After a slow start, I managed to pick up the pace of the introductions I'm writing for the new reprints of The Spider that are appearing in Spain this year. Outside of Bear Alley, I have spent seven months researching and writing about Action and a series of related biographical sketches. Writing introductions is slightly different, even if you're using the same tools. A carpenter might use the same tools to build a spice rack and a boat, but they're very different things.
Since the series seems to be progressing nicely, I've actually put a little thought into how future books might be introduced and then moved some of the stuff I was writing from this introduction to the next. At that point, I thought it made sense (as I had all my research sitting on and around my desk) to write introductions two and three at the same time. A bit presumptuous, I know... I might not be asked back! But you have to have a quantum of confidence in yourself to be a writer or you would be frozen with fear every time you came to write a sentence.
I'm also enjoying writing after a couple of weeks scanning and cleaning up artwork. Switching between the two has saved me from becoming murderously frustrated with the lousy quality of printing of British comics in the Sixties. They were disposable distractions for kids and after a week in grubby hands, they would be wrapped around some vegetable leftovers and chucked out for the binmen. Nobody ever thought they would be reprinted years later with crisp digital printing on better paper, so cleaning up artwork can be a pain in the undercarriage and, after a day or two, I find myself distracted by everything. I spend more time doomscrolling through newspapers online, reading SF and comics news sites a lot more closely, seeking out new music on Youtube... anything to stop me staring at the ink spots sprayed across cheap newsprint sixty-five years ago that are now tormenting me.
I've had the new Marillion album on high rotation, interrupted by journeying through their back catalogue across some albums that ranged from brilliant to "meh!" The best albums seem come out about a decade apart dating all the way back to Fugazi (1984); a decade later you have Brave (1994) and Afraid of Sunlight (1995); then you have Anoraknophobia (2001) and Marbles (2004); then Sounds That Can't Be Made (2012) and FEAR (2016), and now An Hour Before It's Dark (2022).
That last three studio albums have been brilliant, the most consistently brilliant since the 1990s (Holidays in Eden, Brave, Afraid of Sunlight, This Strange Engine) and the 1980s Fish-era (Fugazi, Misplaced Childhood, Clutching at Straws). Other may (will!) disagree, and I'm not saying that albums not mentioned are all bad (even Happiness is the Road, which I think is their low point. Even great bands must have a least best!).
A while back I spotted a post from Robert John Godfrey (of The Enid, another favourite of mine) in which he said that Marillion were not a political band. Clearly he hadn't listened to FEAR., the only album I've heard that addresses the financial crash. The new album should also assuage him of that notion, as it tackles the climate crisis and Covid. amongst other subjects. I should also say that both bands have a strong fan base that has supported them over the years, and they're both worthy of your support. The Enid have been streaming occasional live concerts online, with fans donating what they can. The one above is from November 2021. I believe Marillion also streamed a live gig from Hammersmith a while back, which I missed. It's great to see bands making the most of modern social media outlets to keep going during these trying times. Things will, hopefully, get back to normal this year.
For instance, things have taken a step in that direction here at chez Bear Alley. After two years working from home, Mel returned to her office on Monday. We saw each other at various points during the day, going for walks in the morning and after work's end, breaks during the morning and afternoon, and lunchtime. But we tried not to interrupt each other's work flow and we've muddled through the pandemic without any major upsets.
It does mean that I'm not walking down by the river in the morning any more, so there will be no more photos of dawn over the Colne. We're now walking in the other direction, up to a bus stop that's a reasonable distance so that we both get some exercise before sitting down in front of a computer all day, and I get a call when she's leaving the office so I can head out and meet her off the bus in the evening. We shall have to see if that's enough exercise to shake off those persistent Christmas pounds.
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