Post Rock.

I've just been out to post an external hard drive to Lundun, so that the good people who recorded our show last week can send us the videos without breaking the internet.

Having just got back in and having had my afternoon plans cancelled at short notice, I thought I'd be really, really kind to you all and share my irrational fear of the Post Office.

I don't know why, but it makes me uncomfortable that one has to 1) hand an object to a stranger who grins at you from behind shatterproof glass (or otherwise slide it into one of those looming tubular satanic mouths), and then 2) no-one you know sees or hears it until the other side, when it magically appears through a gap in a door. While the thinking part of my head does know that there are a million processes and sorting procedures (and postal workers, each of whom I love dearly) that each troubadourial little object must go through, it seems that the part of my brain that is supposed to turn that fact into a piece of readily intelligible knowledge just skips past it, like a trailer on a DVD, and leaves a gaping void that my idle mind fills with images of my own violent death. So, I know that Johnny Depp will play Ian Eccentric in The Oversaturated Adventure, but I cannot tell you anything about the film's premise - leading to uncertainty, and therefore (naturally) my confusion, panic, and crushing alienation when I am handing over my money to see the film; meanwhile I don't know what I'm even doing in the cinema, and who are you?
To put it another way: I feel like I'm handling Schrödinger's cat. I have the cat, and then when I post the cat it exists in a kind of superposition until it miaows safely (or not) at the other end. It's my unwilling but forced confrontation of this kind of phenomenon that eers me.

I have tried forming a support group, but I have no idea how to distribute the leaflets.

Oh yeah, the band.

We're fine. Plugging away! The team is getting bigger - fans as well as those who appear above us, keeping us on course. Which is nice. Lawyers, agents, etc. etc. I wonder when our feet will start to burn.

Trewin and Jeb are currently bawling through the night trying to make the video for our first single Red, which we're trying to release proper next month. It's nice to be in a band where all this stuff is done in-house, as it were. They rejected my concept for the video on grounds of speculative extra-terrestrial biology. Ho-hum.

All this video stuff (Red, live recordings, Seryn Burden Nights) should be with you soon. I don't know when. Ask Jeb. Go on. Ask him. Go on. Do it. Go on. Ask him.

There's a lovingly made fan video for Red on our facebook feed. Check it out! Things like that make us smile like little children who have just seen Santa surfing on a lake of spaceships.

As always, stay warm and dry. I'll be huddled beside my front door, chanting, waiting for her to vomit paper.

Tim.