Nostalgic.

This week I've mostly been playing old albums, albums from the early 70s - a time when I was first getting into music. As a kid I was in a youth group, and so had a bunch of friends who were a few years older then me. These friends introduced me to their music, which often meant I was the only kid in class who listened to these bands. Of course I listened to what was popular as well, but mostly it's those older ones that have stuck with me.

I've played some Deep Purple, some Mountain, some Ten Years After and some Free this week. Musicians playing real instruments, who could play the crap out of them. Drums with tone and timbre, keyboards that sounded analog, not digital. Guitar solos which make you want to weep cos you can feel the pain. Singers with range, melody and voices.

I watched Jeff Lynne's ELO concert, which was Jeff and Richard Tandy, and a bunch of hired hands. His first show in 28 years. I cranked it, loved the opening tracks - but about halfway through I was getting bored. Why? Because the versions had no drive, no oomph, no punch. Those hired hands sounded exactly like hired hands. Technically perfect, but they weren't invested in the music. I later threw on an ELO disc, and the difference was night and day. It rocked.

Yeah, I know I'm getting older. And I know that music speaks to me because I was there. I recognise all that - but it's my music and I love it. There are some modern bands who manage it, who speak to my soul. But I still love my past.

I've also become a little obsessed with the image of a jigsaw puzzle I once owned. I used to do them quite often, when I was younger, and there was one I had which I wish I still had. My memory may be imperfect, but I remember it like this. It's a photograph along a cobbled street in Europe, with an outdoor cafe. Set in the late 60s, I think. I think there was probably a harbour on the right, with boats and yachts. Everyone is simply enjoying the sun, eating, drinking. I remember a few people wearing RayBan style sunglasses. No one pays any attention to the camera - except one kid who is gazing directly at the lens, and therefore, at me.

I've tried hunting for this photo online. I'd love to see it again. And there'd be a tip of the hat to anyone who could point me in the right direction.

What does all of this mean? Nothing, except I've had a week of nostalgia, and it's been great.

A Week That Was.

I've written before about how the writing game is a bit like fishing. You throw in a few lines and see who takes the bait. If no-one does, you cast again and wait. A lot of waiting.

No nibbles this week, although one of the fish I'd already landed gave a wriggle in the bucket. The contract arrived for a story I sold a few months ago. Signed and returned.  Does a writer ever get tired of making a sale, signing a contract or receiving copies of a book with their story inside?

I don't think I will.

My computer is finally dying.  The old beast has served me well these past 5 or 6 years, but is starting to fail. USBs keep dropping out and screens keep locking. Even though, it's surprisingly quiet for an old thing. But a new machine arrives today and so I've backed everything up ready for transferring to the new one. Ah, technology. I'm so 21st Century.

Speaking of 21st Century and technology, I'm really enjoying Instagram. I'm starting to build some followers, and regularly hit 35-50 likes on my photos. Feel free to follow me. I'm nihilon.

At home it's been a strange old week. I've been off work for a couple of days with a throat thing. Lots of rest, warmth, lemon drinks and Game of Thrones to watch. I also watched The Phantom Menace, which I hadn't seen since it was first released. It wasn't as terrible as I remembered it, although I can see why it was panned at the time. OK, so a lot of world-building and history-setting at the cost of narrative, but I must admit to having enjoyed large sections of it purely as escapism. At least, a lot more than I thought I would.

On a nostalgic note, I walked past a bakery yesterday and was hit with the smell of warm yeast. It took me back to when I was a primary school kid and we went on an excursion to Harrison's Bakery. I think it was on Canterbury Road in Vermont, and I loved every minute of it. They showed us how they made bread, and even let as shape one each. I hope they didn't sell those ones.

And that smell? It reminded me of the importance of including all the senses in writing, as they trigger recognition with readers.

And no, even though I was tempted I didn't rush in and buy any bread.