One day in March Gabriel landed in Sydney. After shaking hands, we made it to the city, lunched together, hanged out for a while, had a dinner in a local Czech restaurant and after couple of beers, we started making music the very same night.

I appreciated Gabriel’s visit ‘cos not only brought he eight-year-old Bacardi waiting to be terminated by two displaced Slovaks, he also tuned my guitar. Thank you, brother. Would you have three weeks on your hands plus dosh to burn, pop in anytime, it needs tuning again. And please don’t forget the bottle!

As it happened, Gabriel also unintentionally brought the vibe with him. So much for the chances.

That night we penned She has a soul, a subtle piece about a girl searching for Mr Right. As it’s widely known and I’m happy to discuss it over and over would the need arise, there’s no Mr Right — but Gabriel and/or myself.

However, our heroine overlooks Gabriel and has never heard of me. She might be sort of drowning, instinctively searching for meaning of life and love. For the record, I’m quite aware that meaning of life is 42, though I’m not sure if our dear audience knows that meaning of love starts with Gabriel’s or my telephone number. (For these who are about to call: Gabriel handles northern hemisphere, I do the southern one.)

Without knowing the reason, composing was a piece of cake. Straightforward. Summer breeze. It wasn’t until Gabriel returned to U.K. that he realised what was behind the breeze and consequent ease. It was a girl. A genuine babe somewhere out there, radiant, peachy, vibey, relaying waves of desire and motivation over the oceans.

Indeed.

However, by the time we realised who the lucky one was, she was gone. Never mind. Her long distance vibe inspired a tune. That is what most struggling songwriters long for. Including lousy pretenders like Gabriel & me.