February 24, 2018

7.00 am: I awoke. There was much to do today. 7.45 am: A communion, followed by a final letter to myself. (To be continued.) 9.30 am: A trip to ‘Dickie Snips’, the hairdresser, for my monthly prune. Only the grey hairs were visible against the gown:

I don’t appear to be getting any greyer, presently. ‘Progress’ is intermittent. (Like my life.) My journey to the light side began at 25 years of age, when I developed a distinctive ‘badger’ patch. Both my grandfathers had a full set of snowy white hair by the time they were 60 years old.

10.00 am: Into the studio and on with finalising the mixdown of individual Old Testament books, before the magna-crunch-down during the afternoon. 10.40 am: Back into town for a long-overdue appointment at the opticians. They’ve so many new ‘toys’ these days. One made arcade-game-like sounds when it moved. I was entranced. I’ve seen the glory of my eyes (to invert the first line of The Battle Hymn of the Republic). ‘Mars!’, I exclaimed. Then, ’embryo!’ What fascinating insights (in the most literal sense of that word) digital photography facilitates into the mechanism of seeing. ‘We are fearfully and wonderfully made’:

1.45pm: After lunch, I returned to the studio for the final overlay of the entire Bible. I wondered whether anyone has ever done this before; and, if so, why. I don’t want to intervene in the proceedings other than to balance each of the track’s output and arrange them across a broad stereo field. This will give the very dense texture some space in which to breath. My initial response to the rough mix was that it sounded like everyone in the world praying quietly together.

While, the tracks were being balanced for loudness (this would take an age), I picked up a guitar, after over a fortnight’s sabbatical, to assess the implications of the recent operation for my dexterity. There’re some things in this world that I’m not willing to relinquish without a fight. Guitar playing is one of them. If I ever develop a deficit; I’ll overcome it. This is the pact that I’ve made with myself. My fingers felt like the feet of a novice ice-skater, at first. Gradually, the muscles will ‘remember’ and the instrument, feel like an extension to my body once again. I’ll take time. The whole guitar collection was in dire need of a restring and some spit and polish. The ‘Strat’ was first on the bench. I love this job. There’s great satisfaction to be had in manual work:

Frets polished and oiled; body waxed and polished; new strings readied for the ‘morrow:

5.15 pm: Down tools.

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