Dear Ernie, it has been a while I know, sorry for not replying but have been busy. My ears are ringing, a permanent fixture now it seems that may one day drive me to insanity, or at least now that I have planted that seed...I have been spending time rebuilding my nest, it had become a squalid affair and now I hope to rejoin the world of those who can bear to live with themselves.

How was the move? I saw Lucy the other day, she spoke of your times in Italy.

Have a new song, three in fact. I have been listening to Cole porter, do you like him? I watched a terrible Biopic about him - he was a man who seemed to enjoy worldly pleasures.

Been laying in bed much recently, fearful of a long trip I must make, it is odd that some things affect me so. I am terrible at being trapped in any way, like a claustrophobia that seems to be triggered by agoraphobic senses. I hate it and wonder how real it is until it hits me and it is a physical event. Perhaps this fear is the same as I find in the trappings of the sexual partnership, the relationship, perhaps that is just poor journalistic style psychology. What does that mean? Something.

What interests me is to make a place we can all hide in, I am aiming for something as pure as I can make it, with these new works. Just pure. Like the lust of a teenage boy. The anger of bitter old woman. The hope of a dying man. The purity of a single meeting. Something that validates all this. I know, oh I know, I have heard this before, but I have this want and need too to, and believe maybe I can. Fuck all these grotty half arsed gimics, no romance, no love.

You said it when you spoke of her. It was not contrived, it just existed, for the same reasons a million people before had felt it but this time it was yours. That is what I want to make, for the same reasons but this time ours.