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Damn, damn damn no time.

I promised I'd do something erotic for a small press anthology in December, and now the deadline is here, the same week as the BAPA deadline, naturally, and though I've done something it's not exactly erotic, more bitterly romantic ... and it's not inked yet. So I scanned up a bunch of the pictures I drew on my calendar last year (many of which are dirty! dirty! calendar girls) and sent him them on the grounds that you can never have too many pretty little spot illustrations. Funny how I don't seem to be producing anything between romantic and depraved at the moment. Deeply revealing, I'm sure.

BAPA thankfully rode in on an easy wave of inspiration during a unit planning meeting, which also had me scribbling away at something called House of Doors but as it would need gallery space I don't think I'll be following that one through. There's enough on the project plate as it is. Still, at least it's a distraction.

Not that I'm short of distractions. Is a constructive distraction a destruction? I've sort of begun to visualise all the various things I ought to be doing as square bars of deep pastel colours lurching round and past each other in a fuzzy white space with buckets of annotation and good advice I can't quite focus on. Maybe my mind is automatically generating Microsoft Project. The horror.

So going to gigs loud enough that I couldn't worry about all the things I ought to be doing became a priority. Queen Adreena was that, at the Zodiac, a bit of a goth gig but not so much that I felt underddressed. Everyone says they're great live, and given that the lead singed howled and screeched her way through at least three octaves (and some sounds which seemed to be moving beyond human) dressed in pink knickers and a thermal vest dancing like a traumatised Iggy Pop, while the rest of the band gave cool hair, cool face, cool guitar posing, yes, great live. The lights were pretty bright, so I took mzdt's advice and started waving round a supersampler loaded with Delta 3200. I've nearly finished the film now, so hopefully I'll turn up some views from the mosh pit soon. A very nice mosh pit, full of little punky-goth girls.

Later on I met Emma with Tim (the rest of her new band, Science Never Sleeps) and had the usual shouting-over-the-music conversations before we got with the programme and started dancing. He dances like a maniac. Thay've got a gig at the Zodiac on Feb 12, which should be a heady night of synths and samples, if the headliners are who I think they are. Speaking of which ...

Laika was altogether a more subdued affair (given that about three people knew it was happening) but with the Zodiac dressed up all sparkly (I think for new glam night Trashy rather than for Laika, but still right on style), duelling synths and samples and a bass line which hit the resonant frequency of knee (the Zodiac had filled their fishtank with bondage barbies! They knew I was coming...) we liked it lots; wandering guitar/electronica seeded with very odd noises. Made me think of a lost tribe of clangers raised on a rundown concrete housing estate. Synaesthesic lass liked them too; she said they tasted like the last blackberries of autumn, half fruit, half rain.

Then home for weird monkeys and trying to finish track one of Four Seasons Tech (must give it a proper name) and scanning all the things that need scanning (what, the disk is full again?) and unfortunately, somewhere in among all this, my regular bedtime slipped back to 3.30-ish. Only an hour, I know, but my sleep-pattern doesn't have any slack in it.

So this morning I was actually glad that my landlord didn't phone me back right away about the broken washing machine as it gave me twenty minutes to tidy my room and sweep the floor. Hurray!

The dustpan was full of dust-bunnies and glitter.