Feeling rough as arseholes again today. I got up early and crawled through the snow to dunfermline for the record fair.
With the recent redesignation of all HMV and fopp staff as ‘fucking scroungers’, record fairs are the only way I (or anyone else) can still experience the magic of trawling through boxes of disks, searching for diamonds.
It was pitch black. Like a medieval dungeon (must remember to take my own sputtering candles next time) and I left the hotel an hour later, £33 lighter and eight albums happier. I’m writing this to the ‘bladerunner’ soundtrack. Earlier, I had on beck’s ‘midnite vultures’ and an only ones bootleg.
There’s still five more albums to work through and work through them, I shall!
I’m still writing my daily journal, taking thirty minutes a day to snapshot where my head’s at. With this flu still crippling me, it’s hard work, but I’m not giving in.
If I’m going to beat this filthy sickness, pushing myself a little every day’s the way to go about it.
Not being able to read’s a pain in the arse, but that’ll pass, I’m sure.

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