Spring forwards, Fall back.

I've been going through piles of old photographs. Me and my school friends are meeting up for a reunion of sorts, a celebration of 15 years of being friends, and I wanted to find some pictures of us to take along. In the process of this I've found some beautiful things. The photo here for instance, I'm obsessed with it, which is odd as it was taken 10 years before I was born and I have no relationship to either of the people in it. The girl is called Kitty, she was at school with my mother. A few years ago my mum spent a summer looking for her old school friends, they all found each other, except for Kitty. Every photo my parents have of her makes me shiver, I don't know if it's her beauty, or the mystery, the made up stories of what might have become of her that pop into my head. She's like some mythical, ethereal creature. The man in the photograph is called Bruce, he lived with my parents for a while in the late 1970's. He died in a motorbike accident not long after this was taken, my dad has vividly recalled to me many times the knocking on the door, the stern police officer, having to phone Bruce's mother. I'm not sure why I'm writing about this, I think that seeing photos like this make me think about being young and uncertain, then looking back and seeing the fragility of it all.

I'm so acutely aware of time passing, and I wonder how it feels to have this huge expanse of life behind you. My mum's birthday was Tuesday, and today I found this photo of her, she would have been about 15. She was so beautiful, she still is........

I was woken up today by somebody talking sharply on the radio, which made me realise I must have left it on all night, which would explain why my dreams felt a bit like a series of Radio 4 dramas, there was one where I was playing support for Lou Reed but I won't get into that now. After switching it over to my iTunes and trying to get back to sleep, I found myself caught out by the shuffle button. This often happens, because I am a nostalgic fool and so much of the music I love reminds me specifically of a time and place. Today it was demos sent to me by somebody I was desperately trying to be involved with, both romantically and musically. Neither of these things worked out, and I was undeniably very upset about it all. So despite being all fine and settled now, I will never be able to hear his voice singing without feeling like someone is emotionally punching me in the stomach all over again. I think that's what being heartbroken feels like, a good, solid smack in the abdomen. I was talking with my good friend about this the other day, as people who hoard things, both relics and memories. It made me wonder if people like us can ever really have a hope of moving on, considering that a letter, photograph or a song will put us straight back into the midst of it all. However, everyone does this to some degree, no? It's the same with writing a song about something hard and painful, which is what so many songs are about, as performing will always make you think of that something. There's no conclusion to all of this, because there's nothing that I or anybody else can really do about their character. If I wasn't like this, I wouldn't write music, or have boxes full of old love letters, or songs sung by past lovers on my iTunes.

In less rambling news I'm gigging a fair bit over the next couple of months, I try to keep the myspace updated with a list of them. There's a particular exciting one involving Rob Young.....

over and out.