Just back from a weekend and a bit more in Bangor, the town where I first kissed a girl, drank a bottle of cider, and jumped naked into the sea. Not all at the same time, I hasten to add, though thinking about it that would have been fun. The main purpose of the visit was to be best man for a truly great friend of mine, Steve Vincent, who also happens to be L.’s “ka-yeh” – the Chinese equivalent of godfather. Guitars and swimming in the ocean, the cutest thing that’s ever happened to me, the Northern Irish summer roulette… magic.
Steve had asked me and another friend to perform “May You Never” by John Martyn at the wedding. Its a beautiful and special track, and the original version is just amazing – stunning guitar playing and a great vocal. Simple and wonderful. I figured I’d better figure out my own version, which meant getting back to playing the guitar. What a joy! I haven’t really played for pleasure that much since packing it in last year… and had forgotten how much I loved it. Its all coming back – like some tiny stream in a barren mountain range, and the rain’s been falling. I had such a great time playing my mum’s beat-up old Spanish guitar in her summerhouse, looking out over the view of Belfast Lough and the tankers heading due east to God knows where through a haze of sea fog and white sunlight.
While we were performing it in the church, something heartbreakingly cute happened – D. set little L. down at the back of the church. He crawled out into the aisle, looked up and saw me… his face blossomed into the biggest smile imaginable, and he started to crawl up the aisle towards me, so determined and absolutely oblivious to everyone else in the whole place. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Some of the other lads were all choked up seeing it happen. It was beautiful, and I was completely losing my concentration. Eventually D. came and rescued him… I just don’t know what I would have done if he’d made it all the way to my feet. So sweet, and a memorable part of a lovely day. Then I had to make my speech… I should paste it in here, but perhaps its best kept under wraps.
I’m just back from the studio. Its so nice up there now – a new guy has moved into the back room… the mighty Paul Wilkinson, who produces Duke Special (I’ve raved about him no end, and with good reason. His new album box set is nothing short of stunning – D. bought it for me last week). Paul is a really nice bloke with some serious talent going on, and its good to have yet another Norn Irish bloke in the place. He was just leaving, so I stayed to play some piano for a while – a new grand piano was put in a couple of months back, which has just made all the difference. I can’t wait to start recording now – the time is coming soon. I’m just choosing my tracks and then all systems are go.
We are missing out. Our generation with the digital cameras. D. and I spent a whole evening looking at old photographs. Polaroids and faded 70s colours, some with rounded edges. Notes on the back – dates, places, fuzzy pictures of family, of my brother and me as babies… it was fun to look at them, to try and recall the scents of gardens, the feel of toys and the endless days spent with grannies in summers. But our memories are safe in hard drives, on CDs… instantly shown on a small LCD screen, judgements made, the delete button pressed with ruthless abandon. Gone are the days of the magical moment when you’d get your photos back from the counter at Boots (not altogether a bad thing mind you!) and just open the envelope, not knowing what you’d get. I miss it in a strange way. I really must make an effort to print more photos out. My granny Greta’s pictures of L. are dog-eared by now – anyone with eyes and ears isn’t safe – she’s so proud of her great-grandson – and why not?
For now, I’m off to bed.