I've been struggling with an idea that I had since I listened to BoB's Ghosts in the Machine. I've been trying, really trying to write some damn thing but The Red One [my laptop] mocked me: 'It's not working for me baby. I'm going to sleep now.'
I went to the ballet. Yeah, I said it. The ballet. I saw Matthew Bourne's Cinderella. I'm obsessed with Matthew Bourne. Any bloke who puts fifteen male dancers in feathered tights and nothing else to do a five minute sequence deserves my worship. http://www.new-adventures.net/
This production was all about finding love in the middle of the Blitz in London. Call me a sap - or a girl - but I was welling up by the end. It was the exquisite dancing, and the incredible music by Prokofiev, and the beauty of the story, but most of all it was simply magical. And that was what was missing from the idea. What I loved about it in the first place is that it was rooted in magic and I was trying to take that out, make it all about reality. But what on god's green earth is love about if not a complete suspension of reality?
One has now slapped oneself on the wrist, and one will let the love and magic flow. A shisha pipe helped though...