Cold War.


Every nose-blow at the moment is like a small, yet potent explosion. 

My cold is going through its various stages very quickly. Yesterday, I had next-to-no voice, so we had to cancel recording IYIE. Today, it's gradually found its way back to existence, though at a quieter, more gravelly level than usual. I sound like a timid Rod Stewart (though Rod was never known for his timidity; picture his trousers, for Chrissakes).

While I'm glad the germs seem keen to vacate my system fast, I wish they wouldn’t do it in force via my nostrils every five minutes. The noise (and all that goes with it) is very embarrassing. To compound the situation, I ran out of tissues this morning, so my trip to my mum's house to walk her dog was made with a big box belonging to my wife filling out my bag. It made me feel suspicious, though I may have been over-thinking it.

I was meant to do a gig in Kingston tonight, which, had it been yesterday, would have been an impossibility. As it goes, the show was nearly pulled, due to a poor turnout. The promoter apologised, giving us the option not to stay, if we wanted. As soon someone else took this option, I decided to bow out too. It may seem stupid to spend four hours travelling for no reason, but if I can give my voice a break AND get home earlier than expected, I see this as a bonus. I have a gig tomorrow too, so I may as well save myself for that; Kingston's loss will be Kettering's gain. Call it the KK tour; thank God I’m not playing King's Cross too, or the name would get very awkward.

Kingston Bridge be blue.

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