I’m always really proud when I get asked to play at The Klinker Club. But they need to update their website! It has been June awhile now, and on June the 7th, that is next Tuesday, Nite and I are doing our drone thing in support of a band called Esoteric Fracture and someone called Sir Gideon Vein.

I am glad there are bands called Esoteric Fracture around. If you’re a nice, open-minded sort of a person and you like pubs with huge porcelain collie dogs and cheap double vodkas in the front bit and musical weirdity going on in the function room, do come and see us.

In other news, I am feeling very grateful to my dad for taping this Anthony Braxton thing off Radio 3. In my quest to make this blog a real blog and not just the contents of my befuddled head, I tried to find a recording of it on the jazzy bit of the Radio 3 site, but nothing doing. Well anyway, it is great. It sounds like things falling apart, tumbling, hitting walls, bouncing back. I don’t know who else is playing on it, but the percussion is rummaging and rumbling and fidgeting and quite wonderful. And it’s all so ominous, too. Constantly on the verge of something huge happening that never quite happens. Kind of apposite considering today’s heavy weather; London’s current tropically insane climate.

Yesterday I got caught in a storm I couldn’t stand up in halfway down Wick Road. It was beautiful. Because it was too far to go back, and because I literally couldn’t walk forwards, I just stood in it, soaked and whooping, while huge sheets of water sashayed off the pavement and slapped me on the legs. In Hackney Wick no one notices if you stand around getting rained on in a red anorak and marvelling at the vicissitudes of nature. They’re just like, whatever. London’s good like that. I did finally make it to Tesco, and left puddles of muddy rainwater all down the cheese aisle. A man came after me and put down sheets of cardboard where I stood. I said thanks.

Now I have a cold.