"Lock the gates, Goofy, take my hand and lead me through the World of Self"

I've been away, so I'll start with the easy stuff. Here is some news from Hat Mansions - now known as Dystopia Cottages.

Last November I gave away my body...(thank you, but I've heard all the jokes about not being able to raise the bus fare home). I'll get back to that.

I also had to leave my lovely home in the mill as the landlady wanted to sell it. So I moved, amassed a squillion boxes of 'stuff', did my back in - and then I and my boxes got totally flooded out. And now, of course, like many of you, I am self soddingly isolated on my post flood replacement sofa. What's that throw-away line....."it never rains but"..?

Weirdly - well everything is weird right now - this fluent run of weird events reminded me of my long gone mother.....which is, in itself, pretty weird...

Not infrequently, when she was alive, vigorously bolshy and very difficult (all family traits), my mother regularly sat, knitting very noisily, in her favourite chair in the corner of the room and made doom-laden announcements. From what I have learned since, many of your mothers did the very same and, for all I know, are still doing it.

Her announcements were usually unprovoked, came from nowhere whilst flourishing a McVities Rich Tea Biscuit and were uttered in a way that only a fear-free imbecile would consider contradicting. “I never liked him anyway, he was probably a communist”; “As for the piano-playing, it will end in tears”; “He had that flashy American car, so what did you expect?” and “I don't see why she always has to dress like a gypsy”.....

Her scary needle-clicking came back to me as one of her most frequent and most assertive pronouncements - on the subject of tragedies, disasters, deaths and cut fingers...”you know these things always come in threes don't you”.  It never occurred to anyone in earshot that this possibly might not be true. On the contrary, you then spent an inordinate amount of time pondering what the next disaster hurtling round the bend might be. We weren't quite in 'we are all doomed' territory but, if you were smart you slept with one eye open....

As you can see, I have been, literally, up to the top of my green wellington boots in 'calamities' recently and I really have stopped counting past three. However, as yet, for unknown reasons, I seem to be able to brush them away with some 'tis but a scratch' bravura and independent cussedness. If you have spent any time in hospital, you quickly understand that there is always someone worse off than you and they are dealing with it all with great dignity, cheerfulness and courage. That certainly raises your personal game. Take that on board. There is a lot of that around at the moment.

The pain and stealth of the current pandemic have insinuated their dark fingers into every corner of our lives. Like many of you, I have lost people and been confronted with that cheerless raised hand that will not allow you to give them a decent, dignified and perhaps joyous and celebratory funeral. It is clear that no one has the magic invisibility cloak that will allow you to sneak out without being spotted. This foe is ruthless, it doesn't care about your situation – you or anyone else.

Freelancers lose their clients and future incomes lists at a stroke. If your life involves mobility to earn, that has disappeared. If you need to sell something to a customer face to face from your shop, sorry, think again. Supply lines are shot to pieces and may never recover. Loved ones are now just flickering untouchable images on a tiny screen.

In our musical landscape, incomes have disappeared overnight; access to that oxygen of existence, the live performance, has evaporated; two years work on a new music launch has almost died at birth; hours, days and weeks spent crafting a complicated detailed tour have turned to sand; small, medium and large festival and events teams have been confronted with the emotional and financial trauma of skidding to a halt with not much chance of the event being suddenly resuscitated in the near future. For the lone musical artist/creator that old joke about starving in a garret has suddenly become seriously unfunny....

But it has been fascinating watching the music world and its talented inhabitants standing up and punching this unwelcome marauder straight between the eyes. From huge and inspired virtual digital festivals to the solo artist in their front-room or bed-sit, the imaginative and resourceful response has been hugely impressive. The Creative Virus has spectacularly caught fire throughout the community - whether you are just starting out alone and exist from gig to gig or you are long time professionals with some support, the challenge gauntlet has been picked up and everyone is running with it. A wonderful alternative and strange new world has been invented and long may it exist. Audiences have been acquired from their armchairs and beds; the tip-jar and the trickle-down merchandise pages have become a generous currency and a real, albeit digital life-line.

Musicians are working together as never before. New artists have suddenly found access to hundreds of new fans and the often quite barmy business of performing to a silent audience on a dodgy internet connection has produced some wonderful characters and a huge warmth from those watching their formerly undiscovered talents. That band or artist that you have followed since their shaky start all those years ago are now on their way to being known by Absolutely Everybody...

It is no fun, nor is it funny. But we know that the togetherness that has come from this is a Powerful Force For Good. Everyone knows that eventually it will be over and musicians in particular have learned that they are not alone. It is certainly not 'just a scratch' and many will be hurt and damaged. However, self-isolation does not mean, as Warren Zevon (who I quoted above) points out, that you have to live in a lonely mentally-stressed menagerie of your own creation. You have friends, admirers, an audience – and they are not going to go away. Embrace them.

Oh, yes, actually I have given my body away – to the Leeds University School of Medicine. It was a decision I was very comfortable with – to make a contribution that may, one day, make a difference. Apparently they don't get enough such donations and were very appreciative. I'm sure my 'stuff comes in threes' mother would have had a robust view on that. Sadly it does mean that there won't be a big rumbustious funeral for my musician friends to attend...but given what is going on right now, that will indeed be 'just a scratch'....

Stay Safe My Friends. Keep on Keeping on...
Pip Pip!
The Hat