I'm at work today because me and Phoneboy and Matt Mackay are about to record a -ahem- Podcast. "Excitement" really isn't quite the word as three intellectual behemoths gather together in a studio to trade their wit and wisdom about subjects as wide and varied as... well, you get the idea.
We're playing no music, it'll be about an hour long and you'll probably never hear it.
How's that for a plug?
I'm actually a bit nervous about it. They're both good mates and it'd be really good if we could record something worth listening to. On the other hand it might be really rubbish, if it is I'd be more dissapointed than usual. Generally I like rubbish stuff to be entirely my fault. My career is littered with odd, halfwitted and sometimes plain stupid decisions but I take pride in the fact that any rubbish stuff I've ever done was my doing and mine alone.
We're also being really careful not to let anyone get too excited about the idea. The moment it becomes "a job" or "work" is the moment anything like that is f#cked. If you are a creative person let me warn you now; there is a long road with a sign post at the bottom indicating that it leads to a town known as BurntOut. You're on that road the moment you feel being creative is a 'job' where you've got to hit 'targets' and 'goals' etc etc. I've been on that road. If you're on it too, drive carefully!
My athlete's foot bit of this website was, perhaps, prematurely curtailed after I got the impression that blahdy blah creme would stop it itching and kill it once and for all. I was wrong. It's still fighting the good fight, but it does look a lot less like a raw steak. My little podular friend is not yet dead, but he's not quite alive either.