Eroticdreambattle

It's only a couple of years since we had one shed roof replaced and the other patched but this winter the wind got under them both and tore off sections of the corrugated plastic sheeting we'd used and now every day I'm picking up strips and splinters that have peeled off overnight.

We should have used heavier-duty material, but- to be honest- we were kicking the problem a short way down the road in the expectation that by the time it had to be dealt with again someone else would be living here.

When you take on property of any kind- land or bricks and mortar or objets d'art- you commit yourself to a never-ending battle against entropy.

Chuck Berry was only five years younger than my mother and the full frontal impact of his music was on the generation one up from mine. By the time I became aware of him he was a naughty old uncle singing novelty songs- and it took me a long time to realise he had once been something more.  He didn't progress. He just went on rocking and duck-walking and if the musicians who followed in his wake wanted to play with him- and they all did- they had to timewarp back to the 50s and sing along to his songs . Fair enough. They owed him.

Ray Davies has tweeted that the music has died- someone had to - but it's not strictly true. Music is independent of its makers. The music goes on. And how. Listen to any of Berry's great songs and its like standing in the surf and being hit by a really big wave. Time hasn't in the least diminished the fizz, rattle and rush. This is still the most energetic and youthful music there's ever been.