As Dusty sang to us, it won’t get you into his heart. Or get you a publishing deal. Or facilitate the reappearance of your plastic bags of crap. Or make a certain young man return from Pakistan and hand over the money he owes you.
Love Dusty though, those soaring vocals perfectly poised between passion and precision with a slight al dente toughness … That’s what I need, more al dente toughness. That, and a few episodes of Gossip Girl with some sweeping aerial shots of New York and all those great breakfasts no one ever seems to eat.
Still, back to stewing over the computer – it’s raining, hurray. I love it when it rains here, almost as much as I love Dusty, because there is a corrugated iron roof over the back part of the house where I sit writing this stuff no one will read, and it’s a soothing kind of non-soundtrack.
Drip, drip, trickle, sprinkle … I’m wishin’ and hopin’ for a bit of monsoonal downpour and the drains will flood. Love that. Makes me feel happy to be ‘home’ and I’m sure it helps keep the rat population under control.