I listen to a lot of music. Ever since I was young I’ve been amazed at how those people write music and words; where they get them from; what makes them choose that particular combination of notes; how they turn their dredged-up thoughts into rhyming couplets and so on. Sometimes I do just let myself listen and enjoy, but normally I find myself thinking about the process of creation. You’d have thought that would ruin my enjoyment, but it doesn’t.

When I was 15 or so, I started a band and tried to write songs. We wrote a few, Dan and I. Some were total nonsense, some were a bit better and, just before we split for good, one was probably quite good. I wish I could remember more about it. I know it was about a colour TV, but that was probably mostly because that’s a good phrase to sing – Mark Knopfler found that out later.

So, what’s the point? Well, I’ve always considered short stories to be almost analogous to songs (pop – because of when I was born, although the same probably goes for contemporaries of Robert Schumann or Gustav Mahler). They can stand alone, like a single, or something published in a monthly magazine; or nominally together, an album or a collection of stories, whilst not necessarily being related in any way. A novel is more like a concept album or a symphony, but that’s another set of thoughts.

I’d written songs when I was a malodrous teenager. I’m now trying to find good starting points for short stories. It only took me around a year to put the two together. Nobody (except the certifiably die hard) will remember those efforts from nearly 30 years ago, so why not raid that creative larder and recycle them? They were (partly) my own output, after all, and could well contain snippets that I can use again now. I’m not stealing anything from anyone.

The result, the first result, is a story I’ve just written, called Looking For Jim. Its basis comes from The Nothing Song, of course, and writing the first paragraph took me all the way back to the room in Partridge Down where Dan and I argued silently for around an hour over the last 2 lines. If nothing else, I’ll always have that little reminiscent treat.

I think he got his way in the end.