Drive

This driving, this relentless driving. Its killing me, its not healthy in so many ways. I'm already dying of the cold, having infected everyone at work.

But, dear go, its so far, not like the old late night drives to and from Livingston, but hundreds of miles. I'll drive for hours and stop for a break and realise I still have hours to go.

And then the same, on the way home, only with more traffic, and at a slower pace and more in a hurry to get home before the morning.


There's nothing on the radio and this KLF tape has engrained itself in my soul, I can still hear Last Train to Transcentral when its switched off.

For company I have conversations in my head with ex-girlfriends and people I don't usually talk to. One and a half-sided conversations, completely unrealistic with intelligent replies and "so why is that?" questions, rather than the passive submissive reality fading into silence.

Heck, its why I'm pulled up on a hard shoulder, scrawling into my note book at 1am, just to shut out the thoughts.

Then again, I come up with ideas at times like this. Like sticking my full nae on the gig review website. And also doing podcasts, named "Radio 2's Indiepop Show" one hour of my take on it all. Maybe have studio guests. Fiona talking about the band she saw theother day, and promises of live sessions coming up in the next hour.

Ooh, ooh, I need to get in touch with Pete Ball or the Strath Manu course and demand they give kids SQL training and start a pHD project to create an MRPII/ERP for manufacturing program that can be used by idiots, using MySQL