Freelance Friday #7: Bumper bonus edition.

Well, what a week it has been. Readers, I have been working my lazy-ass BUTT off over the past seven days, and here’s the evidence. Scroll down for concert reviews of Diana Ross (personal highlight: The Boss, although for most of the audience it was, sigh, Endless Love) and From The Jam featuring Bruce Foxton and Rick Buckler (triumphing against all expectation, and the single most enjoyable gig I’ve attended since Rufus Wainwright a few years back).

I’ve also got four pieces in today’s Mike-packed Essential Guide,which is the Nottingham Evening Post’s weekly arts and ents supplement. The lead album review for Rufus Wainwright’s superb album; the lead book review for John Kennedy O’Connor’s official history of Eurovision; a full page preview of tomorrow’s Eurovision finals (in which Mystic Mike falls flat on his arse, but no matter); and the cover story, which also features on the masthead of the main paper. I’m really proud of my interview with the lovely Jason Donovan, who turned out to be my most open and forthcoming interviewee to date. Whoda thought it? Whadda guy. I won’t hear a word said against him.

And so, if you’ve been scratching your heads over my Short Stupid Posts and wondering whether I was going a little bonkers – well, maybe they were a just a necessary counter-reaction to all the Reasonable and Sensible stuff that I was working on elsewhere. TD sometimes feels like my playpen, and I enjoy rattling the bars from time to time.

I know that I sometimes brag and name-drop a little bit more than I should – and it doesn’t take a degree in Psychology to analyse which aspects of my personality that springs from – but here’s the context. For most of my life, I’ve been labouring under the belief that I never had a vocation. Whereas, actually, in my teens and early twenties, I did. It’s just that I never dared to admit it to myself, as I was convinced – totally and utterly convinced – that I wasn’t up to it, and would get nowhere by attempting to follow it. Now, at the ripe old age of 45, I find myself actually following that vocation – music journalism – and loving every minute of it.

I’m under no careerist illusions here. This week’s freelance-fest was merely the consequence of a random roll of the dice. Some weeks are quiet, others are busy, and I may well never have a week quite like this again. That’s OK. But for now, if you’ll forgive me the indulgence, I’m feeling pretty f**king amazing.

The Eurovision finals previews will be along in the fullness of time. I shall now go away, eat my sandwich, and attempt to get over myself.

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