Fly DJ Playing My Song, Why Don't You Take Me Head On

So we're going to be on the telly next Wednesday. BBC 1 Breakfast Show - proper, big-time, all my relations will see it TELLY. I am almost insanely excited about this.

But it's nice to feel excited about the band again. Went out for dinner with AMPy last night, to this amazing little restaurant in Clerkenwell. Angels and GIANT GOLD HEADS on the walls and velvet ceilings and baroque fiddly bits of jewels hanging down like my dream house, oh yes, and nice food, too.



And we had one of those long and complex and emotional talks where you just strip everything back and put everything on the table and really sort stuff out, and then suddenly you realise that although you've been speaking completely different languages, you're saying the same things once you manage to translate it, and you look across the table and everything makes sense again and think "YES! This is why I'm friends with this person in the first place!" And months of badness is sloughed off like dead skin and the friendship is new and fresh and soft like a baby's arse.

Because at the end of the day, the funny thing about bands (funny little plans, that never work out right...) is that although it's supposed to be about the communication between artist and audience, what actually makes it *fun* and ultimately good on a day to day basis is actually about the communication and dynamics between the *musicians*. And I feel like we've got that back, now. So now we can resume our plans to take over the world...

Then off to Poptimism for a dance. We were drunked and we felt like dancing, the DJs were in fine form (we heard a rumour they played Noyfriend earlier but we missed it) but the whole thing was rather spoiled for me by the unwelcome sight of my ex-boyfriend (a boy who broke my heart destroyed what little was left of my pride at a particularly rough time in my life, and consequently one who got several Shimuras songs written about him) making a display of himself on the dancefloor with his new girlfriend.

Ouch. Ouchy ouchy ouch ouch. Compounded by The Meddler (with his uncanny knack for saying exactly the *wrong* thing at the wrong time) announcing "not his girlfriend - his fiancee"*. And suddenly, it all felt meaningless. Everything I've accomplished, all the great things my band has done - we're on the radio, we're on the telly, single in the shops, fly DJ playing our song - but at the end of the day, I'm alone, again, endless always, immer weider, while any boy, no matter how rubbish, can *always* find another girl to put up with him.

Yet another blow to my ego to see that she looks just like every other girl he's dated - including, for a time, me. That it wasn't actually me, myself(selves) that he was attracted to, but just that I happened to physically resemble some idea of what his generic girlfriend should look like. Demolish me again, why don't you? Oh well, there's another song in there somewhere, I suppose.


*This was later revealed to be a misunderstanding, but by then the damage had been done.