AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

I am so excited to be part of hosting the first gathering of AMPsterdammers to chat, get to know one another and, hopefully, begin what will by a cornucopia of collaborations!

I was so lucky to be a part of the first AMP performances done here last year, and I was absolutely thrilled by the wide range of artists, genres and nations that were represented. Not only did I have a fantastic time, I met some really wonderful friends - many of whom I'm working with now - and look forward to more of it in the future!

So often, as artists, we live in a cocoon of our own making - suffering silently (well sometimes at least) to ensure that we are able to communicate our message clearly. Well you know, sometimes its also just nice to have a chat over a beer.

Its that time of the month, it rolls around regularly and reminds me of how marvelously warm my bed is...

It's the first Friday of the month, which means I'm rolling out of bed at 05:00 to prepare for my English Breakfast Radio special.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, I love doing the radio - who knew two years ago, when I was first invited into a studio to be interviewed as a guest, that I would become so hooked on the high of it! Added to that, with no cameras around, you can, if you don't mind being seen in public this way, rock up in some phenomenally flannel pjs!

I've got a good face - and fashion - for radio... especially at 05:00!!!

So I'm getting ready to go out and do one of 'those' interviews... one of the biggies... one where the person you're interviewing has so much more experience and knowledge than you do... sigh!

So, once again, a little case of the nerves come in. I know my job, I've got my list of 50 questions, I know my stuff... and yet I'm still sitting here, in my bathrobe, wondering what to wear, what to say, how to greet him.

This is a short blog simply to express my stress. Being a 'gun for hire', my silver ink sometimes has to write about things that I'm less than passionate about – and I'm stuck in that particular corral today. Its the perrenial complaint, I want to write – but I want to write want I want to write...and that's not always what pays the bills.
So pen in hand, you try and find some magical, mysterious melody of words to put together into something that, if not inspiring, is at least vaguely interesting... and if all else fails, blog!

I'm curious, what do you do when you're doing something you don't particularly want to do?

Every month or two I have to write an overview of great restaurants, hotels and bars in Amsterdam. It's not a difficult job, it must be said; in fact, the writing of the piece takes the least time of all ...

Collecting the information is all about consuming - I have to eat, drink and sleep through some of the nicest venues in town (oh no!) - but it does consume time. Time and energy.

Love and tenderness,
I've heard those words before;
No one else was listening,
Too busy keeping score
Of the endless body count.
Though no one will admit
To pulling the first trigger,
To stirring up the - bit

About you and I together,
It seeems a little odd
That we could kill each other
- in the name of God.

Love and tenderness,
In chronic short supply.
The only tears ever shed
Are after someone dies.
Peaceful negotiations
Always end too soon.
Each one of us is hostage
To every fatal wound.

Love and tenderness,
In this I'll keep my faith.
I'll hold myself together
And hope for changing tastes.
But though the wind is changing,
It still whispers in my ear;
Of those who fear for what they speak
Not speak of what they fear.

Lacking rhythm, the rain danced,
Spaces filled with puddles of hopping
Notes of peace; and bits, and pieces
Of where you wanted to be.

Being warm, from inside out.
Unbuttoning with the fluff of
Questions still moist
On the back of your teeth.

Faith is an island,
Where they speak in tongues
Which wrap around my gut,
And stick to my soul.

I know I’m not elegant
Watching where my money’s spent;
My landlord still wants the rent.
Hell, I’ll never be chic.

I’ll never be as square as Sloane.
Mortgage? I can’t raise a loan.
Public transport brings me home.
Aw hell, I’ll never be chic.

Tax man still on the hunt,
I’m just ahead of the blunt
Edged sword of the government.
Who know I’ll never be chic.

Maybe I’m a novelty
Proposing peaceful philosophy,
But I think you know what I mean
When I say I’ll never be chic.

If I’m a child of the world,
Why is my parent bought and sold.
What other children are so cold?
No. I’ll never be chic.

It's a Thursday night, which means that I'm prepping for an early 'Breakfast'... that's The English Breakfast, the radio show I've been working on for a couple of years now.. or nearly!

It all began one EARLY spring morning – a Friday - when a friend, the irrepressible Jimmy 'sausage legs' McHardy, invited me onto his newly formed radio show. He and his co-host, Mike Berry another Kiwi rugby player and radio roustabout, needed a guest... and funnily enough, Jimmy was pretty sure I wouldn't be backwards in coming forwards with an opinion or two.

So you want to pull a Henry James, a Hemingway, you’re sure that everyone in Europe will be interested in your take on what it’s like to be a foreigner in a foreign land. Rule one: They’re not. End of story.

Now that that’s out of the way, let me tell you how to meet all your expectations of being an English language writer in Europe – have none. Rule two.

Rule three is probably the most important – there are no rules.