1.48 am. A decision has been made. I now know the next album that I will be making. And I am terrified. For twenty years, I have a held a series of "perfect songs" in my head. "Perfect" because they have never been sullied at the hands of those troublesome beings, musicians.
And then I heard it. Not in my head, but on a CD. Four tracks from Colin Blunstone's One Year. Voice, acoustic guitar and strings. The melody and the music set free. I have written string, and even accapella arrangements before, but this music is playing the space between the notes in a way I have not heard before. Watch out Mr Arranger, Paul Buckmaster, wherever you are. If you are. I shall seek you out. Pain, misery and poorly paid nights coming your way.
10.00 am. I have just imposed the sight of my poor sweaty, post joggling, body on the lift attendants, who bowed to me as I crawled across the lobby floor in search of my morning shower.
9.00 pm. I have just listened to the Blunstone tracks again. Listening to them is almost painful. This is a challenge as large as the one I accepted four years ago, when the Vicar Chronicles were born. I pray that I shall succeed better than I succeed with this diary.
"Never become so popular that the public take an interest in you."
