I'm not usually the lachrymose sort but there can be moments when I feel I might like to treat myself. Little Polveir winning the Grand National in 1989 was a memorable occasion. Ridiculed as I had been for sticking to a horse I believed in that had fallen and unseated rider in two previous attempts. Boom! 33/1.
And tonight, in Southampton, privileged to be there for the release of First Three Tales by the Jess Davies Band, one's cup almost runneth over. Why wouldn't a poete maudit, rapidly overtaking his sell-by date, want to find a rock'n'roll band, or even a country one, that doesn't need but will accept a helping hand.
The great thing about co-writing songs is that your name is attached to all the brilliant things that the other writer did and it's only Jess and me who know who did what. I can't even remember now. Most of it is hers, I reckon, but I am in there somewhere.
It was a beautiful evening. Impossible to ask for anything more. I'm thrilled about the whole thing and I take some thrilling these days.
Pictures to follow.