Day Six of the great South Western run. The roads were damp from heavy overnight rain, but I continue to be a very slow moving advertisement for the Great British weather, as I have yet to run in anything other than brilliant sunshine.
This small "task for the day" has come to dominate my life. Each morning as I begin my ritual self flagellation, my memory of all intervening events disappears, until it seems that my whole life has become one endless jog through treacly trenches.
Fortunately, I have musical beasts of delight to keep me in the present. Singleton is mastering my Schizoid Man epic today, and I look forward to hearing the results tomorrow.
And then there is the Bax CD, which Fripp gave me.
Joy, joy, joy. Words cannot describe the effect. I am tempted to steal a phrase and say "this touches a place inside me, which is forever England" – but that it is hopelessly cliched and insufficient. In such cases, my ramblings are indeed "beneath the level of even being termed infantile". The music must speak for itself. Perhaps DGM should post a link on the site, so that anyone wishing to gamble £5, barely the price of two pints of beer, can enrich their lives.
""Tomorrow" is the first lie of the Devil."
