Things at 35

So much in my head. Where to start? Where to stop? Write it down, that’s all that matters.

Tomorrow, Sunday Sept 3rd, is my 35th birthday. I shall be marking this unpleasant event with a few drinks at The Boogaloo, from about 7pm. Consider this your invitation, Kind Reader.

The next Beautiful & Damned is on Thursday Sept 21st. The Boogaloo, again. Do come – and do dress up. More info on the News page. Recently, the club was featured in a local newspaper, the Enfield Advertiser, with interview quotes and a nice photo of me. I would scan it in, but I don’t have a scanner. About time I bought one, really.

I’m performing one epic Fosca song, ‘File Under Forsaken’, at the H-Bird event on Sept 18th at the Betsey Trotwood, 56 Farringdon Road, EC1. Charley Stone is accompanying me on guitar, just as she did on the Fosca recording.

Fosca are still tinkering away on the new album, “The Painted Side Of The Rocket” before playing further concerts. Though the end is in sight. The album is now being made on a Mac as opposed to a PC, so we’ve had to transfer all the bits from the earlier sessions. And Tom’s bought a more expensive vocal microphone, so I’m redoing most of my vocals.

What else? I’m featured in the current issue (September 2006) of ‘Inside Out’ magazine. It’s one of those ‘Homes and Gardens’-type lifestyle publications. I think the target market is people with well-paid jobs who own their own properties and spend lots of money on making them look nice. So having me in there, a technically unemployed man with less than no money at all, who rents a furnished bedsit, must surely be the height of perversity for the editors. But I’ve always been good at bringing out the perverse in people. I specialise in making darts pause in mid-flight.

My photo caption is “Dickon Edwards: Dandy, 34, London”. It’s in a piece on people who live out of time or somesuch. Nice colour photo of me standing before my landlady’s curtains, as if they’re theatrical curtains. Which makes sense: in the interview I describe the bedsit as a dressing-room with the world as my stage.

The photographer left behind his big silvery flash reflector, collapsed and zipped up in a flat circular canvas case. I phoned him to impart this information about a month ago. He still hasn’t collected it. Perhaps he’d rather lose the reflector than speak to me again. When he was taking my photo, his phone rang. A job from the Guardian. He must be far too busy and rich to even pick up his own equipment.

This week I’m going to be photographed by Time Out for a feature on ‘New London Scenes’ or somesuch.

Soon after that I’m going to be filmed by BBC1’s ‘Imagine’ programme talking about why people keep diaries on the Internet. The programme is called ‘Here Comes Everybody’, which pleased me – a nice little James Joyce reference.

I’m also writing up a lengthy interview with Shane MacGowan for a magazine. It’s a cover feature, and – whisper it – I’m actually getting PAID. Perhaps the real world has finally let me in, one step at a time. Happy Birthday, indeed.