By Yourself

Another favourite from the old days was entitled thus, sung by a chap named Jay D Martin. You would have had to pay £25 in 1978 to get his record, it was so rare. I taped it from a friend, as we did all the time when you couldn't afford the original. And in 1978, a Pony was a lot of dosh.

In my current state it still is.

The title will of course resonate: the best songs always had heartache as their core. Or should that be couer, my learned francophile-francodomiciled music correspondent?

Another cracker was Stop Girl by the 7 Dwarfs (sic). It reminds me of The Monkees, or perhaps The Box Tops, with whom you will be familiar if you watch the X-Factor. The song that heralds the commercial interruption is pure delight. Although not as good as The Letter.

Get me a ticket for an aeroplane
Ain't got time to take a fast train
Lonely days are gone
I'm a going home
My baby, she wrote me a letter.

The muse is departing tonight, in the face of an evening of male voice choristing tomorrow. Not sure what to predict, but I am sure I will have something to report. And my grass-grower has just come good with a nephew who apparently is a skunkanansie. All-nighters usually relied upon speed and blueys, but as I don't sleep, I don't need that stuff at the moment. For now I am the boy from the Welsh herbaceous border villages. I had forgotten how good smoking could be - and I mean tobacco, here.

A singular pleasure.

You have to really read this stuff, or just do the stuff! But you must join the dots!