Barney, an old maths tutee, has agreed to fill in the bass-shaped hole for our gigs over the summer until he starts his A-Levels. It's only when we try to teach our songs that we realise how bloody weird they are. He's come up with some funky funky lines that we'll be recording over the next few days.
I've spent a couple of days on my own re-recording some drums for the hellish mess of a project that is Tracks. Out with the synthetic snare, in with the real deal.
It has become clear that my memory is comparable to that of an Alzheimic goldfish. After forgetting tonight's plans, Dave asked me to look up at the ceiling and to tell everyone what T-shirt I put on this morning. I knew it had long sleeves, the rest was pure guesswork. Got it wrong. It didn't help that I had also worn it for a few days in a row. Omega 3, anybody? Or is it 4..
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