It seemed like it might never happen, but like everyone from Lily Allen to Reginald Smallthorpe and his Percussive Flea Orchestra, I now have a MySpace page, where you can listen to (but not download, unless I change my mind) my tunes. You can also check out my groovy Friends, including the great Al Lindsay and the outstanding Paul Goodwin, whose heroism in the face of my computer imbecility deserves a Victoria Cross. Having said all that, the link probably won't work, but I'm sure you can manage to type it yourself if not....

http://myspace.com/tomconwaymusic

Just spent the last 2 days marking what must have been at least 100 Advanced Writing exam papers at the Moller Conference centre at Churchill College. Talk about a different world. While washing my hands in the gents, I wondered why the soap wasn't lathering, til I realised that, of the 2 dispensers, I had mistakenly pressed the one for handcream. I innocently asked my team leader on the phone on Friday if lunch was included. She wasn't exaggerating when she said it was the highlight of the day. Suffice to say I haven't had a meal like it since Christmas dinner. It made the grinding tedium of the work more tolerable.

The papers themselves were interesting. By far the best came from Romania- seemingly mostly by mature adult students, though some very bright younger-seeming ones. Some from Croatian youths who, like most young ex-Yugoslav students I've encountered, seemed (understandably)desperate to shake off preconceptions about the war years and prone to either melodrama, pessimism or good old-fashioned Balkan pomposity (having lived in Greece for 4 years, one of those in a flat shared with a Serb, I'm quite familiar with it).

It all comes in handy. Who knows, I might be able to afford a holiday this year after all.

Goodbye to another week, though I'm going to be working all weekend marking exam scripts. Good thing next weekend is Easter.

Watched "Borat" on DVD this week. For some reason I was revving myself up to not like it, but I was still braying with laughter at a lot of bits. There's no doubting the guy has balls of steel- there are some bits where he risks an absolute kicking, and another with a certain very famous celeb where he himself could quite easily have been charged with assault.

Other times you wonder why he's bothering- the person involved doesn't really seem to deserve it, and the overwhelming feeling is just mutual incomprehension. And the depictions of "Khazakh" life at the start I can understand might just put out some of that country's populace. If the artifice helps to mislead some of the people who he's prompting into saying hateful things, great, but we KNOW it's a front, so what's the point of caricaturing poor people as ignorant and inbred ? The Romanians who actually populate the village where it's shot don't seem to mind though.

Played a great "charidee" gig last night, for the premature birth clinic at Addenbrooke's hospital. Attentive crowd, CD sales (via the website today as well), great vibe. The headline band were Dolittle, featuring the former singer with the 90s band Eat. He still has some fairly devoted followers, virtually all of whom were mouthing the lyrics verbatim. Spoke with him briefly, but thought it best to leave it at that, as I have a habit of sticking my foot right in my mouth with such people.

Revisionism time- bought a CD of "Loveless" today, to replace my long neglected and deeply buried cassette. There's actually a new little book entirely devoted to it, which I just read, and prompted me to approach it again with different expectations. It's great, though "Sometimes" still sounds a bit dirgey. Play late at night, in the bath, or when engaged in the physical act of love- the loops of Bilinda Butcher oohing and ahing will never sound quite the same.

Went to see the new David Lynch film, Inland Empire, last night. It was probably the most outright surreal film I've seen by him, or anyone, though it's hard to top "Un Chien Andalou". "Un Chien" also has the advantage of only being about 40 minutes long. "Empire" is 3 hours, something I normally have a problem with anyway. Ever since fucking "Titanic" it seems film can't be less than two hours.

I'm not so thick as to expect a David Lynch film to be reducable to something as obvious as even a Freudian analysis (though I did dream about Laura Dern last night- mmmmmmmmmmmm). I like the wild association of images, and the way that their interpretation is totally up to you. The images and ideas are rich and varied enough for endless amounts of that. Just to scratch the surface- maybe it was all a nightmare in the hooker's mind as she watched the rabbit sitcom on TV ? (Yes, you just read that- and the film is 100 times wierder).

But, frankly, after 3 hours of sitting anywhere, my arse is turning to stone, my spine is starting to compress and my circulation is down to a trickle. Maybe the endurance test is part of what makes "Empire" so mind-bending. But I would have thought images and speech would be enough.

When I was about 10 I had a brief stint in the Scouts (yes, really !) One week at school I wrote in my diary that we had had a scouting excursion at the weekend, and one of the guys had got in some kind of trouble- something incredibly minor like being late for a bus or something. I was aware that my teacher was actually the mother of said guy, but didn't suss that this might be something he'd want to keep from her. Before the next scout meeting, he and his mate got me up against a wall and told me in no uncertain terms to avoid repeating any such thing.

At the risk of repeating the same thing, I'll just say that work at the moment is fucking trying. I'm also knackered from doing a gig last night. Whatever, I'm ensconced in my boudoir, Gene Clark is on the stereo and the water is on for a hot bath. Flump.

Truck on down to your local branch of Borders or Smiths in a couple of weeks, and you'll find this on page 75 of April's "Maverick " magazine.........

Tom Conway, "I'll Wait for the Paperback"

..... a pretty impressive collection of observations, comments and ramblings. He manages the smart balance of seriousness and lightheartedness that gave the likes of Tom Waits, Harry Chapin, Randy Newman and John Prine their legendary status. He complains about life's trivialities on "Perspective", a catchy talking blues number which should resonate with us all, jokes about rejection in "No Wonder You're Single", and shows rare sensitivity about scrubbing up for a night out in "You Look Fine", a delicate song about a woman's insecurities about her looks.

"Mr Goodtimes" is a funky r&b-flavoured bluesy tune that's completely unlike the other songs that surround it, adding a touch of variety that helps to make this record such a pleasant low-key listening experence. I'd guess Mr Conway is a pretty good live performer if this short-but-sweet album is anything to go by. * * * *