Lightest of dustings of snow on the roofs this morning, now softly melting under grey light of sun seeping through from behind gentle cloud. The lightness reminding me suddenly, strangely, of the skies above the Carrick hills viewed from across the bay, from the top of Dundonald Hill, Troon out below with its nose so clear. My green Flying Scot bicycle leaned against the fence.

Listening to ‘The Point In The War Where We Knew We Were Lost’ by Deloris, trying to figure the lyrics to send to HM, who mailed last night wanting to know. I looked on their website but they weren’t there, although they do have the lyrics to ‘The Pointless Gift’ album, which I must look at sometime later today. As it is I’ve just gone on-line and spent too much money, on a new monitor to replace this creaking cracking one that strains my eyes so much, and on the first four Lew Griffin novels; me doing things ass-backwards of course, having read the fifth in the series Bluebottle during my fevered illness a week or two back, and being fresh from spilling tears earlier this morning upon finishing the series closing Ghost Of A Flea, which is published in January.

Really of course I should out on Emily’s ‘Boxing Day Blues’, partly because of the aptness of the title of course and partly because it makes me creak and crack inside in the most pleasurably wayward ways imaginable. ‘It’s a physical thing’ indeed.

Oh, and Deloris. Second verse… far as I can make it out, it goes like this:

You say you’ve cracked under hung stars, strapped bombs to fuselages. You’ve seen night skies kill daytime; you’ve seen good men become ashes. (then there’s something that sounds like G.I. somethings come crashing), you’ve seen angels wingless and thrashing.
That last line is lovely.

I can’t for the life of me make out the words in the chorus though. I think we’ll have to ask Deloris about that…

I have to eat some lunch.


posted by duke harringay at 1:09 PM