Monthly update: Review and Guidance week

Last year I had quite a good time at R&G. It's quite an easy time of year; you spend a few days writing up reports for the students (grading them on their motivation, quality of work, progress and so on, followed by some patronising/condescending commentary at the bottom) and then you wait in a classroom for them to come and visit you one-by-one to talk it over. Many of the students don't turn up (or avoid making an appointment in the first place) and the ones that do turn up are either silent or utterly pleasant. The pleasant ones are my favourite; you spend four months talking at them and flinging work in their general direction and never get a chance to speak to them. R&G actually gives you a chance to settle down and chatter for a bit. Some of my closest bonds have been formed at this time of the year: this time last year had HW getting flustered about her depressions, so she got moved into my tutor group. Another year had RP talking to me about music for ages (mostly Arcade Fire I believe, which led me onto a rant about how good Kepler were).

This year I have loads of appointments. In the past I have had hardly any. Last year was a personal favourite of mine; I spent three days in my classroom with a pile of Bergman and Hitchcock movies, watching them on the massive interactive whiteboard projector thing, only having to pause them when students sporadically oozed through the door. I managed to watch about 7 films over that couple of days.

I'm currently sat on my own in the philosophy classroom, looking at a destroyed bookshelf that needs organising and a pile of unfinished marking that I promised to get done about 2 weeks ago. The pain is numbed by Rue Royale, a band that supported me at Katie Fitzgerald's last night. I bought their CD and decided to sit and listen to it to pass the time. They were utterly inspiring; OK, the sound was shit and the crowd talked through it, but it was glorious to see two people (clearly deeply in love) gently lolling through some perfectly constructed folk-pop gems. Brooklyn played guitar with a bassdrum at his feet so he could produce a decent sized clump when he tapped his foot. Ruth provided some gorgeous backing that managed to drift through the crowd with ease. It's just strange to have those moments- stood at the back of a bar without a stage, locals gathered around tables in a vague attempt to drown out intrusion. Slowly, the music reaches you and everything else fades a little. It's partly the music, partly the venue, partly the alcohol.

My set went well. Bear said it was the best time he'd seen me; Pete gushed about my songwriting. Things have changed since Pete left the band, but he's still enthusiastic about my music. He wants to keep his toe in and help record stuff, which I'm more willing to do these days. I have about 12 or 13 songs written, just getting ready to arrange and record them. I'd love to do some work with a variety of different people. Rebecca Sharp up in Liverpool has offered me some harp; Ambrose Tompkins are apparently a band for hire these days; Peter could slap some stuff on. I just like the idea of finally taking charge of things. Last night, Peter and I stood outside of the car and he told me that people are coming to see me and my songs. That's why I got signed, not because of any band. It's the songs that Iain believes in and I should be proud of that. Surrounding myself with others might sound like I'm avoiding that truth, but it's not like that. I think that having a variety of musicians ("Me and your nan on bongos" as Mark E Smith once said) is a way of putting the songs at the centre. What contains the identity- what is that central kernal- if not the songs if the musicians are constantly in flux?

The promotor of the gig said she'd never seen an audience "tamed" like that. I felt quite proud. I asked what she meant (I didn't remember telling them off or appearing aggressive; in fact my on stage banter meandered around Star Fleet, the death of Kathy staff, the Sunday TV habits of the various social classes, mental disability, faux-pas concerning homosexuality whilst announcing songs, Christmas and starving cats). She said that when I started playing the audience fell silent. Then they remained silent as I spoke (except when they laughed). She said she'd never seen that before.

Still, no fucker bought a CD.