I'm on my way into a very sunny London, listening to the girl in front boast on the phone about how she earns between £700 and £1000 a day. The wi-fi connection on the bus and/or my laptop is having an off-day so this seemed like as good a time as any to write a blog update ready to post later, in a more internet-friendly location.
One year ago I was doing the exact same thing, only in a slightly more exciting place. I was on my way to SXSW in Austin, Texas. After a 5am, St Patrick's Day Guiness at Wetherspoons in Heathrow, the long flight had literally flown by, and by this point in the day I was sitting in Houston airport, eating disappointing pizza and looking out for cowboy hats. The two week trip was wonderful from start to finish and was one I very much intended to repeat this year, but later opted out of. A huge mistake, it would seem, judging by how desperate I am to be there right now. High Wycombe from my window here just doesn't compete.
Not sure what to tell you right now. I'm in a bit of a funny position as I feel that everything I can say has already been said. A lot of the stuff I'm working on right now - for one reason or another - is kind of secret or up in the air. It feels a little deceitful to not tell you about it all but such is the nature of this job, a small web of lies is sometimes necessary.
Over recent weeks I've actually started to ponder what I may do with my life were it not for the label. It's a strange question to ask yourself after close to a decade of hard work. I began BSM at the tender age of 17 and despite spending the early years also working 4 or 5 other jobs (from stocking shelves at the local Co-Op to pretending to be an amorous penguin on Myspace. Seriously) this is the only occupation to ever receive my full love and attention. The idea of doing something different has never previously crossed my mind but the reality of running a bedroom indie label which has by FAR outgrown itself, not to mention its owners wildest dreams, is that one day this is a bridge which will need to be crossed. Brief moments of considering seeing out my days like The Dude in the Big Lebowski are enjoyable, although frustrating enough in a hypothetical world to know the lack of, well, anything would drive me insane. Football is another great passion of mine, but the boyhood dreams of playing in the Premier League died the day I realised even Ray Parlour was better than me. Travelling the world and writing a book on an as yet undetermined subject or whim is extremely appealing, and would certainly be one in the eye of the line of GCSE English teachers who slated my lack of effort, although hardly the most lucrative of career paths. I'm turning 27 this year, after all. I always promised myself I'd have a pension by 25 and am already two years behind schedule on that small goal.
This whole subject is, of course, very premature. Looking at the release schedule we already have 23 little beauties coming up for you between now and the end of the year, divided across the CD, vinyl, cassette and paperback formats. If some of the aforementioned secret plans come into fruition, this number will rise closer to 30 and file any such thoughts of career changes under "you're kidding me, right?!"
It's funny how even when doing your dream job can occasionally mistake the grass on the other side as being that little bit greener. A rude awakening is needed. Maybe I should see if I could reprise my role as Sunday morning yogurt stock assistant in a little village supermarket for <£4.50 an hour and then check those colours again?