After a near disaster out in tshed last night, I was quietly congratulating myself for being a Man. Having just wrapped up another Joe Solo Show ready for Radio Scarborough, I was hurriedly dismantling my recording equipment when, my beloved porta-studio in hand, I fell headlong over my heater fusing the lights and casting the whole scene into total darkness. As you can imagine from the sort of songs I write, there are a lot of ghosts in my shed. Not only do I summon the spirits of past wars and social struggles, but tshed also contains possessions of three dead relatives making it a spooky environment to be alone in at the best of times, not least when suddenly plunged into the kind of stultifying darkness that makes lesser men whimper and Scooby and Shaggy run. But did I panic? No. I caught my footing and saved the porta-studio from sure destruction, then set about tracing the problem, feeling my way through the dark until I located the RCD unit and bathed the whole scene in light. There were no ghosts. I toughed it out. I was a Man about it. It was then that my chest-pumping, testosterone-fuelled moment of pride took a tumble. I had fallen over a heater. What kind of Man uses heater? In January? Why its almost Summer for goodness sake! Went to bed feeling a traitor to my gender and my county. What a wuss.
Posted on: Sun, 25 Jan 2015 10:16:18 +0000
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