Paris is a question I simply do not know how to pose. Grime and gold; reality and perception; vaping shops and tourist tat.
A shadow cast by the moon on the face of Mars is our guide through the understory. It is a marker on our divergent paths.
Is it a bad thing that I am participating in this process, even though I now know that I realistically do not want the job, even if offered it?
We lose things, we find things. I do hope that what goes around comes around, so that I can get back that ten Euro note I lost in a toilet in Helsinki that time.
My mind keeps popping in the notion that this is somehow a new problem, a by-product of our new, over-connected technological age. But that’s nonsense.
For all but the most successful musicians, the life of playing music is a relatively precarious existence, based on keeping a string of jobs in progress.
A pre-fatherhood man is a different proposition to a father: you look back on yourself and weep for his childishness.