17 July 2009

Drugs Made Pauline Vague

Before I sit down to have a gay old time with this little classic, I just wanted to update my blog. This blog hasn't appeared in pure diary form many times since it's conception, so will not bore you too much with the trivial details of my life. Suffice it to say, it is possible I may be as glamorous and mysterious as I think, but I might just be a couch potato who's run out of Harlan Coben books.

There’s been a mammoth break in blogging whilst I await the outcome of interviews with artists Emma Wesley (based in London) and Sarah Smith (based in Edinburgh). The questions are hanging in the ether until either a paintbrush is put down or blogger-boy manages to drag his carcass out on the streets and be proactive. Edinburgh is damp and grey sometimes startled by periods of summer that lift the city; for here in the city I am, and no more whisperings of leaves out by the Ochils in Stirling. Stalking up city streets with the promise of fun, eyes, shops, feet, music and the spires of Edinburgh is not a bad way to spend the summer.

I’ve been well impressed by a singer called Alela Diane , who sings of haunting American wastes of snow, mornings bright white as diamonds; this song click here is quite amazing. I found it at the Nine Bullets blog, which has the most mind-bogglingly fascinating collection of Americana and folk and country and other excellent stuff, a place to savour.

The blog title comes from a Stevie Smith poem that holds the immortal line: "Drugs made Pauline vague/ She sat one day at the breakfast table/ Fingering in a baffled way/ The fronds of the maidenhead plant."

We can only hope living in the city for the summer won't turn me into 50 Cent or worse, Morrisey. The call of the wilds is strong and in a month's time I'll be back trotting through the green shires of Stirling and whistling an inane tune whilst smoking a cheroot.

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