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alt_owainA couple of weeks ago, as I was filing out of the ministry one evening with all the other ministry workers, to all appearances a simple ministry crow surrounded by others of my kind, I was waylaid at the tube station by the incredibly lovely and infinitely talented Ms Anastasia Goshawk -- who would never be mistaken for a ministry worker even before she opened her mouth and her voice put to rest all doubts on that score. She, despite her name, is a songbird, with a voice as clear as the dawn and the brilliant plumage to match.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the stream of workers, and led me to a floo junction, whispering promises that I couldn't resist. Eagerly, I flooed home to grab my lute and then apparated to her house, where I found the rest of the band already gathered and awaiting my arrival.
Somewhere in the wilds of the lake district, in a mansion filled with every luxury, we sat down together in a room as large as it is spartan, with thick walls and bare floors and a few chairs and a grand piano, and two tapestries placed just so, to perfect the acoustics (and incidentally to make anyone who sees them wonder just what the artist who designed them had against hippogryffs). In that room, we played music all evening and far into the night.
Far too soon, I had to go. I had work the next afternoon.
'Bloody hell, why don't you drop that ministry gig like you'd drop a dead rat with plague?', Zelda asked, as cheerful as ever. She beat a tattoo on her snare drum. 'We'll write a song without you, and then you'll be sorry.'
'Bloody Zel, why don't you quit asking?', I said. 'I'm already sorry. Maybe this time I'll stay.'
'Goodbye, Owain', Ana said, smiling sweetly.
Kirley and Myron looked at each other and then Myron threatened to push me out the door if I didn't quit talking and either go or stay. So I went home and slept the sleep of the perpetually overworked, and went to work in the afternoon.
Yes, the break after our last tour (thoughtfully timed to coincide with the holidays) is over. The Weird Sisters are back at Thestralia Thursday and Friday nights until the middle of March, when we may be doing something else. I can't tell you what, we're deep in negotiations too delicate to breath on, much less announce to all of Britain, but we think you'll like it if it comes off. More later.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the stream of workers, and led me to a floo junction, whispering promises that I couldn't resist. Eagerly, I flooed home to grab my lute and then apparated to her house, where I found the rest of the band already gathered and awaiting my arrival.
Somewhere in the wilds of the lake district, in a mansion filled with every luxury, we sat down together in a room as large as it is spartan, with thick walls and bare floors and a few chairs and a grand piano, and two tapestries placed just so, to perfect the acoustics (and incidentally to make anyone who sees them wonder just what the artist who designed them had against hippogryffs). In that room, we played music all evening and far into the night.
Far too soon, I had to go. I had work the next afternoon.
'Bloody hell, why don't you drop that ministry gig like you'd drop a dead rat with plague?', Zelda asked, as cheerful as ever. She beat a tattoo on her snare drum. 'We'll write a song without you, and then you'll be sorry.'
'Bloody Zel, why don't you quit asking?', I said. 'I'm already sorry. Maybe this time I'll stay.'
'Goodbye, Owain', Ana said, smiling sweetly.
Kirley and Myron looked at each other and then Myron threatened to push me out the door if I didn't quit talking and either go or stay. So I went home and slept the sleep of the perpetually overworked, and went to work in the afternoon.
Yes, the break after our last tour (thoughtfully timed to coincide with the holidays) is over. The Weird Sisters are back at Thestralia Thursday and Friday nights until the middle of March, when we may be doing something else. I can't tell you what, we're deep in negotiations too delicate to breath on, much less announce to all of Britain, but we think you'll like it if it comes off. More later.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-16 04:51 am (UTC)That's where you're wrong. A famous star like Owain Pritchard has time to do exactly what he wants to do, including writing about things that interest or amuse him. What's more, at the risk of sounding like I've been spying on the man, I can tell you with no fear of contradiction that he loves to argue about whether he is in fact Owain Pritchard with people who have no way of knowing. He's extremely fond of novelty, and also of referring to himself in the third person as the occasion warrants.
But don't worry, I'll grow bored with it soon enough.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-16 05:52 am (UTC)But if you are Owain Pritchard, then I think your music is wizard.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-20 02:49 am (UTC)