I was on the Andrew Marr TV show this morning. And nothing went wrong! Except the sign on my dressing room door saying “Boo Heweroine”. I’m not actually sure that can be said. Not with teeth, anyway. Afterwards the guests had breakfast together. I really enjoyed Clive James’ company. It was also interesting hearing the inside story on chair throwing politicians, huffy radio presenter/authors and appallingly rude party leaders. The woman who did my makeup (I was airbrushed, quite pleasant) had done Nick Griffin’s a couple of weeks ago. What’s going on?

This afternoon I watched my friend Keith Donnelly do his children’s show. I was full of admiration for the way he entertained potentially unruly kids. I once saw him in Australia running around in a tent with 3000 people in it while he was dressed in a Yosemite Sam rubber body suit. He was singing YMCA. It was about 100 degrees. I’d like to see Liam Gallagher do that. Maybe.

Tomorrow I am recording some demos for Chris Difford’s album. This is our second record together after last year’s Last Temptation Of Chris. I thought of that title. Do you see what I did there? We write the songs together. It is probably the most fun you can have as a songwriter. You can keep your mechanical bulls, sparkly pink cowboy hats and Red Bull and vodka, this is real fun. Though combining the two might make it even better. Tuesday I go to Dublin to work with Nick Kelly on his Gestation project (http://gestationproject.wordpress.com). On Wednesday night we are playing together at Whelan’s. This also will be tremendous fun.

Friday I’m doing a gig with Eddi Reader at the Pitlochry Festival theatre. After that I’m helping Heidi Talbot with her new record and then my mammoth tour starts. What a brilliant time I shall have! Unfortunately it’s the night before my album comes out so I feel queasy and jumpy. I’m aware that this blog is as funny as an autopsy and I promise to put on my comedy trousers next time. In the meantime please bear with me. It’s a bit like waiting to be punched by one of the big boys at play time.

I shall try and muster one laugh. I heard this announced on the radio a few years ago: “Irving Berlin, the man who wrote three thousand songs, in five minutes”. Oh God, butterflies the size of dogs.

1/ The peculiar non-language spoken by singers and soundmen.

Soundman: What would you like in your monitors?
Singer: I want to soar like a sparrow hawk.
Soundman: Would some reverb help?
Singer: Mmm… could you make it a little less bosky?

A dialect of this is spoken by directors and film crews.

2/ The noise made by audiences at folk festivals when a guitarist unplugs his lead and there is a loud click through the PA. A sort of collective moo without the m.

3/ A tear in the fabric of space and time caused by a drummer finishing four bars before the rest of the band and his subsequent panicky efforts to cover up his blunder. See also – band stops, drummer carries on.

4/ The crick in your neck you get after a week on tour due to sleeping on unfamiliar pillows.

5/ The Bury/Bury St Edmunds gig mistake. It is more common than you think. A boon to taxi drivers in Manchester and East Anglia.

6/ The people who sit in complete darkness for an hour and a half in theatres between the doors opening and the band coming on.

7/ The idiotic wave you give to a complete stranger before realising that they are waving at someone behind you. I did this only this morning and then foolishly went a step further. “How are you doing?” the waver shouted, a little loudly I thought. Being a good social animal I replied in kind. “I’M DOING OK!” I yelled, startling him. “What on earth is this arse doing?” I could see him thinking, as if I was a buffoon who felt it necessary to periodically blurt out my current emotional status.

8/ The fact that the more loud and aggressive a band is on stage the more civilised and gentle they are in real life and vice versa. I have seen Motorhead playing Scrabble and watched China Crisis doing things that would make Nero want to call it an early night.

9/ The ghastly moment at midnight in a BBC studio in Birmingham when you are being interviewed by an ex Tory minister and you realise, to your horror, that there is an air of sexual tension in the room.

10/ The special form of music created by telling everyone except for one member of the band that the first song in the set tonight is now in the key of E instead of F.

The best suggestions for names for the above things will be embossed on to a commemorative pommel and displayed somewhere or other.

This was a time when record shops were not the welcoming places (if they still exist) that they are now. You could see the fear in a young person’s eyes as they held out a Big Country album to our unforgiving gaze. Difficult music would blare from the knackered speakers, there was a strong smell of stale instant coffee and the strip lighting would blink dustily when there was a particularly loud bit. It’s a miracle anyone dared come in at all. Those that did tended to be the fringier members of society. There was Colin the bin man. Every Saturday he would come in and ask if we had any new stuff. This meant hardcore singles by the likes of Discharge or Flux Of Pink Indians. He would cling to the counter as we played the latest batch. If the thrashy beat caused him to vibrate terrifyingly within the first few bars he would shout “yes!”. If he stood stock still (always quite a tense occasion) for more than thirty seconds it was “too slow”, a no sale. There was also the man who came in every week wearing a false beard (it’s true, you can ask my ex-manager Derek) and buy Jealous Guy by Roxy Music. Is it me or is that just a tad sinister?

Many of the skills I learnt in the Beat are now completely redundant. I think I’d have more chance of getting a job now if I put ‘alchemist’ under previous experience. One of the more risky tasks was ordering browsers – the large black plastic signs that would separate albums into categories or artists. These were ordered from a gentleman in Leicester who was both hard of hearing and had no knowledge whatsoever of twentieth century popular music. Thus an order for Fats Waller and Fats Domino came back as the, admittedly, space saving Fats Domiwaller. MC Hammer became McHammer (you cannae touch this!) and Thelonious Monk… The Loneliest Monk. One can almost picture the sad, tonsured Franciscan idly picking out the opening theme to Round Midnight.

It was, of course, the customers who were the main source of oddness. At least once a week I would be asked, “Have you got that song in the charts? It’s about love”. Some other requests:

“Is the new one by 22 Top out?”
“Do you have the theme tune to Grand Pricks?”
“Have you got any Bill Doggett? He’s dead, you know.” This said with a closed crash helmet on, spittle running down the visor.
“Can I have the Three Tops greatest hits?”

And my all time favourite. An older lady made her way towards the counter as Throbbing Gristle rumbled from the hi-fi. She waited patiently in line behind some mohicaned Exploited fans until it was her turn: “Excuse me, but do you sell string?”

Melissa Etheridge
I used to be in a band called the Bible. We went to Germany for the first time to be on the tele; a sort of Top Of The Pops thing. We were all very excited and star-struck. Here we were, hanging out in the green room with people in the charts and everything. Imagine how pleased we were when Melissa Etheridge came over and said, “Hey guys, really like the new album”. Feeling quite smug that she’d even heard of us we thanked her profusely. “Yes”, she went on, “love what you’ve done with Wally!”.

Me: Wally?
Melissa: Yes, Wally.
Me: I’m sorry, Wally?
Melissa: Wally. Wally Badarou.
Me: Um, we don’t know Wally Badarou.
Melissa: (Pause) So you’re not Level 42 then?

Even now, it hurts a little.

Suggs
A few years ago I wrote some songs with Suggs. I have a lot of time for him; a very clever and interesting man. Our first meeting didn’t go smoothly. I arrived at his house busting for a slash. He directed me to a downstairs lavvy and told me that his work room was on the third floor and to meet him up there. When I locked the door there was an unsettling click. I was trapped. I was stuck in Suggs from Madness’s toilet. My mobile had no signal. There was nothing else I could do. “SUGGS! SUGGS!”. It was a good ten minutes before he came down to rescue me. There was a further ten minutes of door wrestling before I was free. “Why did you lock it?” he asked, “we never lock it”. I felt such a fool.

Elvis Costello
The Bible were recording in Wessex studios. Anarchy In The UK was recorded there. By the way, apart from Sid, I have met all the Pistols. John Lydon held a door open for me, Paul Cook and Steve Jones signed my packet of ten B&H when I was walking to the dole office, and I once had a cup of tea with Glen Matlock. Where was I? Oh yes. Elvis was in the big studio and we were in the little one. There was a shared kitchen. He was there for five days and I was determined to say hello. Unfortunately, when I meet famous people I tend to get overawed and either babble like a chimp on uppers or come over all Marcel Marceau with the stitch. I was too scared to speak to him. On the last day I had a word with myself and resolved to wait in the kitchen and engage him in conversation. I made myself a cheese sandwich and waited. Eventually he came in and headed straight for the fridge. I gathered my thoughts and casually walked towards him. With his head still in the refrigerator he shouted, “Who’s had my fucking cheese?”. Oh dear.

The Noisettes
Two weeks ago my friend Claire was in a jacuzzi with the Noisettes. Unfortunately she drank too much rosé and was sick in the cab on the way home.

Steve Earle
Steve Earle produced the second Bible album. He is one of my heroes. Sadly, while working with us he was a heroin user. I was still pretty ignorant about drugs when he invited me to his hotel room to discuss the recording. The air was thick with smoke. He was, I now know, chasing the dragon. As he hunched over the glowing tin foil I said the uncoolest thing anyone has ever said. “Hello Steve”, I piped, “are you doing some soldering?” He gave me a rather special look.

I could tell you about the time I got diarrhoea in James Taylor’s house or when I dropped my wallet in Rufus Wainwright’s piano. How I once saw John Martin throw up on a car or about the time I was invited to a Paul McCartney party because I wore horn-rimmed glasses. One day I intend to write a book about my life of reflected glory. Four years ago I saw Mark E Smith on a train.

I’m back! Yes, since I last spoke to you in February many things have happened. Many, many things. Really, quite a number of events have occurred. What with one thing and another it has been an eventful few months. All those things that happened! Numerous would be a good word. Things, things, things. One after the other. No really!

The exciting news that I have to share with you today is that I have a new album coming out. It’s called God Bless The Pretty Things or, as one Japanese site has it, God Bless The Pretty Thin. And why not? Why shouldn’t the quite slender have an album they can relate to? Rarely in the history of human expression have the ‘not chubby, but not exactly scrawny’ had something they could call their own. God bless ‘em!

I’ve already had some extremely positive reviews for the album. One described it as “aural watercolour”. That had me punching the air, I can tell you! I’ve had a few complimentary remarks about the artwork, too. “You’re looking well”, said one family member. Well, that’s because it’s not me but an Eighties Swedish Action Man (the one with the beard) wearing Joe 90 glasses and carrying a tiny guitar. I believe he made his debut in one of my earlier blogs. Strewth, it’s like I’m invisible! I thought people would say, “My, what a scream, you’ve made an action figure of yourself!”. “Actually”, I would reply, “it was a Christmas gift from my wife and I thought it would make an ideal album cover”. But no, they think it’s me. In their minds eye I must have disproportionately large hands, ridiculously big spectacles and be only nine inches tall. I honestly thought I’d made more of an impression on my nearest and dearest than that.

Anyway. It’s out on October 26 and I shall be doing a big old tour. I’ll put the dates up next time if you like. On October 25 I will be appearing on the Andrew Marr television show. I get to sing a song live at eight on a Sunday morning. I sense disaster. I’m never at my best that early and I’m worried that once I have joined Baroness Scotland, or whoever, on the sofa that I shall be asked a simple question about current affairs and will be as lucid as a four year old who’s been on the G and T’s. “So, Boo, what do you think of the bonus structure debate?”. Blank stare, dead air and then, “My leg feels funny and I need the toilet”. Ghastly silence. And everyone will carry on thinking singers are stupid people who should NEVER EVER talk.

Well, it’s great to be back and I’m looking forward to sharing my thoughts and feelings with you as I travel this road which we call life. You can use that if you like. You see, every now and then you see something that makes you stop and take stock. “Why are we here? What’s it all for?”. If you happen to be in Morecambe I urge you to place a small floral tribute at this gravestone. This was a man after my own heart. I believe I may have found my next album cover.