Walkin'

I've started reading Auster, reputedly the airport paperback alternative to Beckett. It's too soon to pass judgement, but I've heard good things from the highest authorities. It feels good to be exploring new territory after so much time with Proust; and yet, after reading such a fantastic writer for so long it feels odd to encounter such a contrasting style.

I've spent another night at the piano, aching over walkin' bass lines and running as fast as my fingers will take me. I've attempted a few slow blues tunes, too, with medium success. But despite the frustrations, the music has an unmistakeable therapeutic effect. Tomorrow I'm going to pick up the saxophone and try to master the breathing exercises. Tonight I'm going to catch up on my rest.

Matthew Ball has been to Borders again...