the vampire pigeons of Rivoli

So so *brrrry* here, I don't like not being able to have the window open at night. And why are there so many sirens wailing on and on after dark in Paris? Are French criminals easier to catch?
Maybe the police are running some kind of nocturnal taxi racket...yeah...well, lets see what happens when I try to flag down a police car at 3am, chances are you won't be hearing from me again. Richard....il est morte...il reves avec le poissons...(if you're French, I am so so sorry...)
Before that happens, I'm going to write a children's book about bloodsucking pigeons who live on top of the Bastille monument and steal babies...the moral of the story? Don't trust birds.

I wonder where you are now...

...I always write that in new diaries or calenders, and without exception the day it falls on is always one where nothing at all happens.
I'm doing a lot of waiting at the moment, or it feels that way. The album is finished, most factors are decided - artwork, track list etc - so now there's 3 months until its heard. In that time my label and the people they hire, will try and give it a fighting chance; gather up some supporters in the media, organize some live dates to coincide with the release, generally give it something to stand up on. Because sadly, despite the artistic creative bit, this remains a business investment for someone.
So I have time on my hands like gloves, I keep on writing songs but I'm pretty confident that I've already written the second album, maybe even the third one (unless the second is a double album...prog). I'm going to start recording more covers at home, maybe try and put a new one on the myspace page every week. PLEASE SEND SUGGESTIONS. If there's something in particular you'd like to hear me sing, I'll try and make it special.

When is a song better sampled? Right here. 'Walk on by' by Isaac is ok, but Wu Tang make it incredible.

Tidal waves

Christmas, New year, planes, trains and illness are what got in the way of me writing anything in particular on here. I'm back home now, tucked in from the weather, with more time to give.

I managed to get ill the moment I got back, so I've been spending plenty of time in bed shivering, watching hours and hours of 'Big love' and 'Mad men'. This has resulted in some pretty mixed up, feverish dreams, usually casting myself as a polygamy practicing ad exec, trying to sell cigs to children; in a word: huh?
In another (and I think the term night terror is entirely suitable for this one) I fell asleep in a bed situated in a sex shop, and was woken up by a very angry, very threatening, very ginger Russian man. I had to escape in a JCB, which for some reason or another, had a radio blasting country music. I mean, seriously, what is that?! Your interpretations are more than welcome.

I started writing more songs from bed as well, or at least sketching out some lyric ideas. What I've actually ended up with is a long long list of possible song titles, words and sentences. I'm in no doubt its going to prove useful at some point, but right now they look like snakes.

Lemon and honey.

Lets all boycott Lily Allen...

...this person needs no further encouragement to make anymore music...or open her mouth ever again for that matter. Honestly, you know something strange and sinister is afoot in the world, when people like this are given a platform in the press to babble utter, utter shit - and what horribly pathetic-controversy-seeking shit it is. I despair.

NYC

Operator, number, please:
Its been so many years
Will she remember my old voice
While I fight the tears?
Hello, hello there, is this Martha?
This is old Tom Frost,
And I am calling long distance,
Don't worry about the cost.
Cause its been forty years or more,
Now Martha please recall,
Meet me out for coffee,
Where well talk about it all.

And those were the days of roses,
Poetry and prose and Martha
All I had was you and all you had was me.
There was no tomorrows,
Wed packed away our sorrows
And we saved them for a rainy day.

And I feel so much older now,
And you're much older too,
Hows your husband?
And hows the kids?
You know that I got married too?
Lucky that you found someone
To make you feel secure,
cause we were all so young and foolish,
Now we are mature.

And those were the days of roses,
Poetry and prose and Martha
All I had was you and all you had was me.
There was no tomorrows,
Wed packed away our sorrows
And we saved them for a rainy day.

And I was always so impulsive,
I guess that I still am,
And all that really mattered then
Was that I was a man.
I guess that our being together
Was never meant to be.
And Martha, Martha,
I love you cant you see?

And those were the days of roses,
Poetry and prose and Martha
All I had was you and all you had was me.
There was no tomorrows,
Wed packed away our sorrows
And we saved them for a rainy day.

And I remember quiet evenings
Trembling close to you...