Four hours of sleep should be enough for anyone though, don't you think? I've slept little since I was a boy. I always had the feeling that I might not be immortal, so I had to cram as much as I could into each and every day.
As writers, we're sometimes cursed. Those thoughts and ideas seldom leave us and they tend to spin around clattering inside the brain until something spills out and makes a bit of sense on the page. Well, that's the theory.
I sometimes have the feeling that I never sleep. Sleep is accompanied by the gentle chatter of all-night Beeb, with Mister Adebayo being silly, filling up the space between night and day with bits and pieces that might come in useful one day. The noises mean that I'm still alive, too. That's important to know.
Sleep, such as it is, becomes an amazing filter for works in progress. I don't fight it any more. Any idea worth its salt will seep through the strata of my brain and leave little stalactites of songs and stories hanging in the balance ready to snap off and use. Very much a Benny and Bjorn style of working. You don't know about their writing philosophy? Simply this: if the idea is good enough, you'll remember it! Good enough for me. They wrote 'The Day Before You Came' after all - and that song is one of the most brilliant concept songs of all time (with the possible exception of Da Da Da by German band Trio)
What did sleep bring for Mister G this time? Well, the realisation that creating an animated video using still photographs is quite possible if one is able to compartmentalise. I can, so I will. That should be fun.
Plus, I am almost ready to write my little non-fiction book about Macrobiotic Cookery. That one has been on the back burner since 1971. Not any more. Macrobiotics have stood me in good stead. My one failing (well, the one I'll admit to...) is the overuse of coffee. Or is that abuse?
I don't smoke or drink. No fast foods or junk. Quite a pure existence really. Ha! But I love coffee. There is an instant I adore, but I won't endorse without the right deal. And there are some cafes we frequent that have got it just right. After a quarter of a century in Amsterdam, we know our coffee. The Brits are learning. God bless the Italians! So, the dream hour is spent with best friend in the world, a cheesecake to share (although she never does...) and a cafetiere of strong black coffee, two glasses of iced water and time to drift.
So, as Mister Zimmerman remarked: 'I ain't gonna work on Maggie's Farm no more!' But Maggie has gone. I know, not really, but she's not running the funny farm any more. Sleep patterns were the only thing we ever had in common.
I sometimes feel that I am rushing toward some kind of conclusion. I guess we all are. I'm hoping to leave some kind of legacy behind that will make my kids think: '...was that really Papa?'
Oh yeah. That was me.
Must dash, coffee time!
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