Day Three of the great fitness experiment, and another fine early morning. If the weather continues this way, I shall license my diary as part of the absurd "Rebranding of Britain" that was announced today. Do the French and Italians indulge in such madness, I wonder?
Owing to an early appointment, I started my circuit three quarters of an hour early, thus missing the local builders, and meeting the local dog walkers. Rest assured that I gave them the superior wave that us three day joggers give to mere walkers – even if some of them cover the ground faster than my lead filled, treacle wading apologies for legs will allow.
The body may be slow, but the mind still snaps like a whipchord. A passing thought at 10.25 regarding the cyclical nature of the solo section in Schizoid Man (the same opening and closing phrases), had led by 5 o'clock to a finished 50 minute album, built entirely on Schizophrenic guitar and saxophone solos. Fripp is finally playing the long, prog guitar solo of which he is frequently accused : An all you can eat SCHIZOID MAN to accompany LADIES OF THE ROAD.
The perfect Christmas present for earnest, bearded young men with abnormally high pain thresholds and tolerant neighbours.
