Day 209: the coal face.

I'm at work. We're finishing some urgent concepts for an 8am meeting tomorrow, and the others are having wines. It's been a long Monday, but things seem to be sorting themselves out. Or at least, we're sorting them out, but it looks like everything will be okay. That's good. What is also good is that my favourite IT man Ben (a different Ben. I have about twelve Bens in my life, give or take.) may have given me a hot tip for solving my microphone problem. Now if only I could get home to try it out.

Day 208: equipment malfunction.

My freakin microphone is still refusing to communicate with Garageband. I mean how ridiculous? I embark on my exciting new attempt at a music project and am thwarted before I even manage to lay down a proper vocal take. It's pretty basic stuff, and pretty pathetic. Add to that my waking up with a squeaky and positively male pubescent sounding voice box, and the music department of my life is looking somewhat broken down. Still, I will persevere. The mic issue will certainly be solved with some tiny and either a) annoyingly obvious or b) impossibly obscure flick of a tick box or drop-down menu choice somewhere in the Garageband programme. I will find it Goddamnit! And there's not a lot I can do about a croaky throat except rest my voice and saturate my throat in nonabrasive and hydrating beverages. When I was little and I had a throat and cough like the one I do now, my Dad would always make me a hot toddy with some kind of brandy or whisky in it, honey and orange or lemon. They were small and potent brews which guaranteed a lot less raspy coughing and a decent night's sleep. I wonder if one such brew would help my little vocal cords now? I'm guessing probably not (judging by what my singing teacher has told me about the effects of alcohol on one's delicate tune tubes). Oh well, it's all academic. I can guess and wonder about hot toddies until the sun comes up, but testing their efficacy in fixing throats will have to wait until later.

Day 207: woa dizzy.

I went to yoga this morning. First time in a week. I'm kind of still feeling a bit coughy etcet, so I was ready for it not to be my most stomping class ever, but man how dizzy? I seriously had to sit down about five times. But you know, whatever. It was good to do it. Then after class I discovered a new organic market pretty close to my house which was very pleasing. I bought oranges and bok choy. The oranges are freakin delicious (I haven't tried the bok choy). And then I went to my niece Sylvie's 3rd birthday party where there was a surprising number of awesome vegan food options (part of the party was at a Chinese restaurant) and I had just a really cool time hangin' with the fam. What a rockin day. Everyone else was drinking the way my family and close associates usually drink (which is liberally), and as usual it didn't bother me. I don't care about alcohol. Really, just not at all. Actually wait a minute, there was one moment when I cared a tiny bit about alcohol. Last night I went with a girlfriend to a quite up-market wine bar in the city, frequented by (from what I could tell) quite a lot of handsome, beautifully suited men. In that setting, with its large gilt-framed mirrors, golden low light and glinting chandeliers, it would have been more appropriate to be sipping from a classy glass of red or white than sucking on the straw of my pineapple juice. But no worry. I have filed this pleasant establishment under "places to drink classily in future", and in the meantime I will very happily stick to drinks of the less dizzying variety.

Day 206: no lolly on the trolly.

Ah the tinkle of the drinks trolly. What happiness and excitement that glass-jingling melody used to inspire in me. Tinkle tinkle, time to relax now, tinkle tinkle, you will soon be released from the daily grind, tinkle tinkle, and relieved of your capacity for coherent thouuuuuuuught. As a tune it could use some work, but man I used to dig it. Now alas, that trolly's got nuthin for me. It's just a big jiggling mass of sugar and brain killer. That's cool. I am actually very happy on my new vegan and sugar-free, plus usual alcohol-free buzz. There have been times in my life when a diet as spartan as this (actually the Spartans probably ate lots of meat and drank lots of wine, but if I recall correctly they were definitely very strict with themselves) would have been unthinkable, impossible and decidedly unenjoyable. But right now it's working fine. This dolly don't need no lolly from the trolly.

Day 205: what's the plan Stan?

I think it was John Lennon who famously said that life is what happens while you're making plans. Well maybe he would have approved of the week I've just had, and continue to have. No exercise, allowing myself to get ill, zero singing practice, microphones that don't seem to work on Garageband, incessant rain and big important jobs briefed at the last minute requiring brilliant solutions for notoriously difficult clients in record time. None of these things figured in my plans for this week. On the contrary, this week was meant to be about re-energising my early morning yoga routine, getting high on veganism, and launching a new and glittering home recording project. And maybe reading some books and doing some work and strengthening and stretching my vocal cords. What the hell happened? Life, apparently. And now it's late again and I'm still tapping away and planning to read for a while and that means no early yoga again. Well bugger it. This week decided to walk to the beat of its own drum so I'm not going to waste any more energy banging on about it. All bets are off. I am simply going to roll with the rhythm. So Stan, over to you.

Day 204: it's raining, it's boring.

It's raining like a bastard and has been all week. So I've been doing some of my favourite indoors activities; following random paths across the internet and trying to think of cool band names. As it happens, the internet is a bit of a bugger when it comes to band names. Why? Because every time you think of a cool one, you're just one google search away from ten other bands already called the same thing. It sucks. I have been trying to name several projects for months and months now, and have come up with a tonne of cracking ones that are already taken. I've started to wonder actually, whether it matters that there's a band in Jordan with the same name as my band in Sydney (yes I know I don't actually have a band right now but let's just pretend). Anyway, on today's internet adventures I was reminded of some really cool band names I will never be using: The Runaways - teenage girl awesomeness. My Bloody Valentine - blood, love and horror movie coolness. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - sofa king cool. Yeah Yeah Yeahs - yeah man. Joan Jett and The Blackhearts - so freakin rock, and yet girly too. The Drums - I just like it. Oh yeah, and possibly the coolest band name of all time, The Who. The who? You know who.

Day 203: still ill.

Today I woke feeling worse than yesterday, having gotten up in the night feeling asthmatic, dry and inflated in the gland department. Sorry, illness doesn't make for the best reading (or living for that matter). I have prided myself on not getting ill for quite some time now, often skiting about how yoga keeps me well. Ah yes, but you see I didn't do yoga did I? Not at the crucial moment that would have tripped this lurgy before it got on its feet. Anyway, in an effort to get myself back into good enough shape to get back to the yoga room (and work, and recording, and the pleasantness that is life when you're healthy) I did only healthy things. Like drink lots of liquids, take copious quantities of vitamin C, eat soup loaded with garlic and green vegetables (sorry in advance to anyone who meets me and my garlic halo tomorrow), and read bits of my new book Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer. Which I think I might read a little more of now, then get some more of the sleep I've been enjoying such a lot of, and then, with any luck, wake tomorrow feeling ill no more.