I can't hang on for September. I'm declaring it officially Autumn now, I hope that's okay with everyone. Britain's rubbish at summer anyway. It skips along like an annoying girlfriend, all white teeth and floral dresses, then suddenly it's floods of tears, stormy looks and wet leaves in your hair. At which point the metaphor shatters into a thousand tiny pieces, each reflecting the whole (meta-metaphors? Or am I trying to be too clever? I probably am). Anyway, Summer, what we had was precious, and special and that, but it's over*.
It's getting easier to write the Cabinet book as well now, partly because I'm nearly halfway through, and it's really picking up momentum, partly because it's easier to write about a snowy seaside town when you're not looking out the window and seeing a particularly sunny seaside town full of people in shorts and sandals.
Have to be slightly menacing; ideally two thirds thrashing guitars and angry drums, one third about fireworks and cats with the Trio Bulgarka on backing vocals (I want them on my backing vocals, when I'm in Tesco's. 'Where is the, where is the, where is the cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeese!), thus below. I've written a Kate Bush song into my road trip movie - the main characters sing along, and I copied out the lyrics and everything. They can change the setting, the period, they can take out the tornado or the giant orange, but Kate's staying in. Unless it's hard to get the rights, in which case I suppose I can find something else.
Thee More Shallows - '2am', from More Deep Cuts
The National - 'Mr November', from Alligator
Kate Bush - 'Rocket's Tail', from The Sensual World
* Not you, Summer. A different Summer. Obviously.