The frost has fallen on Scotland, and we slept in a bit this morning, but that was probably because we’d been watching Rob drum almost constantly for about ten hours yesterday. Until his wrist started going a funny colour. He was AMAZING though, and we told him. Becaue good drummers are hard to find. Hard drummers are good to find? Both of these things.

Now we’re in the middle of putting a piano in the middle of a giant hall, and it will probably sound like THE SHIT. natural reverb is the new cave-dwelling, 65daysofstatic are the new beginnings of hunter-gatherer society, living as we are on wine, burning sticks and whatever I can find in the tiny village down the road between fags and phonecalls from our manager, The Black Spider.
Vague plans to find a recipe for nettle soup and sleep in the woods, but normally too tired when we get home to do anything except sleep (in the house). The gin is running out, and the washing is frozen to the line.

Paul’s really at it now, tinkling the ivories, banging the horses teeth, playing the old Joanna.

OK. That’s all.

Joe