Just about to get some breakfast at the perfectly acceptable, yet very cheap hotel that masquerades as some Tudor Inn. When I get a call on the mobile from the police informing me that they have taken all the documents and police reports to the owner of the house next door and that he was so shocked (the agent hadn’t told him what has been going on, allegedly) that he is seeking an eviction order from the courts.

Finish mixing pretty late and drive home to London.

Get up early and manage to convince Django that today would be a good day to have breakfast at nursery. So, in the Range Rover on loan from the lovely garage that is fixing my Jeep, I get Amber to the childminders and Django to nursery in super quick time. This is because I have to be up Birmingham for a couple of days programming the 6.1 mix of the Xerox job that’s happening at the NEC next week.

I get to the Nursery car park and turn the engine off. Except it’s still going. Even when I take the keys out of the ignition, the engine is still running!

There is then some horrible smoke and a tell-tale burning smell. To cut a long tedious story short I have to walk home, drive the wife’s car back to the duff car. Change the kids seats over, find a hire vehicle load up another car with all my computers and gear and only then start the trip to Brum.

Nightmare.

An evening in the company of the brilliant Peter Blegvad. Quite frankly you can’t buy entertainment like this. I drive Peter to an Indian restaurant in Sudbury near Wembley. We were the token white boys as this packed eatery caters mostly for the local Asian community. No madras’s and tikka masala’s here. Starters include Patra, which you won’t find in your high street tandoori.

We discuss many a subject and reminisce about our previous creative endeavours. Pete tells me his applied for a job as professor of creative writing at a university in Leipzig. He also tells me of an extraordinary tale of fan worship.

He began to receive mail largely in praise of his cartoon strip ‘Leviathan’. It was only when the writer of the letters sent him a photograph of a portrait that he had painted of Pete, framed in an elaborate mandala type construction, That Pete fully realised that this portrait was hung on the wall of a prison cell. What follows is complicated, bizarre, harrowing and extremely funny. In a way that only Peter can tell.

Had to finish my Metalica sound-a-like as played by 4 Cellist’s. Despite my collection of orchestral samples I’m never going to get away with these sounds. Even if it is a demo. So I nip down to my local Digital Village, to see what they have I stock. The extremely nice Mansoor sorts me out with the solo string package from the Viennese orchestral library.

Spend most of the day trying to load the damn things into Logic. I won’t bore you with the details but it was a bloody nightmare.

In the evening some of the local residents got together across the road at Joan’s house. We were having a meeting with 2 local Police officers about the ‘Neighbours from hell’

There is a new Sergeant who begins to explain a brand new initiative to help police the community. Whilst this is very nice and laudable the fact is we have just one major problem. So, yet again, I explain in detail the events of the past 17 months. He seems genuinely concerned and keen to resolve the situation. Well, we’ll see. He is at least very understanding and supportive.

When I ask him what would happen if I were to visit the letting agent responsible for housing these idiots in the first place and hurl a brick through the window. He asks me, with a smile, if this would be my first offence.

‘Yes officer.’

‘Well then that would be just a fine.’

Several people in the room immediately offer to contribute to the fine in the event.

Meanwhile our pal Sean calls on the mobile. He’s staying the night as he’s working for the BBC news department this week. Sean is the husband of one of my oldest pals Anne Bryson. The English readers amongst you may remember Anne from the long running Philadelphia Cream cheese ad’s that ran for about 10 years. Anne was also the voice of Zelda Zob on ‘Big Fish Popcorn’ by The Kings of Oblivion, a Zappa pastiche that I made with Gavin Harrison back in the late 80’s.

Anyway Sean is a media lawyer. He used to work on ‘Have I Got News For You’ and it would be his job to gauge the possible legal implications of any joke or comment on the show. Indeed it was Sean who suggested, when the panel gave Lord Archer a right pasting one evening that it might be worth the risk of leaving it all in. He figured that Archer would have to prove, or indeed disprove, any of the accusations made on air.

The following week, as no writ had arrived, it became open season on him. The subsequent weeks were almost always an excuse to give his lordship a deserved kicking.

Sean also worked on a program called Rough Justice, in which someone who was doing time for a crime they say they never committed would have the whole case examined by the programme’s team. This invariably uncovered new evidence and was responsible for a number of cases being reopened and the convicted released. It was Sean’s job to go through the suggested cases, sorting the prisoners trying to pull a fast one from the deserving cases.

He is, in short, a highly entertaining and interesting geezer and always a pleasure to spend some time with.

Dominic rang. The German Client loves the Hawian thing. Good. That was 10 minutes well spent then.

Meanwhile an Irish sports drink manufacturer wants a piece of music that sounds like a piece by a group of 4 cellists who recorded versions of songs by Metatallica. They can’t afford to use actually Metallica for the ad so can I create the sound of 4 cellists playing something that sounds like a metalica tune. Guess what, I’m just the man for the job.

Meanwhile John Giblin, bass player extraordinary has sent me a demo of his bass part idea’s for ‘Forgiving’ the tune that I have written with Robert. They’re amazing. He comes up with a double bass part, some fretless and a recurring section with loads of bowed double basses through some effect. It’s beautiful. I send him an e-mail to tell him so.

In the evening Andy, who called last Friday and I didn’t name him, calls again. He received my package of selected solo stuff, a live Schizoid thing and the specially recorded demo’s that I’d made on Monday.

He tells me he’s very impressed with my singing and that he thinks I’d be great, but it’s not up to him but the great man himself. He then ask’s if I could send him the rest of my solo record for no other reason than he’d like to hear more.

Very nice of him. This makes me exited at the prospect of this job, even though I know by the time I write this that I don’t get it.

Genuinely saddened by the news that Ivor Cutler had died.

I was a big fan. I have most of his recordings and a fair few of his books. I have seen him live on many an occasion. Indeed the last time was in 2002 at the Lyric in Hammersmith. He was brilliant. When I was editing the final version of ‘The Road to Ballina’ for Radio 3 at Broadcasting House the day before it was to be aired, there was a knock on the edit suite door late in the afternoon.

A producer walked in followed by a little old man. My God it was Ivor. With flies pinned to his jacket and a fez on his head and a suitably dour expression.

‘We’re looking for some editing space, I don’t suppose…..?’ enquired the BBC producer. We told them that no we where on a deadline and couldn’t stop. I couldn’t let the opportunity to at least say hello to a hero.

‘Hello Mr Cutler‘ I said knowing his preference to being addressed as such by strangers, ‘I am genuinely a big fan of you and your work’

Ivor gave me a stern look, with just the merest hint of a twinkle in his eye.

‘Really?’ he said, ‘not a big enough fan to let me have some editing time, obviously.’

And he left.

Finished the latest demo for an advert for Nivea. Sorted all the papers and correspondence for my long awaited meeting with old pal Nick Ivey. We have a residents meeting with the Police next week and I have been trying to meet up with Nick at his offices near St Paul’s Cathedral. He cancelled then I cancelled.

Still we’re on for lunch and he’s bringing litigation expert with him. I just need to know just how far we can go with the neighbours from Hell and the bloody letting agent who just keeps ignoring my letters. So I just manage to leave in time and get into the car.

It’s absolutely pissing down with rain. I’m doing about 60 on the A40 when the engine stops and the power steering goes with it. Very scary. Manage to use the momentum and super human strength to get the thing onto the hard shoulder just the east side of the Shepherds Bush turn off. Car won’t start. Keeps turning over but won’t ignite.

Bollocks!

Call the AA and am on hold for an age. That’s a bit of rain for you. After about 15 minutes of being told that my call is ‘important to us’ I, because I have nothing better to do, turn the car over again. It starts first time. I decide to try and drive back to the garage that always fixes my car.

Trouble is it’s in Watford.

Eventually, after a couple of repeats of the stopping, starting thing. I get there. Peter, the world’s most honest car mechanic, lends me his Range Rover, and I drive back to London. Only to find a number of changes for the big corporate job need doing.

Dreary weather, dreary morning. I have to take my car to have the windscreen replaced. Decide to walk back as it will take about 30 minutes and the car might be a few hours. 10 minutes into my walk and the skies open with a mad downpour. My mobile rings. It’s Dominic at the agency. Could I come up with some Hawaiian ukulele music for a German TV advert. I’m just the man for the job. Get home and create said Polynesian strumming.

Pick up the car in time to also pick up Ian MacDonald at the station. Ian’s been over for his father’s funeral and leaves for New York in the morning. We get to my house and Ian records the flute part for my ‘Variations on a theme by Holst’ a quartet piece for Bass Clarinet, Flute, Viola and Cello which acts as the intro to my own solo version of ‘Catleys Ashes’.

A few copies of ‘Pictures of a City: Live in New York’ turn up by bike much later and I drive to where Ian is staying so he can take them home with him. Very nice they look too.

In the studio by 9.00 a.m.

Apart from one tea and pee break I stayed there till 4:45. Got to the post office with minutes to spare and sent off the day’s work - demos for my mystery caller last Friday.

The wait begins.

Or at least it would seem too, however as I’m writing this sometime later I now know that I will not be the lead guitarist and singer for a solo artist about to tour very large venues this summer Playing “Dark………….”

In the evening met Chris Porter and Phil Palmer for a spot of dinner at the Rocket. Very nice it was too. Chris is and engineer/producer that I’ve known for many a year now. About 25 of them, now I come to think of it.

He hit the commercial highs with George Michael and ‘Take That’ to name but two.

However he always says that the musical highlight of his life was as engineer on Bowies ‘Scary Monsters’ - recording Robert’s contributions, in particular. Hence my desire to record my recent sessions with Robert at Chris’s place when a west London locale seemed a possibility.

Meanwhile turns out Phil Palmer has Ray Davies for an uncle, his Mum being Ray’s sister. I tell him about my week as lead guitarist of the Kinks. As the wine flowed we started to put together a band of the biggest shit’s In the biz together. On bass, on drums etc. It would be indiscrete of me to mention just who we selected in our final line up. However anyone who knows me even vaguely could hazard an accurate guess at some of my suggestions.

OK so the blog thing is the pain. I thought it would be. So I’m writing this very retrospectively.

Sunday and I took Django to the local Underground transport museum. Open to the public for its quarterly open day. Crammed full of old underground trains, bits of track and old signals. It is also crammed with model railway tracks and trains much to the boy’s delight. It’s attended by fathers and sons mostly.

However there is a large contingent of middle aged men, and older, with satchels and note books. They all have glasses and an alarmingly large number of them have wigs. Indeed I would suggest that that amount of acrylic fibres in one place would constitute a fire hazard!

Get the kids up and then drive Django to Uncle Simon's. Instead of seeing him we get to see the kids specialist. She shows Django all the kit and he plays with the chair mechanism and the suction device. They give him some x – rays to see the damage.

Horror of horrors he has a couple of small cavities. I feel scared and guilty. Django has been the perfect child through out all this. No complaints or scenes. He’s the model child when he’s out. We make an appointment for his fillings!!!! He spends the next 5 minutes putting a 5 year old girl at her ease. Showing her round etc.

We go and have lunch with Simon. Simon is a dentist by trade, but has spent most of his years as a comedy writer. He used to write for the BBC show ‘Alas Smith and Jones’ and appeared in ‘Harry Enfield’ as well as other TV series, adverts and radio shows. He tells me of a short film he is about to co-write and make with Paul Merton, who I reckon is just about one of the funniest men on British TV.

The Pizza place we are in seems to be full of attractive young women. They all seem to be charmed by Django. All cheeky smiles, blue eyes and curly hair. Simon wants to know if he can spend a Saturday afternoon looking after Django as, not only is he charming company, but, it would appear, a fantastic pulling device into the bargain. When we get home later Django tells his mum that ‘I’m going to spend the day with Uncle Simon so we can get Girls for him’

We then drive to my pal Barry’s guitar shop in the east end. Called House of Guitars it’s just round the corner from Spittlefields Market. Barry has kindly lent me a Bass to record the bass parts to ‘Nirvana for Mice’. I’m going to do them myself. It seems unfair to put anyone else through this torturous time signature minefield.

Amanda went out in the evening which gave time to do some work on the new possibility. Amber, our baby daughter, had other plans for me. Teething meant she kept waking up every half hour from about 8:30.

This turns out to be a very odd day.

One that will either prove to be something of a turning point, or an anecdote about what might have been.

It started with another telephone chat recording with Sid, This time about the imminent 21st Century Schizoid Band release.

The other phone rings. It’s someone I haven’t heard from in a while quizzing me about my attitude to certain types of work. He calls again later and brings up all sorts of thoughts and possibilities.

The nursery phones. Django’s not feeling well and say’s his teeth are hurting. I call my pal Simon, who has a dental practice in Notting Hill. The Assistant calls back with an appointment for the morning. Pick Django up who looks tired and sorry for himself.

Spend some time talking about this new possibility and the problems it would cause with the wife.

Later the phone rings at around 9:30. It’s someone quite well known that I have met only once very briefly at a funeral.

This is obviously connected with the earlier calls, but this time it’s serious. I am asked if I would be interested in this project. Well of course I would, who wouldn’t? It would be an extraordinary thing to be able to say that you had done.

So I agree to do some work on it and put the phone down. My brain is on overdrive and it’s difficult to get beyond it for the next few days.

Django wakes up at 4:00.

He’s soaking wet. Change him and he crawls in to our bed. There’s not enough room so I slip out and sleep in the loft room.

I am awoken by a nightmare.

I have these quite regularly, and have done since I was a child. The wife often has to bring me back to reality when the screaming in my sleep gets too much for her. This morning I woke myself up with it.

I dreamt that the family went to my fathers old flat, which we sold last year after his death. Whilst there, I sawed my father’s hands off at the wrists. I then sawed my own hands off (although how I managed the second one with no hand left to do it remains unexplained) and somehow stitched them on to my arms.

I’m driving the wife and kids back home and she’s furious with me. This is the point where I enter the dream. In the dream, I slowly recall the horrific events of the DIY surgery as I look down to see thick purple lines where scars are healing, the join from both arms to new hands. I recognise clearly the thick bulky fingers that now grasp the steering wheel.

It takes a while to come back to earth.

At 6:00 Django joins me. Another restful night’s sleep then.

Once in the studio I record a conversation with the Crimson Geordie, Sid Smith. This is for a ‘Pod Cast’ to be available at the site in the near future. Call it what you will, it’s still just an interview which I will edit and slip some relevant music into.

Dominic calls. He’s a lovely chap from a big advertising agency that I work for quite regularly. They need some music for a German TV ad for a well known moisturising cream. They have, of course, come to just the right place. I know just what they want (???!!!!!)

Get kids, put them to bed, then I make my way to Broadcasting House just off Regent Street. The BBC 6 Music studio is round the back in Hallam Street and I’m greeted by an assistant who takes me up to the studio.

It’s great to see Tom, it’s been too long. I just sit at the back and watch him in action.

He interviews a band that I have never heard of and they do a bit of a live session. Tom knows their history backwards. The line up changes, the releases, everything. It’s all very slick and impressive. Having been on the other side of the mike for most of his career he knows what to and what not to ask.

Even more impressive is the fact that he hadn’t heard of them either. Such was the convincing nature of his professional display. At the end of the show I tell one of my 2 Gene Simons anecdotes. This is the one where Tom is the punch line. It’s a long story.

We leave and go for a meal to catch up. There’s a lot of this to do.

Client loves it, apparently. So, a couple of weeks to tart up and polish.

Get back to the album and get stuck on ‘Citizen King’ this is the last song to complete and I feel a bit stumped, or possibly just tired. The rest of the record is nearly all finished just the odd correction and mixing to go. I’m waiting for John Giblin’s bass on ‘Forgiven’. Will record Ian McDonald In the next week and then master it with Ben and we’re off. Not sure where to however.

Speak to Peter Blegvad this afternoon which is always a pleasure. He’s been offered a post as lecturer at a University in Dresden. He hasn’t made any music in a while he says.

We catch up and, as ever, he makes me laugh a very great deal. We make a dinner appointment for a couple of weeks.

Meanwhile Tom Robinson calls to confirm our meeting tomorrow. Coincidentally, Tom hasn’t made any music in a while either. I’m meeting him up at the BBC where he host’s a nightly show on Radio 6. I’ll sit in and go for a meal and catch up afterward.

Amanda goes to Bingo with her American pal! I stay in, on the flimsy pretext of ‘Baby sitting’ and watch England v Uruguay. We thrash them 2-1. This means, apparently, that we a certs for victory at the world cup.

Even though Uruguay were 1-0 up with 15 minutes to go and they themselves where knocked out of the competition by those towering giants of world football Australia. Whilst I’m as keen as anyone for the lads to do well, I sometimes feel I’m watching a different game to everyone else.

At 10:00, just as I’m thinking of going to bed, Bill from across the road turns up with a bottle of wine. We discuss the streets little problem and how the council have made a quiet, tree laden road full of young families into Beirut with a drug problem. We get pissed off and pissed simultaneously.