July to September :

DIARY 30/09/08

Man On Wire. Unmissable. Stunned for hours, even days. Envy Philippe Petit's great courage and unnatural skills. Am in awe and want to go to New York and bore him with my admiration. For a time I feel slightly obsessed. Must write about it, in a song. Stunned and disheartened, to be honest, as the writing is coming so slowly, but life does go on, so called in a Dowser. Man with rods and a magic touch. Apparently. Hovered his glorified coat-hanger around an acre and a half of our woodland. Found nothing worth reporting. Incredible. There are springs all along the lane out there; all local water was brought by yoke from 50 yards along until the late 50s. There is a well in the cellar of our own house. Will try with the JCB. Want a large pond/small lake to float a boat on. If the Dowser is right, we'll line it. May keep sycamore roots around one side for wildlife. Birds might nest in them. Cut over 100 of them this year. Weed of a tree, but makes good firewood. Now there is light getting in, I will de-ivy the apple trees and get the orchard thriving. Plenty of cookers this year, in spite of overcrowding until we lopped in big style. And a couple of delicious eaters still come good. Intend plucking a batch, eat with breakfast cereal.

Been suffering nasty ear infection. Occurs once every two or three years, and usually I let it run its course. But there were shows to play and I needed my ears fit. Slowly improved over a week on antibiotics, but had to play Weyfest pretty deaf in right ear, with in-ear monitor on the left side for a change. Weyfest - more rain. Torrential again, like in Germany, for most of the day. Relented for our set, though. And before that I took great pleasure watching Mick Green slam his Telecaster with his band The Pirates. Big thrill. Then to my friend Charlie Mann's, who rigged a big marquee on his racing stable land, in Upper Lambourn, for a 50th birthday knees-up. Charlie has full barns, with 60 or so inmates. My 4-year-old hurdler Vacario is in there and he looks fabulous. Ex-German flat racehorse with presence. Entered in a Bumper at Fontwell coming Saturday. If he runs, he may well win. Before that, on Friday, Land Hawk runs at Newmarket. Ran close up fifth in unsuitable heavy ground at Warwick on debut, and again fifth on better ground last week at Yarmouth. The winner is entered and fancied for the 2000 Guineas, so we were not entirely unhappy. Land Hawk will win races. Robbie Gladwell got married to Jules end August. I drink to their happiness. Sang a couple of songs at their reception. No prizes for naming the house-band! Yep, most of the current CR, and why not. Then we played a benefit concert in aid of The National Neurological Hospital. Raised almost £10,000, including complete box office (no Guest tickets were allowed, everybody paid), and stuff auctioned. I put up a used Takemine guitar which had travelled to many places with me, plus a pair of free Guest tickets to a show of ours, soundcheck (why does anyone want to be there?) and dinner after. Made the cute gag that it would include "dinner with the band after the show". Got applause, and I added, "I won't be there, but you can have dinner with...." and strange to say got a laugh. I will be there Gareth Jones. For the two-and-a-half grand you pledged I will even get you a hotel room if you need to travel. And the fearless Wim Jenkins went nearly all the way, as brave an under-bidder as you'd ever find. He got a consolation prize. I am a sucker for good deeds.

Lunch in Cambridge with Paul Horton. Brought with him a specially commissioned painting, The Ark - Greta's birthday present. She was ecstatic. Face lit and glowed. Took phone pic as she tore away covers to expose this original, and zapped it to Paul. I think he was as moved by it all, the pleasure Greta was deriving, as she herself was. Great artist, great man. Kerr celebrated his birthday the next day, in Thailand, on holiday. We have a fair surprise for that young man when he returns. Can hardly wait. Need inspiration. Maybe in The Highlands it will come, as I've said, and that may do it. Been recalling influences from way back. Ice-Cold In Alex. 1958. I was seven. Some of my best friends were just coming into the world. I would not have seen it til mid-60s I guess. But it matters. And Florence: the museums, the museums. Never been, but feel it drawing me. May find somewhere away from the bustle, on the edge of the city, high-rise, as high as can be, to look down onto those beautiful pink and brown tiled roof-tops. Ice-Cold In Alex, warm as toast in Florence.
To the cinema for a second go at Man On Wire. It is the best docu-drama ever made and one of the best movies of any genre I have ever seen. The super 8 footage of the planning meetings to plot Philippe Petit's walk between the Twin Towers is amazing. Only the Picturehouse Arts cinemas appear to have screened this masterpiece, but no doubt it'll be available on dvd soon. Everyone with a name should see this film. It is, simply, unmissable. Tout etait prêt, she says. Petit was ready. The world was not. Unmissable. Man On Wire.

DIARY 28/08/08

End of June: lunch at the Express Newspaper building, Lower Thames Street, in the exec. suite of proprietor and erstwhile drummer Richard Desmond, with Sunday Express editor Martin Townshend. Martin was a rock music writer way back and our paths had crossed, fleetingly and impersonally, several times over the years. Martin wonders whether I might have a topic to write on for his paper. I feel flattered, being offered the chance to be a hack once more. Trouble is, while I feel strongly about many issues, I wonder whether airing it all in public is a good idea. To the Barbican later for the Scottish National Theatre Company's "Black Watch". A stupendous, emotional piece. Power all over the stage. Real power from pretend soldiers. Hard to accept at times that they are actors. Iraq and back. Bad life. Brilliant play. Faultless production. Billy Sloan recommended it to me, and he is clearly a good judge, as he also thought the Abba musical rubbish! That's my kind of pal.

Don't ask how (contacts, of course!), but I watched the Silverstone Grand Prix from the pit lane, with my son. Not the best view of the course,but then I don't think there's one half-decent seat among the 90,000 on offer. Every spectator spends 97.9 per cent of the race craning to single out each car via big screens. Daft, really, following F1, so how come it's so popular? Took refuge from drizzle in the Red Bull hospitality building; met the Backbeat Beatles, the tribute band that played a few dates with us a couple of years ago. Good fellas, and not ashamed to be seen all day in their outfits. They were due to play later at a corporate bash. They do The Fabs well enough, but a right-handed bass-player...? Yeh, yeh, yeh.

Can't get enough of theatre these days. To The Coliseum for the English National Opera's "Candide". Closest I've come to opera to date, to be honest. I admire the arias, on record. But 4 hours of poor acting in grotesque make-up has never struck me as serious entertainment. I always feared I'd laugh at all the wrong bits, or titter at times of deep significance. "Candide" is quite light, rather G & S, a comic operetta, and the cast and chorus (I counted 50+) are top pros. First-rate singing (what a change, Ruthie Henshall apart, for the West End these days), and sets clearly inspired at least in part with the help of an old-fashioned budget. And a full orchestra in the pit, made up of fine classical and jazz players. Music by Leonard Bernstein, lyrics by Richard Wilbur, with additional lyrics by, wait for it, Stephen Sondheim, Lillian Hellman and Dorothy Parker. What's a good reason not to go? There isn't one.

And just when I thought it was all over, back on stage with the band at Bilston. Anyone who comes there knows Bilston rocks. Downed a pint of Guinness in one hit (someone's got it up on YouTube), a gift from a punter at my feet. It's a trick, and being a singer (considering all that entails in terms of exercises and breathing) is a help. Don't try this it home. Played half-hour of encores, I'm told. Just kept it coming. I could have sung all night.

And then the pouring rain of Burgherzheim, near Frankfurt, Germany. We got soaked, and we were under cover - partly! 10,000 paying guests got drenched to the skin. But we got through, with roadies running about the apron with brooms and cloths, trying vainly, it has to be admitted, to protect the foot pedals. The Wickens electronic-pedal ensemble took a soaking, I hear. Storms after us. The Waterboys had to wait ages to get on, as the stage was swept, dried, re-swept and dried again. Spoke earlier to Mike Scott and he's given me details on a desolate hideaway way up in The Highlands, where inspiration may be garnered. I will try it. I need a shot in the arm, and The Highlands need exploring.

End July: they wear their rucksacks containing the daily provisions on their chests now in Barcelona. Great city, but blighted by Gypsy terrors with low moral standards. A basic mugging is bad enough, but using babes in arms as the accomplice, that's unforgivable. But the Sagria Famiglia, the Gaudi cathedral, continues to grow into its own unspeakable beauty, a shell poetic, an interior divine. Met with Spanish record company, and something is in the air.

Back to more theatre: "West Side Story" as devised by the American tour itself, at Sadlers Wells. Here is dancing of the highest quality, and here is performance beyond conventional criticism. Sitting there, feeling privileged, feeling sated with art and music...only good feelings. Came home and re-read Romeo And Juliet. Brought tears, as ever.

August 14: paid first visit to artist and good mate Paul Horton's studio. Three days to go to his 60 piece exhibition. This is a room to drool over. The colour and calm surrounding me are gently and inexorably overwhelming. "Onward And Upward" hangs in its original glory. "Sea Of Love," Paul's latest limited print, is possibly his best ever work. I would have been in the market for the original had I known. How satisfying it must be for an artist to know he continues to improve and develop. Some of us fear the barren patch has lasted just a little too long for comfort. As I said, The Highlands beckon.

Bought a fine 2-year-old race horse. Came over to Newmarket, to be trained by Jeff Pearce, and we've name him Land Hawk. Go to the Racing Post site and look him up. Then watch for the entries and take proper note. Running debut at Warwick, all being well, this Thursday, September 4th. Won't get hit by jockey Jimmy Quinn, and may not win, but his day will come another day. He's good. Been up at dawn to get to the Gallops several times recently, and I have watched his progress. The professionals are excited. I am hopeful. Maybe the Guineas next May? Chasing the dream, chasing the dream.

Weyfest coming up. Set-list? They all keep asking, but deep down I think they trust me - and one another, which is probably more important. We are steaming, and I just hope the rain stays away. We cope; we all cope, us and them. But dry and mild is better.