Last week, we had three different performers recording, at Iron Mountain.

Self-understandingly, Louis Barabbas. I’ve never had so many performances ruined by the sheer hilarity of high-quality grim whimsy and doom-puns. Hilarious. Silent studio atmosphere or not, you too would laugh:

“I want to be absolved of all my intentions and
have my decent deeds undone
Because the only way I’ll get to heaven now
Is as somebody’s plus-one”…

Mika Doo brought a sultry and deliciously spooky gloom, up from London, to cook first rate risotto between vocal takes. I’ve a tendency to ask performers, what they want to make people feel like, with their work. I’m paraphrasing when I quote Mika: “Introspective… and sexy”

And on Friday, we had Anthony. Anthony is supported by an organistion called Ordinary Lifestyles. He loves 50’s Rock n Roll. He loves to sing. He came for the large-diaphragm mic, my teddy-boy jacket, and the photo of him, that he shows to girls, wherever he goes, whatever the subject of conversation.

But this week, I’ve been on a march. The sense that you’re simply going along with something bigger than you, and are thus less responsible yet more powerful, combines curiously with the notion that you’re finally expressing your own personal feelings, on a matters rarely raised. But when a known public figure walks by, beyond a yellow line of straight men, and you join in a glorious chorus of noise, the ‘oo’ sound of ‘boo’ is surely the most flavoursome of vowels, yes it is.

Some very enjoyable public speech, on the green, in front of the council office, where, a few days ago, I’d queued to register for poll tax.
For instance – “If you fight, in life, you’re never guaranteed to win. If you never fight, you lose every time” – Mark Serwotka

And, some poets, I chanced upon that afternoon: Tony Walsh, Sally Jenkinson and Ben Mellor.

There were more, too. Why do they keep all the poets at marches?