New cub

I can't write songs to order; they just don't come out that way. Some people can hail them like taxis. Not me, alas. On Monday night at Songwriters I resorted to playing a couple of old tunes that I've had knocking around for ages. So as I left I half promised everyone that 'I should have something new next time.'

This morning, I locked myself away in my man cave with my guitar, 'the book', a mug of tea and a general feeling of optimism. I emerged a couple of hours later like a proud parent with a brand new song in my arms. Result! I've called it 'Can I See The Lions' and I'm hoping to record it sometime next month - along with a couple of its older, still unrecorded, siblings: 'All You Need Is All You Need' and 'It Is What It Is, We Are Where We Are'.

Until then, here's another Lion Song I'm rather partial to.

Gregory Porter - Be Good (Lion's Song)

Two Shots of Happy, One Shot of Sad

It's common knowledge that Bono is a spunk trumpet. Everyone knows that, and the reasons why.

And yet, and yet... he only went and wrote Two Shots of Happy, One Shot of Sad. Was total and utter global domination with U2 not enough for the little fella? Apparently not. The story goes that The Ego was quite pally with Frank Sinatra. And, just because he could, he wrote a song for him. However, Ol' Blue Eyes passed away before he could commit it to tape. (Daughter Nancy, though, would later give it the Sinatra treatment.)

I don't remember how, when, why or where I first got hold of Matt Dusk's version of the song, but it's been living on my iPod for bloody ages. And, every now and again, it crops up on shuffle. As it did today. Interestingly, I only found out relatively recently that Bono had written it. Just goes to show, a good song is a good song. No matter who writes it. Still doesn't stop him from being a spunk trumpet.

Matt Dusk - 'Two Shots Of Happy, One Shot of Sad'

Unnerving

I'll admit it, horror films still scare the crap out of me. If I lived on my own I don't even think I could watch one at three o'clock in the afternoon with the sun streaming in through the windows; let alone after dark, with the lights turned out.

'Tango' is a short film. It's a surreal film, not a horror film by any stretch of the imagination. But a very intimidating film, nonetheless. It's also, for some inexplicable reason, a film I come back to time and again. And, when I do, I feel ever so slightly uncomfortable. It unnerves me.

"Tango" by Zbigniew Rybczyński, 1980 from Tito Molina Faceblog videos on Vimeo.

Spunk Trumpet

As in, 'Bono is a spunk trumpet.' Although the jury is still out as to whether or not it should be hyphenated, its definition, Urban or otherwise, is pretty self explanatory. For the most part.

Try and drop it into casual conversation, or maybe an email, today. Put it in "speech marks" or italics and no one will be offended. Let me know how you get on.

High Flying Bird

At a time in her life when most women her age have become 'ladies who lunch', my friend is tearing up the rule book. It's long been Jackie's dream to escape the shackles of suburbia and the Partonesque 9 to 5 drudgery. And she really has wanted this for a long time: most young girls at the age of eight wanted a pony - Jackie wanted to be a Trolley Dolly.

And so, after a life spent taking meeting minutes and making coffee for lame brain bosses, she has undergone some serious X-Factor style auditioning and interviewing and, last Friday, received an email informing her that her tenure at British Airways as part of their hand picked cabin crew - working out of Heathrow - begins next month. And, if I know Jackie, I'll put money on the fact that within six months of getting the gig she'll have made the front bit of the plane hers: taking care of all your First Class needs.