20_5_05_(2) Diary.

Syd has tonsillitis. Sick kids are always a worry, especially for a Zulu worrier like myself, and I always freak out whenever he gets a temperature because of his history of febrile convulsions. That’s where your kid stops breathing and turns cold and blue. I recall the first one quite vividly, as I didn’t know what the fuck was going on and I presumed he was on his way out. Anyway, he’s on the mend now, but it’s been tough on the nerves over the past few days. At the height of his fever, when we were panicking about meningitis and checking for signs of mental confusion, he announced weakly that he wanted to listen to music and dance. This isn’t quite so bizarre as it sounds, as Syd is a recent convert to what he refers to as MOOZICK, and since he refuses to do almost everything unless aided in some way, I have to spend a proportion of my time whirling round Sam’s flat to The Plastic Ono Band’s Why with Syd in my arms with his head on my shoulder. That’s his current favourite, but he’s pretty broadminded. He even likes an obscure Um tune that only he and I have ever heard, so that’s nice isn’t it? But while he was ill we danced along to Superfreak by Rick James. Can you imagine a wan and listless four-year old cradled tenderly in the arms of a ratty-looking dude with stubble and dirty hair? With Superfreak playing? That’s the video of my house at the moment. The thing I really dig about Superfreak, by the way, is that the freak is not judged, but celebrated in her freakiness. Hence: “…that girl’s alright with me…” etc. Oh yeah, the other thing he, Syd, asked to do (when he was basically too sick to be out of bed) was to go and look in skips. He has arrived at the music by himself (I figured there’s no headway to be gained by foisting the family trade on him: “Now Syd, can you say: Trout Mask Replica?”) but I did get him into skip-diving. We’re building a “nuts-and-bolts city” out of random street crap, you see. It’s coming along slowly. These things take time…