Hallucinatory dreams (probably generated by the paracetamol overdose), including writing an incredibly detailed track-by-track review of a new Drugstore CD (one of the great lost bands of the last ten years) that of course doesn't exist. Drugstore were (are?) fronted by an incredibly charismatic and rather attractive Brazilian lady called Isabel Monteiro.
I saw them play at Reading during the last World Cup, when she sang a song about how useless England were compared to Brazil. The fact she could pull this off without being attacked was an indication of her power over the audience. Their CD, "White Magic for Lovers" is a brilliant, tuneful, tough, sexy, rock record that should have sold millions rather than the few thousand I guess it achieved. There is no justice in the music world.
Anyway, my head is still throbbing like an AC/DC bass riff so I decide not to go in to the office. I have meetings in three different parts of London and don't think I can handle the travel. Based on previous experience, missing the Redgrave governance meeting won't be too much of a hardship anyway.
I find a good sore throat gives me the singing voice I always lusted after, so I entertain Ginny with ultra-bass renditions of "I was born under a wandering star" and "Hang on in there baby". Tonight, Mathew, this short, thin, pale boy is going to be … Barry White!!