Season of lists and mellow rootlessness …

“September’s here again, and what have you done about it …?”

Not a lot. Hello October. I’ll begin on a high by saying … I don’t remember ever being this broke in my life. I know we’re all broke and I’m lucky to have a job right now but I’m feeling distinctly insecure about it all of a sudden. I have become worse than ever at haemorrhaging my pay in the first week. Can’t help it. Need another income. Needless to say it’s time to start turning down invites again and get back to writing. Almost as soon as this decision was made I came home to find another rejection letter for The Novel. Ouch. My next blog will be a massive plug for The Novel. It’s become like an old friend hanging round the flat to the point if an agent ever wanted to do something more with it than exclude drafts I’d no doubt become terribly possessive.

So, I’m about to become something of a hermit. Lucky I’ve accrued some nice memories of late to live on. Trash-O-Rama you’ve heard about and must must try. Watched The September Issue at the Cornerhouse which was fantastic, excuse me, fabulous, and have been warring between my inner Wintours and Grace Coddingtons ever since (‘Leather IS a texture…’, ‘It's a famine of beauty!'). Boozy night at the Crown & Kettle for Geordie’s send-off to Australia. Another boozy and life-affirming evening at The Deaf Institute with Dee where we had grown-up talks that made me think, properly, about life and chances and where I want to be. In the virtual world I rejoined Facebook after months of absence, followed by a sensational bloody cull. I’m tired of it already, it’s like I never went away, but it is nice to be able to look at your friend’s sunny faces from time to time at work. Bless ‘em. If I never see another picture of myself though I wouldn’t care, this old face is looking lived in, not before time I suppose.




Had a big trip in all sorts of ways to the North East where the sunshine puts Manchester to shame. A possible return-journey sabotage meant I couldn’t get back Sunday night so I got another special day out of it. Came back all happysad as usual. What am I doing I wonder? Piccadilly at 1 am was bleak in a handbasket, as was the trudge up Whitworth Street, the fretful sleep, the drunks. City’s full of death it seems, and not just the trees. Manchester, I love you, but why don’t I like you just now?



On a brighter note (sheesh, lighten up) I am loving DJing at the moment. MORE PLEASE. Surprise gig last week at the City Life party upstairs in Odder in honour of wonderful Editor Neil Sowerby saying his goodbyes. Was totally unprepared for it and envisioned ruthlessly eclectic beard-stroking musos and journos demanding danceable esoterica. My sketchy idea was to mix some good electronicy rmxs, a smattering of less obvious Mancunian gems to honour Manchester's journalistic culture-vultures, some shameless floor-fillers and a handful of vintage goodies from Mr Sowerby’s youth. As it turned out my set followed Anna’s from Guilty Pleasures and the by-then lashed crowd was positively salivating for POP. She finished with ‘Into The Groove’. Gulp. ‘How ya gonna follow that?’ a girl by the booth enquired. ‘IOU’ by Freez seemed to do it. Thereafter I had to wing it (goodbye 'Susan vs. Youthclub'…) but I felt triumphant playing ‘Come See About Me' by The Supremes, ‘I Can’t Explain' by The Who. I finished with ‘Sir Duke’ by Stevie. It actually felt great to wing it so that’s more or less what I intend to do when I play 80s night Fame over at the Purple Pussycat at the end of this month. It will be my longest set ever and I CAN’T WAIT. Come and hear me whydoncha, I WILL play Swing Out Sister …

Pre-hermit outings include the Everything Everything gig at Night and Day this Saturday and if that doesn’t shake some life into me, well, it just will. The newest material has superceded even my high expectations. The album is going to be a slug in the guts and I can't wait.

My frenzy of to do lists means it really is autumn and I can feel the New Year raking over my back already and when will something happen, when will it? When I make it, when I make it …

To do, to do, to do …



POSTSCRIPT: As usual music manages to keep a 'What's the bloody point?' type-moment from happening. I have made this list for you to listen to. Disclaimer: I listened to 'Paparazzi' four times in one day and have just now played 'Long Haired Lover From Liverpool' a number of times. I don't know what's the matter with me. Promise this list is better though ...