I Wish That I Was Flying With Them
Well, that was the summer, was it? Tara, I suppose. Better batten down the hatches, ‘coz here comes the autumn. Ugh. Stupid nights drawing in like the abyss grabbing at you and everything dying off everywhere. Weak sun. Back-to-school memories of 1978, and the dreaded trip to WH Smith’s to get stuff with Mum. That was the year I went up to big school where they flushed your head down the toilet on the first day. Appropriately, the song on Radio Fun at the time was Justin Hayward droning on with his ponce's flicky hair: “My life will be Forever Autumn now you’re not heeeere”. And it really felt like that and still does every single year. “I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky”... “Come back!” it makes me want to yell.


1978. Hulky blazer and nylon tie, new pencil case, felt tips, and that three-headed monster of torture - the protractor, ruler and compass. Said trip to WH Smith, Woking, leavened only by coming home with a sensually thick and chunky 7” of The Rezillos’ Top Of The Pops on Sire. US Sire with the paper label - not useless European pressing Ca Plane Pour Moi Sire with the stamped plastic label and all the sound quality of a wholemeal biscuit.


Did we go through this last year? Am I repeating myself? It’s unlikely I’ll ever get into September (actually as I was coming home from the gym this weak with the sun pathetically all but fizzled out at 8.30 I realized that this time of year actually makes me angry) but I’ve decided that this year I’ll try not to hate the season with my usual fervour. Somebody in The Times today was writing about the pleasures of walking across a frosty, ploughed field at dawn in November with a pale pink sky and the hard ridges of mud under Wellingtons and I thought, Hey, I could get into that. I’ve forgotten who it was who wrote it but I’m grateful to them because it was like they’d suddenly opened a window of possibility in my mind. One thought led to another and I thought of a rabbit or hare sitting up in the distance and then I thought of Roxy Music’s ‘For Your Pleasure’ which is their autumn record for me.

Roxy Music’s albums and the months they are:

Roxy Music - February
For Your Pleasure - October
Stranded - June
Country Life - December
Siren - August
Manifesto - March
Flesh And Blood - May
Avalon - August

The other reason not to be too miffed about the passing of the summer is that to a certain extent it’s still with me, for a bit at least. While I don’t yet know what we’ll do with ourselves without Big Brother every night (and this year it was an awfully good one) Bestival (and Kraftwerk!) is next weekend and simply everyone is going. Half of my lot at work plus Jock and Ada and Jelly and I in a camper van. Bet it’ll be just like ‘Scooby-Doo Where Are You? Perhaps we’ll end up solving the mystery of The Shanklin Phantom but I get dibs on being Fred. Not long after, Fints and I are off to the very tip of Spain where we will be able to see Africa from our bedroom window and where we'll take a trip to see Karen Tiger on Gibraltar. Karen’s a 6th form friend I’ve not set eyes on since my 21st birthday party. We called her Tiger because she was a tiger grrrrrrrrrrrr. Hopefully, it will still be boiling, San Miguel weather. Then, when we come back it’ll be practically Christmas.


Egad, that medley on Side 2 of Abbey Road’s good, isn’t it? Polythene Pam! Carry That Weight!


It’s not been a terrific week. Typical September for me, really, it also being the time when the sun in Virgo beats down in direct opposition to my delicate Piscean sun. My powers feel utterly diminished. When I die, it will surely be while the sun is in Virgo and this week was a case in point - a dry run if you like, because I certainly felt like I was dying at certain points. Wisdom tooth agony kept me awake all night for 2 nights and then a pretty violent reaction to the prescribed antibiotics deprived me of sleep for the remainder of the week. Exhausting - and I was on a course, too, trying to force myself to be all sparky and brilliant about forthcoming Rihanna and Eminem etc., campaigns whilst feeling like my stomach was being used as for the Devil’s Punch Bowl by Satan himself. Sleeping on the settee with the bucket by side and dragging myself up in the morning like an automaton... are there any antibiotics I can take? I tell ya, these babies this time were enormous, like they were designed for horses or elephants or bigger. Whale medicine. Anyway, after they ruined a big family party for me last night (a half a lager and some peanuts made me feel like hurling and I had to go home in cab after two boo-hoo hours) I decided that I was going to stop taking them and to hell with everything they say about completing the course. I’ll take my chances with the wisdom tooth and Neurofen and get my kicks while I’m still young enough to get ‘em! Pip pip!