Poor old Rummage has fallen into disrepair. There are metaphorical tumbleweeds in the form of junk spammers ago go . All it needs is a whistling wind, lone violin and John Wayne to appear menacingly on the left.
In contrast, the family of Rummage is peachy keen. The small children continue to be the highly excitable lunatics that they have always been. Give them a darkened room, a brown paper bag and some yoghurt and I guarantee you they will have created some kind of rocking installation whilst screeching with laughter. That's how they roll, those two.
The French is, as ever, exactly who he always was and who he will always be. As much as he might complain about being compared to sedimentary rock. And I know he will read this and complain. My answer is to look to the beauty in those fixed intransmutable layers of integrity and strength.
There are other good things too. The band continues to evolve with bass player and drummer. There are times when we are akin to a scene from Flight of the Conchords - the contentious issue of a name for example. I'm thinking of listing them all here and asking for a vote. I saw Jello Biafra of Dead Kennedys fame do a spoken word piece on band names in the 90's. He had nothing on us. We are currently known as Honey West and the Dukes of Haggard but that is subject to change without notice.
I turned 40 in August and am pleased to discover that I didn't wake up with a burning desire to book myself in for some bizarre facial augmentation. I did buy a pair of hot pants and I DO wear them. And if that passes for a mid-life crisis, I am good with it.