Hurdles and hoops and living.

The album is pink and fleshy and tender.

We are dusty old husks; skeletons with decomposed muscle and skin. If we move, everything cracks around us and crumbles away.

I suppose it coincides with the new year. As I have said to trusted company many times before only slightly differently, I can feel a big shift coming on. A big, thoroughly gratifying shift.

The sky is still pale but there is less flourescence in it. The coloured fairy lights in the room have flicked on. It’s my favourite time of day.

We have just come away from a meeting discussing the album and the way ahead. I have in my possession a clumsily executed photograph of the final tracklist, along with marks next to the ones that ‘still need a bit of work’.

Take-offs and landings are the most dangerous part of flying. We have been here a few times now—with previous projects—and there is no telling what might crop up over the next few weeks.

Trewin could get stuck under a manhole cover after flushing a valuable penny down the poo box and then going into the sewer to fish it out.

Ed could choke on some gratin made with cheese of questionable organic certification leading to what’s known as ‘Brighton flu’, which will necessitate a long spell on his back on a mattress delivered by a funky online start-up (i.e. a mattress retailer) being fed curly kale and wearing some of those leopard print MC Hammer pants that girls wear.

New James could take a corner so fast in his new car that his sunglasses will fly off and land perfectly on a baby, who will proceed to do a double thumbs up and say something like ‘That’s what’s happenin’ in a really low voice before some disco music kicks in. That’s New James done for a few weeks. That party’s not stopping any time soon.

Seryn could accidentally cook himself and starve to death as he waits for himself to arrive to eat his meal.

Each of these would be tragic and each of them is as likely as the next, and all as likely as everything getting finished without a hitch.

It’s not cohesive, but it’s about time we stuck things together a little less and just looked at what we’ve got. If you’re in pieces, you’re in pieces. Just be that way.

The album will come together when it’s ready to do so. It’s ripe and it’s there on the bough. It’s pink and fleshy and tender.

It’s midweek. We hope your hump-day was survivable. Sorry if it wasn’t. If there was something wrong that is within your control: make it better. There’s no point in putting it off. (Unless dinner’s ready. We’ll allow you dinner.)

Be fresh and have fun with it all,

Tim