Coffee like Marlon Brando, tea like my nan

My throat hurts. I've just finished "singing" 'Every Coin', which basically means putting myself through emotional and physical trauma (okay, that might be overdoing it a little) over and over and over again. Until I am basically unable to speak. So I'm writing instead.

It's Thursday. Already. Wow. And shit. Time is moving, it would appear. It's quite difficult to notice it doing that when you're in here. Very little natural light, you see. We're doing pretty well, but it's scary to think that we're over a third of the way through our session. The first three tracks off the album are as good as done, and let me tell you they sound good. Or at least, I think they do. It's hard to tell. Maybe they don't sound good. Maybe this is all a dream. Maybe I should stop worrying. Maybe I should get out more.

On that subject, for those of you who care about the amount of fresh air I'm getting, I took a walk along the Thames path today. There's nothing quite like a gentle river, peaceful fisherman, grassy banks and a massive fuck-off power station looming over it all to really get the creative juices flowing. Sutton Courtenay is, I can now confirm, idyllic, by the way.

Take care, all of you. Is anyone actually reading this? You don't have to answer that question.