and we spent a real fun hour smashing our way through the deepest, darkest recesses of a brilliant mind and coming to a thunderous close bang on finishing time. It was a real pleasure to be welcomed so warmly.... hopefully I'll get to work with them all again sometime.

Waving my arms around, often with gusto, infront of the wonderfully welcoming Kew Band, Melbourne.

Following a chance meeting with a jazz dude in the local coffee hangout, the Black Cat last week, I was advised to book a ticket for a gig that marked the last night of the Melbourne International Jazz Festival. The show last Friday was called 'Future Now', and as the name suggests showcased the possible future direction of Jazz. The show was expensive and very nearly sold out, so I got straight on it and booked my $70 ticket and made my way into town. 

Anyone who has read my former blogs will know that confidence has been an issue. Baby steps. I didn't know the guy who asked me to go to the gig, or anyone else there, but got hooked up with someone to meet for dinner before hand. I walked to a cool japanese restaurant in Swanston St. and called 'some random chick' (that was just to make myself feel cooler, she was actually called Gemma!). She and her friend, an Australian called (and I shit you not) Rory Patrick O'mally, invited me to eat dinner with them, and they were dead cool. We got a few cocktails in us and sauntered over to the gig. The show was at Melbournes Forum. A serious venue.... Never quite seen a stage surround like it.....honestly felt for all the world that the gig was outdoors in 17th Century Italy. Sick. Have a butchers here.

First on stage was Bobby McFerrins son, Taylor, playing a live vocal beatbox and production set. Sickness. He opened with his dads 'Thinkin' about your body' and tore the place up. One man with a mic. Skills. Next up was smooth jazz crooner Jose James and his tight band, including an off the hook Japanese afro-sporting trumpeter called Takuya Kuroda. They were good, but didn't really rock my boat that much....however, last up was the 'Robert Glasper Experiment'. Holy sweet jebus. You know when you hear music that you've never heard anything like before? I stood mesmerised for two hours, screaming "Blow man, Blow!" like some deranged version of Kerouac's Sal Paradise, while they rocked, flew and slid their way through and around every genre i've ever heard, inventing new ones with every measure and beat. SAVAGE!!!! needless to say when they finished with a future fusion, vocoder rippin' version of 'Teen spirit' I barged and elbowed my way to the merch counter, Nuff said. Do yourselves a favour and check them out here

Rory, Gemma and I.

The Forum, Melbourne.

I had fun. I returned home exhausted to find my house mate Albert and friends Liam and Dave, smashed and tattooing each other (that seems to happen a lot here as i'll explain later). After a few shots I fell tired as hell into a fitful sleep whilst my friends went out on an inevitably unfruitful search for a booze filled house party to crash.

Saturday....we all surfaced groggily at about midday and shrugged at each other. After breakfast (I had blood orange martinis) we ended up at the bottle shop (the offy for us pommes) and soon were with our lovely talented friends Kyle and Chris "Hancock" (read last blog for stuff wot is about Chris and his awesome artings). Saturday descended into party madness and was hectic to say the least. My friend Liam, it turns out, is pretty handy with a tattoo gun and so set about inkin' my arm up good. I thought some more Dylan, to match my left arm would be good. This time, the ever perfect 'Keep on Keepin' on' struck me straight between the eyes and with some original "Hancock" text (people pay serious money for that shit here) we were off.....amidst crazy girls doing interpretive dance to Prince, Liam held his nerve and did a great job, I love it, thanks mate. I'm sure you've seen the pix. It hurt like hell. A great night... 

(Oh, and I inadvertently became involved in the ad-hoc birth of a new band.... A mariachi country mash up....me, albert and 'hancock'. We have our first thrown together gig on Saturday night, opening a onesie party at another local coffee haunt, the providence, for Ruby and Kyles joint birthday party....now thats gotta be joy!)

Sunday didn't happen.....

Monday blustered in, but then cleaned up to a beautiful, sparse, cold blue dream. We played frisbee in the park, an excuse to exercise the house dog Major (HE IS A GOOOOOOD BOY!), then I went to get another tattoo (I'm on it!)....this time a wonderful design by my friend Jim Nolan. I reckon he didn't even know I was gonna do this, and certainly didn't design it as such, but the thoughtfulness, focus and energy of the whole thing seemed too perfect. So a few hours and $200 bucks later, I'm the proud owner of my first back piece. Curious in design, sure, but cool as hell!!!! A magikal symbol, known as a 'sigil', enfused with the creators belief and desires. Thanks bro..... 

Thanks Jim....you're a legend.

Tuesday I became a tourist again and went to visit both the Melbourne Aquarium and NGV (the National Gallery of Victoria), The Aquarium was ace....I literally felt like a kid again....oooooh sharks.....MASSIVE SHARKS!!!! and penguins. Ninja. 

Lemon and Lime Jelly....fish.

The Gallery was amazing too. Saw a huge show of beautiful Aboriginal art. Made me think. I honestly think from the small pickings of evidence that i've seen here so far that the plight of the indigenous people of Australia is a huge bloody stain on the modern countrys consciousness. The heritage trails and art galleries seem like mere lip-service considering that most aboriginal people i've seen so far have been unfortunate and likely blame-free drunks, shouting on street corners....their anger no doubt a very thinly veiled commentary on the rape of their lost land. Very sad.

So, in other news, being that im mostly out of the loop (thank god) with what has been released recently in the UK, I thought i'd write a few sparing and paltry words on the latest album i've heard. Admittedly I cannot profess to be much of a review writer, nor can I claim to be anything but utterly biased, but the new (yet to be released) album by my three oldest friends 'The Patrick James Pearson Band' is surely going to be hailed as a work of art. 

Perhaps (there it is again!) that may seem like quite a claim. Think of it like this. I live my life as a professional musician. I'm sure what I do and create isn't to everyones liking, very often not even my own, but I would be a blind fool if I had not over the years noticed that certain friends of mine had placed a certain amount of faith and confidence in my musical opinion. Yes, i've know the band members forever. Yes, I'm on the record. Yes, I was there whilst the album was recorded, but nothing could really prepare me for listening to the final mix of the album end to end.

The band recently won the listeners choice award on the BBC Radio 1 review show with Edith Bowman. One of the reviewers said the song 'I am a Racer' wasn't his thing because it was too earnest. I feel sorry for that person. Thank god I say! A group of musicians cutting through the hype filled mediocrity that the music industry seems to drag from even the most incorruptible  musicians! '...And so it goes' is a whole album of joyous, and, yes earnest songs, to make you dance, laugh, cry AND FUCKING THINK! I'm not going to go into too much detail except to say that this album is one of the rare records where there isn't a filler track on it. Every track is worth something and came from a place of truth and meaning. If you believe that modern popular music is worth anything at all, please have faith in my ramblings and get behind this record from the start to the end. Teaser trailers to release this will be an important piece of art for my three oldest and most valued comrades and I think for the wider musical world!!! Yeah.....I said it! Check out the PJP band here

Anyhoooo......It's winding up to my last week in Melbourne before I head to old friends, new music and adventure afresh in Brisbane (don't worry, i'll bore you with another blog before too long). I cannot wait to get to real adventuring now. I need to cut loose and get into some scrapes.....and once again try to lose this funk for good! In the next week I'm going to play a Mariachi country gig, plan some things and do some stuff..... sorry I can't be more to the point right now. Its 10:30 and I drank too many pots at The Grace Darling.

I'll leave you with a comment I saw written on a wall near the National Gallery here in Melbourne. Its kinda morose, but it made me laugh.....darkly.

"Life, it would appear, and I wouldn't assume to be the first person to have thought this, is a disease. Sexually transmitted and invariably fatal".

Take that as you will....
As ever I've really enjoyed writing. I think I enjoy the technical side of composing words because I know deep down I should be composing notes....guilt free non-creativity! More about that anon. I have some great blog ideas in the pipeline....


Please feel free to follow this blog, comment, RT, share or whatever the hell you please.


Much love to my tribe in Plymouth. Pat, Mike, Tim, Angelique, Rach, Vicky, Jono, (other) Tim, Kev, Josie etc etc etc etc etc.....love to my family, and love to the gin strewn, junkie ridden benches of our fair town.


oooooh, the dots......

Until next time, oh my brother and sisters.

...and so it goes.

xxxx

Oh, and I've been thinking a lot about this