As I succumbed to being bought a fourth pint in the pub yesterday lunchtime, I reflected on the distinct lack of responsibilities I had over the next 36 hours. I’m going out singing this evening, but otherwise the weekend was and is all mine. In fact, my main responsibility, given my early shift tomorrow morning, is that I must take it really really easy today. I reassured myself of this as I snuggled, or was that smuggled, under two duvets this morning, telling myself what a thoroughly dutiful day I was going to have, fire lit, doing very little. A couple of Christmas emails to friends in Australia, a swordfish steak for lunch, what’s left of yesterday’s ‘i’, some lyrics to learn, maybe even some browsing of this blog – I have some @Kaisfatdad gurdy-driven clips to check out.
But even the act of doing nothing needs a soundtrack, eh? My half slumbering mind anticipated this morning’s playlist. I have certain Sunday morning records, just as I have ‘going out on the razz Saturday night’ records: Gorky’s Barafundle; Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter; looking out across heavy frost, Anthony Phillips Beauty and the Beast is a must (I call » Continue Reading.