|I quite like Mark's film critic style.|
Yesterday I made a large pot of chicken, leeks, butternut squash and sweet potato, a hot pot of sorts. The left overs are now in fridge, slowly mutating into something else, some great creamy concoction that will never taste good at breakfast but may make a decent supper. Food is sometimes not all it's cracked up to be; there's plenty of it in the world but sadly it's in all the wrong places and controlled by all the wrong people.
And so it came to be that I wrote a song, well I added some guitar chords to Ali's lyrics. There was no blinding light, the touch of an angel's wing didn't happen nor did any strange overheard whispered or whistled melody dancing upon the wind come to me. It was more of a fumbling about with Cmj to Am7 and mouthing the words a little tunelessly. It is in it's own way magical and strange but also very natural and formalistic; but it makes me happy.