Hello! Want any guisers? None of that "Trick or treat?" stuff here. We're having a hardcore traditional Scottish Halloween.
I did suggest having a scary film fest but Madame burst into tears when I suggested the first title. I know she's had nightmares about it and a lot of people do think it is the most horrifying film ever made but we couldn't have a scary film fest without "Love, Actually". It would be like a walnut whip without the walnut.
Instead we'll huddle round the turnip lantern and tell ghost stories. Madame is threatening to play "Twinkle, twinkle, little star" on her recorder - she claims that party piece used to go down a storm when she was 5.
Much busy. But clever Bear. I am using the sound of Madness to block out the sound of madness.
Madness are a funny old band. It may be unfair but they have had a strange image. Chirpy songs about baggy trousers. Crazy dances. Wacky videos. A touch of the novelty act? Not "serious" musicians like, bless him, Weller or (small bear runs screaming from the room) Waits ?
We all know the deal with "Greatest Hits" selections? They're for lazy, indecisive people (so we have a lot of them) who can't deal with that scary downloading lark.
There will be the couple of songs that you buy it for - the Greatest Hits. Maybe four or five if you're lucky. Then the OK/Skippable Hits. Bit of filler - dodgy 12" remix of the Greatest Hit? Then something "special" for the fans - obscure B side or quirky little cover - because they have everything three times over already and need an excuse to shell out more dosh (*cough* Elvis Costello reissues *cough*).
Naughty cynical bear ...
Back to Madness. Twenty three songs. And not a single duff one. A big surprise to be honest. There is the big upbeat noise. But there is also sweetness and light. Darkness and disappointment. Worth revisiting if you only remember nutty boys and the heavy, heavy sound.
Or if you need to block out the sound of a deranged and demented woman.
That Wainwright, in what I can only consider a personal vendetta against me, has announced an extra gig. Here. Not somewhere nice and far away. Here. In this city.
Yes. She is going to both nights. No man or small bear can stop her.
I just happened to make a passing query about the cost of the ticket. Sniffle. Some things should never be said. Even in jest. And "I could sell a much loved old friend on Ebay so that I can afford to see some boyish fop and his stupid floppy hair poncing about for two nights in a row in October" is one of them.
She may have phrased it a little differently but I knew what she was saying. Sniffle.
So I've been singing "It must be love" to myself while she reads out highlights from Uncut's audience with RW.
Hang on.
Oh.
She'll have to repeat that last one - hum - Wainwright reckons that Gordon Brown is considerably more sexy than Tiny Blur. To quote the Rufus person - "I think Gordon Brown's really sexy. I think most most women I know feel the same."
Hum. Indeed. Well, that's a thought ...
That's something that will take a bit of pondering. Unfortunately.
She finally lured me out with a mixture of threats and promises. I've been cowering under the bed since Friday evening. I'm not proud. It was frightening. And there was no warning. And I'm just a small creature. Easily startled apparently.
And no sympathy of course. I'm not saying that Tom Waits is a bad person. He's cool. I'm cool with him. It's just that the sound of him unexpectedly torturing "Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho. It's off to work we go" on Radio 4 did make me burst into tears and convince me that an army of rabid weasels was heading this way to scoop my insides out with tea spoons and use my head as a football.
She says I'm being daft. But, hah! What about that Kate Bush song - at this point I should probably check the title but I'm still too traumatised and you know the one I mean - one about sonic bombs, sounds that can kill. I was definately the victim of an audio maiming on Friday evening.
Thankfully a follow-up mugging (Pete Docherty sings "Chim Chimney") was only alluded to. I was in my bunker under the bed, prodding anything that came near with a cake fork, and blocking my ears with dust bunnies.
So lots of catching up to do. Heigh ho, heigh ho ...
The idea of cats is something mysterious and sophisticated. Warm fur. The twitch of a tail. A contented purr. Dark eyes, shining in moon light.
The reality is more likely to be sulky and a bit smelly with claws. They will try to bite your head off. Or nibble your toes. Or shred you. Everything is a potential meal or a bed.
Real cats scare me. But don't get me started on dogs. Grrrrrr.
