Highlights of the year 2007 include, rather neatly occasions where there is video footage.
Like the final Deep Fried Wolfknuckles gig at the 13th Note. The covers of You're in a Bad Way, You're like Manchester, and 100,000 Fireflies, tears streaming down my face nd blood pumping out of my finger.
Also the Plimptons invasion of Liverpool for the International Pop Overthrow Festival
The spectacular success of the nekkit chicks website is also an ongoing highligh.
Low points include
That hellish weekend where I both lost my job wih Linn, the girl thing exploding, after drinking all day with Robbie and Colin, necking a bottle of vodka, sleeping for an hour then driving to a Loves gig in London. It still mkes me want to kill myself, and I think has contributed to the bitter and evil man you see before you now. It helps me to feel justified when I'm being a cruel vindictive asshole
In sunny moments I forget and wonder what if... but then it comes back, I bare my teeth and do stuff. Kind of like a little battery of anti-matter.
Hopes for 2008
Something to kind of cancel out the low points of '07, raising my faith in humanity, or possibly just lording over them like dogs.
Oh and buying a sodding house
Sunday, 30 December 2007
Friday, 21 December 2007
Ill kid Xmas '07
I has the ill. I has the insomnia, the headaches, the mad starey eyes.
I has works Christmas lunch and a drive to Nottingham.
I has the ill
I has works Christmas lunch and a drive to Nottingham.
I has the ill
Thursday, 20 December 2007
Rape-spin
Is the concept of 'Bodice ripper' as in romantic novels, just a spin on 'rape', just like calling it 'surprise sex'?
"often characterized by weak females who fell in love with overbearing alpha males." Crikey, what a weird thought.
God knows how I arrived at this page, but its rather interesting
"often characterized by weak females who fell in love with overbearing alpha males." Crikey, what a weird thought.
God knows how I arrived at this page, but its rather interesting
Gah, a meme
Looks like there is a meme about, "Love is..." on Octopus Pie, DieselSweeties, and Questionable Content
I guess this evening I'll have to launch into the nuddy nekkit chicks version
I guess this evening I'll have to launch into the nuddy nekkit chicks version
Wednesday, 19 December 2007
Terror strikes
Hmmph, I just read the cleansheets story I mentioned earlier today, this one. Its terrifying for me, but strangely flattering too.
Cleansheet
Crikey, they've started to use my drawings over on Clean Sheets magazine here. Not really something I can read in the office with other folk around, wait until I get home.
Warm fuzzy feelings of success and achievement.
Warm fuzzy feelings of success and achievement.
Ah, crisis over, somehow the NumLock key on my laptop had become pressed. But luckily I pressed it again and all my problems went away. I like it when life's like that.
So, as I was saying, I'm still a little drunk from last night, although starting to sober up in the past ten minutes. Dananananaykroyd gig, photies on flickr here. Felt well comfortable there, it was at this place in the middle of Soho, and I was a bit scared, but then realised it was on the same street as the Thai restaurant I keep going to.
A few familiar faces in the crowd, London folk who I just see around and of course the Dananananas. Wee Susan was there, I babbled endlessly, its weird how long it takes for me to get into being able to, I've vaguely known her for about four years now. Strange strobe-lit flashbacks of seeing her in the Barfly, back in pre-Glasgow Indie Eyespy times.
On the way home there was a fire from the direction of my factor, I sprinted over to find a burnt out AA van, would have taken photies, but felt self conscious in front of two fire engines and a few police cars.
So, as I was saying, I'm still a little drunk from last night, although starting to sober up in the past ten minutes. Dananananaykroyd gig, photies on flickr here. Felt well comfortable there, it was at this place in the middle of Soho, and I was a bit scared, but then realised it was on the same street as the Thai restaurant I keep going to.
A few familiar faces in the crowd, London folk who I just see around and of course the Dananananas. Wee Susan was there, I babbled endlessly, its weird how long it takes for me to get into being able to, I've vaguely known her for about four years now. Strange strobe-lit flashbacks of seeing her in the Barfly, back in pre-Glasgow Indie Eyespy times.
On the way home there was a fire from the direction of my factor, I sprinted over to find a burnt out AA van, would have taken photies, but felt self conscious in front of two fire engines and a few police cars.
56-
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4st t6 de06nstrate, here's the new 3ay64t f6r each 35ne
q w e r t y 4 5 6 - [ ]
a s d f g h 1 2 3 + '
z x c v b n 0 , .
Ah f4c25t, never 352ed th6se 3etters 04ch anyway.
4st t6 de06nstrate, here's the new 3ay64t f6r each 35ne
q w e r t y 4 5 6 - [ ]
a s d f g h 1 2 3 + '
z x c v b n 0 , .
Ah f4c25t, never 352ed th6se 3etters 04ch anyway.
Tuesday, 18 December 2007
The money
I keep on forgetting about the money, the thing with the money, well, I keep on remembering that I'd forgotten about the thing with the money.
We were in Glasgow, the other weekend, it was Saturday early afternoon, and me and Natalie were in the pouring rain heading to the farmer's market in Partick. I'm not a Glasgow bus person, sure, I'll take the underground, but if the bus is an option, I'll walk. I'm uncomfortable being that close to humanity, so its only if I'm in safe company that I'll take the bus.
So the bus was coming and we were sprinting to the bus stop in the torrential rain, and got there about ten second before the bus. It doesn't sound like much time, but we managed to catch our breathes and compose our selves, and there were these two neds at the bus stop.
So the bus arrives, and Natalie springs forth to get on, still catching my breath, I'm slower, so the two neds saunter to get on the bus too.
At this moment I notice a fiver wafting out of Nat's pocket, landing on the ground. I stood to get it, but ned no. 2 being nearer gets it first.
"Excuse me, that er, fiver, its my friends..."
"wha?"
"That money, are you going to give it back?"
"Wha?"
"That five pound note you just picked up, it fell out of her pocket"
"It fell out of my pocket,"
"No, I just saw it fall out of my friends pocket."
"Its mine"
"Fucking hand it over now"
By this time all of us are on the bus, the ned hands the fiver to Natalie, I sit next to her and both neds go upstairs. Natalie, quite impressed that the ned returned her lost fiver, made to go and give the good samaritan a quid, for being so honest. Until I explained that he did actually pocket the money and I did have get it back.
This anecdote gives me such a warm fuzzy feeling inside, I cling to it tightly in dark times. Its weird the way I keep forgetting it happened.
We were in Glasgow, the other weekend, it was Saturday early afternoon, and me and Natalie were in the pouring rain heading to the farmer's market in Partick. I'm not a Glasgow bus person, sure, I'll take the underground, but if the bus is an option, I'll walk. I'm uncomfortable being that close to humanity, so its only if I'm in safe company that I'll take the bus.
So the bus was coming and we were sprinting to the bus stop in the torrential rain, and got there about ten second before the bus. It doesn't sound like much time, but we managed to catch our breathes and compose our selves, and there were these two neds at the bus stop.
So the bus arrives, and Natalie springs forth to get on, still catching my breath, I'm slower, so the two neds saunter to get on the bus too.
At this moment I notice a fiver wafting out of Nat's pocket, landing on the ground. I stood to get it, but ned no. 2 being nearer gets it first.
"Excuse me, that er, fiver, its my friends..."
"wha?"
"That money, are you going to give it back?"
"Wha?"
"That five pound note you just picked up, it fell out of her pocket"
"It fell out of my pocket,"
"No, I just saw it fall out of my friends pocket."
"Its mine"
"Fucking hand it over now"
By this time all of us are on the bus, the ned hands the fiver to Natalie, I sit next to her and both neds go upstairs. Natalie, quite impressed that the ned returned her lost fiver, made to go and give the good samaritan a quid, for being so honest. Until I explained that he did actually pocket the money and I did have get it back.
This anecdote gives me such a warm fuzzy feeling inside, I cling to it tightly in dark times. Its weird the way I keep forgetting it happened.
Small
Ah, the genius of burocracy. They changed the text formatting to make the new Treaty/Constitution smaller.
I can't wait until my career as a politician takes off.
I can't wait until my career as a politician takes off.
Is it still paranoia if yer right?
Outside the window here, seaguls squawk and the sun is kind of shining. The last of the green leaves still cling to the trees, and somewhere to my left a laser printer is churning out documents.
Lynsey's claims that there's no vendetta against me, seem a bit shallow as I struggle to log in to Anorak.
I'm guessing there's only two possibilities for what could have happened.
1) Some kind of server problem at freeforums, so only admin folk can log in
or
2) I got a little too close to the truth with the great conspiracy against me, Kitchen, Hart, Tasty, Rachel, they're all in it. Lynso must be in on it, possibly conspiring with Natalie. Hmm, going to have to be more careful in future. Trust no one.
Ooh, maybe its aliens.
Lynsey's claims that there's no vendetta against me, seem a bit shallow as I struggle to log in to Anorak.
I'm guessing there's only two possibilities for what could have happened.
1) Some kind of server problem at freeforums, so only admin folk can log in
or
2) I got a little too close to the truth with the great conspiracy against me, Kitchen, Hart, Tasty, Rachel, they're all in it. Lynso must be in on it, possibly conspiring with Natalie. Hmm, going to have to be more careful in future. Trust no one.
Ooh, maybe its aliens.
Got me so down, I got me headache
Gah, splitting headache, coffee and red bull isn't helping.
What's that Blind Rage? You want me to mug an old lady and strangle some kittens? Sure, just get me rid of this headache.
What's that Blind Rage? You want me to mug an old lady and strangle some kittens? Sure, just get me rid of this headache.
Monday, 17 December 2007
Wouldn't mind it so much if she'd had the decency to talk to me about it. I thought we were friends, alas, I'm a friend folk don't talk to. I think I can settle into this role.
Maybe it wasn't so much the contents of the webcomics, but the fact that I'd had a part in their creation. I am poison. Again I think I can settle into this role.
Its difficult and at times mindnumbing. It cripples me, thinking of what has gone on, what I've done, and how I can't reach backward and change anything. It reduces relationships to binary decisions. I was zombified at work today trying to come to terms with the aftermath of the other weekend in Glasgow, I wantedto text Rachel or Zee, ask them out to dinner or some other thing, not seeking cathartia, just seeing how we get on, my thumb hovered over send and went for cancel. What could I have done differently?
...
Time passes, and I'm lying in bed still fuming. If the rule is no links to anything misogynistic, then that's the rule, and I'll call it on every link out.
Hmm, actually I'm not sure all the comics that I'd linked to actually apply. I'm sure one of them was about a guy getting his leg amputated, and another was about a guy who'd committed suicide. Hmm, she says it herself in her post, 'some of the links posted crossed the...', but she still edited out all of them.
Hmm, maybe she was just really pissed off when she edited out the links, and she too acted in blind rage,
Ah, Blind Rage, my friend and constant companion. Do you think I should actually post this on my blog, or just let it drop?
POST
Hell yeah, that's what I was thinking.
Mental Judo reprise
Finished typing up my Glasgow birthday adventure.
here
No mental judo required at the time, but its all gone a bit sour now. I guess its some kind of superpower I have, fucking crap superpower. Wondering how I can use it as a force of good.
Hmm, the dog's masturbating loudly outside my door.
here
No mental judo required at the time, but its all gone a bit sour now. I guess its some kind of superpower I have, fucking crap superpower. Wondering how I can use it as a force of good.
Hmm, the dog's masturbating loudly outside my door.
Hank Marvin'
All I to yesterday was half a box of Cadburys Celebrations. I spent the entire day lying in bed, drawing pictures and clicking refresh. It paid off, my nuddy pictures blog had its busiest day ever, 7,000 hits in 24 hours.
It is something to be proud of. It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling in my tummy that something I made, people flock to see.
In other internet news, over on Facebook, Lars Frodo will be my last random addition to me friendslist, from now on, inclusion will be based on invitations to coffee or parties. No more random vague acquaintances.
Okay, so this will see me acquiring no new additions ever again in all likelyhood. But I'd get old and bitter any other way too.
See the monkeysphere thing, about how the human brain only really knows 150 people at any one time, and how that seems to contradict these folk with thousands of Facebook friends, and the whole 'Connector' idea from Tipping Point. Maybe its still valid, its just that everyone over the 150 people limit falls into a new category of folk, a 'safe' category with probably some tag to help remembering, and who can easily fall into the monkeysphere if necessary, and fall out again just as easily.
Ooh, what a terrible thing, the curse of the 'Connector' that they hold their friends so loosely. Damn me and my habit of falling for them, so months and years later, I'm still mourning the relationship, and they have topped up their monkeysphere without a second thought.
I was thinking about sening her an email inviting her to Nottingham with me, there's space in the car, then I thought the better of it, too creepy, and fear of rejection.
It is something to be proud of. It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling in my tummy that something I made, people flock to see.
In other internet news, over on Facebook, Lars Frodo will be my last random addition to me friendslist, from now on, inclusion will be based on invitations to coffee or parties. No more random vague acquaintances.
Okay, so this will see me acquiring no new additions ever again in all likelyhood. But I'd get old and bitter any other way too.
See the monkeysphere thing, about how the human brain only really knows 150 people at any one time, and how that seems to contradict these folk with thousands of Facebook friends, and the whole 'Connector' idea from Tipping Point. Maybe its still valid, its just that everyone over the 150 people limit falls into a new category of folk, a 'safe' category with probably some tag to help remembering, and who can easily fall into the monkeysphere if necessary, and fall out again just as easily.
Ooh, what a terrible thing, the curse of the 'Connector' that they hold their friends so loosely. Damn me and my habit of falling for them, so months and years later, I'm still mourning the relationship, and they have topped up their monkeysphere without a second thought.
I was thinking about sening her an email inviting her to Nottingham with me, there's space in the car, then I thought the better of it, too creepy, and fear of rejection.
Sunday, 16 December 2007
Chesticles
Wondering if this will work as an animated gif
Everyone needs a hobby. What I reckon is that its like that thing in rock music, how the Rolling Stones played their guitars low down over the groins with long guitar straps so youhad to wrestle with the guitar to make it sound the way you wanted it to, but the Beatles played with short guitar straps so they were playing over their hearts and had more control and it was easy to make the guitar sound right. You get these two sounds, one from the groin and one from the heart.
Its the same different between porn and erotic art.
Everyone needs a hobby. What I reckon is that its like that thing in rock music, how the Rolling Stones played their guitars low down over the groins with long guitar straps so youhad to wrestle with the guitar to make it sound the way you wanted it to, but the Beatles played with short guitar straps so they were playing over their hearts and had more control and it was easy to make the guitar sound right. You get these two sounds, one from the groin and one from the heart.
Its the same different between porn and erotic art.
Schedule
Right, the plan is to stick in London and go to gigs and stuff until the end of the week, then on Friday drive up to Nottingham and return to London on Saturday morning. Drive back to Manchester on the Monday 24th, stay there until friday, then drive up to Glasgow for the last weekend of the year.
No plans from then on other than to drive back to London in time for work on the 2nd.
If you want a lift anywhere or to go for a coffee, call me 07947 839984
No plans from then on other than to drive back to London in time for work on the 2nd.
If you want a lift anywhere or to go for a coffee, call me 07947 839984
Friday, 14 December 2007
Unedited gig review for LNFGIES
I'm just going to stand over by the toilets on my own, scribbling in y notebook, mulling over the past week and the past twelve months.
"... I had to rescue somebody you'd cornered", I thought so
I thought I'd arrived at the last Twee as Fuck of the year stylishly late, but alas, I'm early enough to catch one of the free CDs on the door. I guess there's thirty people here by 10pm. I glimpse Thorsten and Camilla sat at the other side of the room, their latest eagerly awaited podcast is a corker, I wonder if they'll do an xmas one. I keep my distance to avoid cornering them ad wonder when the bands start.
Bar staff look bored and in a glistening corner of my mind I feel like dancing. I wonder who else I know will be here tonight. that immortal conflict of wanting to see friends and acquaintances, ex-lovers and goddesses off of the internet, and yet avoid corner them, engaging in conversation.
This is notebook number five for this year so far. I haven't looked up since I started writing this evening, so engrossed in my own thoughts.
Another beer or back on the soft drinks of the driver? Its a no-brainer.
I spy another bloke here on his own, at the opposite end of the bar, we glance at each other suspiciously, I think he's jealous, he left his notebook at home. He reminds me of Robbie from IoMoPS, I wonder if he got round to doing his Christmas song for this year. May I suggest "Wednesday Girl at Xmas" or "Little Miss Maybe's first Xmas" as possible song titles.
Girl here, alone at the bar, looks like a girl from the year below at school, I scribble about it in mynotebook and avoid looking up.
Realise the fallacy in wanting to avoid being creepy, but at the same time, standing on my own, next to the toilets, scribbling. Wish bands would hurry up, get on stage and fuck off so I can go home.
I fear about how quiet Twee As Fuck is tonight. Maybe the overload of scenesters last month scared off the hipsters, but equally the scenesters decided the scene wasn't for them. Is this the damnation of the twee scene or did I just misjudge this night and there is an elsewhere to be, Stoke perhaps?
Nah, too much Hibbett for one year for me.
Four skinny lads take to the stage, no drummer, they are from Sweden, they are The Margarets. My ex-way many months ago coined the phrase for them 'Swedish kids with handbags'.
They sound like two parts early Stone Roses and one part Acid House Kings. Easy G, C, Am, D type songs with noodles and phaser effects. Stephen Pastel would be proud of the vocals, Best use of iPod for drums, crowd noise and St. Etienne/Just Joans found movie dialog clips.
Ooh, I just remembered, at work todat, a colleague was playing some Polish funk rock, and one of the songs sounded remarkably like The Just Joans's 'I Hear your the man now John'.
Stood nearby the bar here is a tall hairy chap who looks like Big Duncan from Dananananaykrod, but he smells different, he runs a label called Wax.
Ooh, Elaine the promoter comes over to say hi. I get all nervous but try to come across as a pro-muso journo, fail badly. Scribble note 'must come up with more sensible bloggery muso journo things to say in similar situations'.
I spot PopKid from Spiral Scratch and elsewhere this tall scrawny ginger girl who I;d swear I was in a drama society with at university a decade ago. The place is filling up and I feel about one chessboard row less self-conscious.
A short girl tugs on my arm and asks of I have a cigarette and suddenly I'm in Bolton, November 1995. Time travel fucking terrifies me. I'm in the Academy Bar, I can't see my girlfriend, but if I could would she recognise me? The jacket and the sideburns are thesame, besides she'd be about 14 years too young. Time travel fucking sucks.
Twelve years and one month later St. Christopher take to the stage, a two-piece tonight. The chummy Yorkshire accented between and mid-song banter in stark contrast to the shoegazery noise. They're missing their drummer tonight, relying on a drum machine.
Whilst its kind of easy to get lost in the music, the 14 song set is dragging. Its only at the last song I find they're an old Sarah Records band. Revering C86 folk probably care deeply, but I want to see the headline act.
The two people in the crowd who still give a crap shout for an encore, luckily they don't oblige.
The Buffalo Bar is full, folk chatting amongst themselves, scant regard for the music, smiling, engrossed in conversations. Time has passed, its half midnight, do bands usually go on this late, I try to remember.
Hatcham Social on last, a three-piece with a standy up drummer, matching hairstyles and torn jeans. They play in an inwardly facing triangular formation. Strange, difficult to describe songs, clunky guitars. Folk in the crowd and behind the DJ desk were dancing and singing along. It seems jolly good fun, but the words are low and the ba ba ba choruses are like another language.
"... I had to rescue somebody you'd cornered", I thought so
I thought I'd arrived at the last Twee as Fuck of the year stylishly late, but alas, I'm early enough to catch one of the free CDs on the door. I guess there's thirty people here by 10pm. I glimpse Thorsten and Camilla sat at the other side of the room, their latest eagerly awaited podcast is a corker, I wonder if they'll do an xmas one. I keep my distance to avoid cornering them ad wonder when the bands start.
Bar staff look bored and in a glistening corner of my mind I feel like dancing. I wonder who else I know will be here tonight. that immortal conflict of wanting to see friends and acquaintances, ex-lovers and goddesses off of the internet, and yet avoid corner them, engaging in conversation.
This is notebook number five for this year so far. I haven't looked up since I started writing this evening, so engrossed in my own thoughts.
Another beer or back on the soft drinks of the driver? Its a no-brainer.
I spy another bloke here on his own, at the opposite end of the bar, we glance at each other suspiciously, I think he's jealous, he left his notebook at home. He reminds me of Robbie from IoMoPS, I wonder if he got round to doing his Christmas song for this year. May I suggest "Wednesday Girl at Xmas" or "Little Miss Maybe's first Xmas" as possible song titles.
Girl here, alone at the bar, looks like a girl from the year below at school, I scribble about it in mynotebook and avoid looking up.
Realise the fallacy in wanting to avoid being creepy, but at the same time, standing on my own, next to the toilets, scribbling. Wish bands would hurry up, get on stage and fuck off so I can go home.
I fear about how quiet Twee As Fuck is tonight. Maybe the overload of scenesters last month scared off the hipsters, but equally the scenesters decided the scene wasn't for them. Is this the damnation of the twee scene or did I just misjudge this night and there is an elsewhere to be, Stoke perhaps?
Nah, too much Hibbett for one year for me.
Four skinny lads take to the stage, no drummer, they are from Sweden, they are The Margarets. My ex-way many months ago coined the phrase for them 'Swedish kids with handbags'.
They sound like two parts early Stone Roses and one part Acid House Kings. Easy G, C, Am, D type songs with noodles and phaser effects. Stephen Pastel would be proud of the vocals, Best use of iPod for drums, crowd noise and St. Etienne/Just Joans found movie dialog clips.
Ooh, I just remembered, at work todat, a colleague was playing some Polish funk rock, and one of the songs sounded remarkably like The Just Joans's 'I Hear your the man now John'.
Stood nearby the bar here is a tall hairy chap who looks like Big Duncan from Dananananaykrod, but he smells different, he runs a label called Wax.
Ooh, Elaine the promoter comes over to say hi. I get all nervous but try to come across as a pro-muso journo, fail badly. Scribble note 'must come up with more sensible bloggery muso journo things to say in similar situations'.
I spot PopKid from Spiral Scratch and elsewhere this tall scrawny ginger girl who I;d swear I was in a drama society with at university a decade ago. The place is filling up and I feel about one chessboard row less self-conscious.
A short girl tugs on my arm and asks of I have a cigarette and suddenly I'm in Bolton, November 1995. Time travel fucking terrifies me. I'm in the Academy Bar, I can't see my girlfriend, but if I could would she recognise me? The jacket and the sideburns are thesame, besides she'd be about 14 years too young. Time travel fucking sucks.
Twelve years and one month later St. Christopher take to the stage, a two-piece tonight. The chummy Yorkshire accented between and mid-song banter in stark contrast to the shoegazery noise. They're missing their drummer tonight, relying on a drum machine.
Whilst its kind of easy to get lost in the music, the 14 song set is dragging. Its only at the last song I find they're an old Sarah Records band. Revering C86 folk probably care deeply, but I want to see the headline act.
The two people in the crowd who still give a crap shout for an encore, luckily they don't oblige.
The Buffalo Bar is full, folk chatting amongst themselves, scant regard for the music, smiling, engrossed in conversations. Time has passed, its half midnight, do bands usually go on this late, I try to remember.
Hatcham Social on last, a three-piece with a standy up drummer, matching hairstyles and torn jeans. They play in an inwardly facing triangular formation. Strange, difficult to describe songs, clunky guitars. Folk in the crowd and behind the DJ desk were dancing and singing along. It seems jolly good fun, but the words are low and the ba ba ba choruses are like another language.
The Plimptons Christmas EP
Whilst there's barely a music blog out there that isn't covering top Glasgow The Martial Arts's retro-Happy-Days-esque style of music and their free album download (. . .)
Only the most cynical of Glasgow comedy rock band ex-managers would try the same sort of Christmas giveaway. So here it is, in its entirity The Plimptons Christmas EP in giftwrapped zipped download for you listening pleasure.
gies yersel a rightclick download
Only the most cynical of Glasgow comedy rock band ex-managers would try the same sort of Christmas giveaway. So here it is, in its entirity The Plimptons Christmas EP in giftwrapped zipped download for you listening pleasure.
gies yersel a rightclick download
Internet
So after the internet-based excitment of yesterday, now sadly removed from this blog, character assassination is only ood for a few hours, and after going through my Facebook friends list removing anyone off of the internet who I might possibly have 'cornered' in the past. I was quite shocked to discover how few of my Facebook friends are old Bowlie survivors, only a couple, possibly one or two if you discount the 'Glasgow music scene'.
Six years of my life, with nowt lasting friendships. Not that there wasnae friendships, just that I've deleted these folk for one reason or another over the past few months, I have a small updated list of reasons why. Whilst 'bunch o'cunz, the lot o' them' has merit, it can't really be that true, but then only one net survivor sent me a birthday message.
Whilst I succeeded in killing off the messageboard, that cunt Kitchen succeeded in killing off all my friendships. Pretty venomous really. I thought I was the evil one.
This one time after I'd been off Bowlie for a year or so, after both Kitchen and Quagga had sent me messages telling me to move on and how my life would be better for it, Idles dragged me out to meet Quagga and secretary in Mono. And for hours they were all talking about Bowlie, before I realised they were just taking the piss and I ought to get the fuck out of there.
Bunch o' cunz, the lot o' them.
Six years of my life, with nowt lasting friendships. Not that there wasnae friendships, just that I've deleted these folk for one reason or another over the past few months, I have a small updated list of reasons why. Whilst 'bunch o'cunz, the lot o' them' has merit, it can't really be that true, but then only one net survivor sent me a birthday message.
Whilst I succeeded in killing off the messageboard, that cunt Kitchen succeeded in killing off all my friendships. Pretty venomous really. I thought I was the evil one.
This one time after I'd been off Bowlie for a year or so, after both Kitchen and Quagga had sent me messages telling me to move on and how my life would be better for it, Idles dragged me out to meet Quagga and secretary in Mono. And for hours they were all talking about Bowlie, before I realised they were just taking the piss and I ought to get the fuck out of there.
Bunch o' cunz, the lot o' them.
Thursday, 13 December 2007
Drained
Eep, I am knackered. The inspectory people have just gone, I'm starving and exhausted, and all there is to eat is chocolates from yesterday.
Bah, no milk in the factory for my tea either.
Its like everything that can go wrong has gone wrong.
But without the everything.
On the plus side, my Feedburner feed thing has started working. Seems like it has a 24 hour delay.
Feel free to add yersel with this button
Subscribe in a reader
If you're interested in having a daily dose of post-it note based erotic art
Bah, no milk in the factory for my tea either.
Its like everything that can go wrong has gone wrong.
But without the everything.
On the plus side, my Feedburner feed thing has started working. Seems like it has a 24 hour delay.
Feel free to add yersel with this button
Subscribe in a readerIf you're interested in having a daily dose of post-it note based erotic art
zzzz
I am exhausted, nackered, drained and hung over. We have some quality inspector peeps coming today and I'm stressed, or maybe its strain.
The past few days of 'birthday' celebrations, putting on this mask of sociability, making the effort of gratitude and replying to text messages when I just want to get on and have a normal day.
Dev the wheeler dealer in the warehouse here, spent a good half hour yesterday trying to get me to buy a scrap Smart Car he'd acquired. "It'd be useful for spare parts", "Treat yourself my friend", "Just in case anything happens to your Smartie", "£400, £200, £100, £50". And so I had to spend twenty minutes disuading him. It was unpleasant. I'm not cut out for that sort of thing. I would have stabbed him in the eye, but he needs depth perception for driving forklift trucks.
More rounds of present this morning as I discover mail that came yesterday, stacks of presents from Nat and other folk. I'm completely undeserving and struggle to reciprocate, the guilt is crushing.
Bedroom is a tip, laundry all over the place, looks like Jax's room on a bad day. My life is a mess, maybe I can fix it with fire.
I just want it to sleep and all this to be over.
The past few days of 'birthday' celebrations, putting on this mask of sociability, making the effort of gratitude and replying to text messages when I just want to get on and have a normal day.
Dev the wheeler dealer in the warehouse here, spent a good half hour yesterday trying to get me to buy a scrap Smart Car he'd acquired. "It'd be useful for spare parts", "Treat yourself my friend", "Just in case anything happens to your Smartie", "£400, £200, £100, £50". And so I had to spend twenty minutes disuading him. It was unpleasant. I'm not cut out for that sort of thing. I would have stabbed him in the eye, but he needs depth perception for driving forklift trucks.
More rounds of present this morning as I discover mail that came yesterday, stacks of presents from Nat and other folk. I'm completely undeserving and struggle to reciprocate, the guilt is crushing.
Bedroom is a tip, laundry all over the place, looks like Jax's room on a bad day. My life is a mess, maybe I can fix it with fire.
I just want it to sleep and all this to be over.
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
29
Ah, another birthday. I awoke feeling uch the same as I felt yesterday, that it wasn't my fault, I was miles away, but if I was there I would have done something, if I was nearer I would have come running.
Already on the way into work I stabbed two birthday well-wishers, one flatmate and the security guy. We've had our first crisises as there's a huge shipment coming this afternoon and the factory heating isn't working, the guys are freezing and there'e nothing much I can do until the engineer gets here, well, I could keep them warm with rounds of hot drinks, bah.
I can't wait to get home, turn off my phone and start munching my way through my birthday packet of chocolate digestives. Mmmmh.
If my gran were still alive she'd be 100 today, but she died many years ago.
Already on the way into work I stabbed two birthday well-wishers, one flatmate and the security guy. We've had our first crisises as there's a huge shipment coming this afternoon and the factory heating isn't working, the guys are freezing and there'e nothing much I can do until the engineer gets here, well, I could keep them warm with rounds of hot drinks, bah.
I can't wait to get home, turn off my phone and start munching my way through my birthday packet of chocolate digestives. Mmmmh.
If my gran were still alive she'd be 100 today, but she died many years ago.
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
Yet another IQ test
Still on Facebook, this time it calls itself the simple IQ test. It gave me 132
So, along with all the other IQ test results, here and here, my funky new average IQ is 122.
Probably better ways to spend my evening, but hey ho
So, along with all the other IQ test results, here and here, my funky new average IQ is 122.
Probably better ways to spend my evening, but hey ho
Monday, 10 December 2007
Happy Birthday (Judo not required)
Blog temporarily made private over the weekend cos Andy Hart found it offensive and was being a dick as always. I had not enough time and inclination to sort it. But now I have.
Photies from Glasgow
here
Report from the weekend in Glasgow below...
Friday - 19:23
I sit, at long last, on the plane,
my fate in the hands of a pilot. I am
helpless.
Not quite enough time in the airport to
buy snacks, too much queuing for security, foreign
folk needing to queue jump to avoid missing their
flight. At the check in desk, so paracitic
credit card chugger. I script in my head what
I'd say, I'd ask if he has a credit card,
one of those, and does he pay it in full
every month. Does the 16% APR look set
to be reduced in line with interest rates and isn't
10.5% profit a bit steep?
The bus dropped us off, leading to
a frantic dash to the check in desk, this
immaculately designed building raped with security
barriers, they look temporary, in that way
that things do after they've been in place for
fice years.
Was running late to get out of work,
firing of a final salvo to Anorak. Why
is it always antagonistic and confrontational
Is it me? No, cos even when I'm not
there Tasty fires salvos, even when I don't
mention stuff, Tasty brings things up.
Maybe he has never stopped loving me.
It ain't healthy, this running through
my head.
"It might help if you asked The
Plimptons to write some good songs" quoth he.
"If they did, would you listen?" Untyped.
The chap sat next to me is getting
frustrated. "Fuck" he says,. The plane isn't due
to leave for another five minutes.
The stewardess with the mic is amusing.
Two lost passengers, are we sure we're
not them? Are we sure we're going to
Glasgow?
Friday - 21:37
The venue isn't open yet, The Beat Club
375 Sauchiehall Street, so I head to ra
Noodle Bar for ma dinner.
Somewhere behind me and to the left a
chap from my first year at university is having
food with his friends.
Since I stepped off the airport bus,
Central Station stop, I've been filled with
glee, I'm home and dry. The streets warm and
embracing, familiar and safe.
This one time I ate in here before a
Belle & Seb gig at the ABC, there was a
crowd of ten or so of us, bickering over eating in
or take away.
Saturday - 00:47
The Beat Club is dark and neon lit when I wander
in, through the murk I see Paul Smith
of Pin Up, and thence emerges Martin Smith
and in the distance Adam, friends. I spot
five or six people, Plimps and entourage. On
stage are some noisy shoegaze Oasis kids. If
they weren't too young I'd figure they were taking
the piss.
Text message from Robbie, he's round the
corner at The State, and seconds later, I'm there
too. Finton Stack, and a chap called Anders, the
name's a little familiar, but I've never seen
him before in my life.
The chaps are there sampling beers
uninterested in joining me at the Plimptons gig
probably awaiting the new album rather than
internecine gigging.
We chat, time passes and I return to
Pin Up Nights.
It was years ago, 1999 when I
first met John D McGonagle, one of the
founders of the Pin Up Nights franchise, him and a chap
called Graham. We'd been competing against
each other in the elections to be student
president at Strathclyde.
I didn't see John D at the gig, thing
slowly fall apart I guess.
Excitement buids before the Plimps take
to the stage. I recognise folk in the
crowd, the smiley foreign lass from
Sounds of Sweden, Chris, Dave and
Katie from the Just Joans, ancient
scenesters from long ago.
The place explodes when the Plimps
take to the stage.
They have the new album in their
minds, still raw, not recorded. The
band all psyched, Rowan smiling eyes
asparkle, Martin overcome by crazed animal spirits,
Cal the youngester fitting in neatly to the six-piece,
Adam twitching by the mic, on home turf, Neil
back to the audience sorting out levels on his
bass, Paul - eyeliner.
Whilst there are still the regular old favourites in the
set, Could I Be Loved and John Major, they
take the opportunity of a full band to play the
more complicated stuff from their 2004 debut
album and earlier demos, The Plimptons Rap
even gets an airing.
Tracks from the third album include Lonely
Old Man, who's MySpace references could date quickly
and Virgin on the Ridiculous, which sounds
terrifyingly like Elvis Costello, Paul Kelly's influence
in the song writing.
Most terrifying of the evening are the
people dancing, looks of glee on the audience's
faces isn't enough, there are mobs of
complete strangers dancing in front of the
stage, folk coming up and shaking Adam's
hand after the show.
What have they
gained since I left?
Text message from the girl, she's just
finished work, Robbie, Finton, and Anders
are there so I head off.
---
The next day, the weather's shite
as we head off to the farmer's market in
Partick, on a quest for duck eggs and
homemade sorbet.
Some further acquaintance from uni is
running one of the stalls, selling porridge oats,
my eyes glaze over as I try to recall
how I know him, but the moment passes.
Robbie and Finto are there,
four of us head to a bearby Polish Deli
for pickles and kabanos. In Glasgow its
still a novelty instead of the norm.
The weather's still crap as we sit
in The Three Judges. I leave myself at
the combined mercy of the others' expert
knowledge of fine beers and ales.
The rain is torrential with blobs of
snows, the girl's feet soaked, when we
call round at my old flat to pick up
mail. A good carrier bag full for
me to wade through an hour later at
the Bon Accord as we're served a
succession of Bloody Mary derived drinks.
The one with floaty nits of horseradish
is unexpectedly
pleasant, but
would be a
task to persuade
others to sample.
An indian
takeaway, the
film Chopper
with Eric
Bana and NCiIS
on the TV.
Its dark and wet out when we
stagger into The Cellers. Used to be the
Brunswick Cellers back in my day, now its still
cold and gloomy but utterly without soul.
Flatmate Alan and his wife Claire are here
for my birthday. They haven't seen us since
the wedding, two months ago, they
bring gifts. I melt in a gooey mess of
happiness, leaving Natalie and Alan to
do the talking. The Wolfknuckles soldier on,
Iain Thornton is still around, no one's
seen Teamie in months, the old club nights
are achanging, naked woman on fliers.
Bis still playing gigs. Working over
Christmas. Teamie appears, the
descent of the Winchester, change, change,
change.
Drinks are drunk and baby its time to
move on.
The weather's still crap as me and
Natalie find The Flying Duck, the entrance
is hidden, but inside its homely. We
strangely see Bis's Sci-Fi Steve fluttering
down the corridors like the fifth Doctor,
before we pay in and retrouve Robbie and
Finto.
The latest version of that crowd is here,
faces missing, far away, unexpected face
now here, like Big Duncan and Wake The
President, last see in London just days
before.
Robbie dragging me to the dancefloor for the Rutles.
Nat dragging me to the dancefloor for some other dancing
Me dragging Robbie to the dancefloor via Gav for Hectors
Natalie taking photies of the boys, looking cool
Fear / jealousy of Natalie and Finto chatting and flicking through my camera, then remembering faith and the phrase 'true blue'
Flashes of years gone by, similar folk dancing similarly
Somethings change, but not everything
Text message from the ex-wife, she'd just finished work and wanted to know where we were, battery on my phone failed before I could reply.
For a few seconds I thought it could be awkward were she with us.
Robbie mentioning some sad news about an ex- in London. Feelings of helpnessness "But I should do something"
More booze, more dancing.
Trying to get Ally to play Pipettes.
Trying to get Ally to put on more bands at the Winchester
Replying to Colin's post on Anorak offline.
Switching on lamps and eating cashew nuts, pilferred from the night before.
Dancing to Stone Roses.
Smiling at Finto and Nat dancing to Pulp. Did I really drag him out to the Winchester?
Did I have fun, damned right, didn't
even have to apply Mental Judo.
Next morning we stagger to the
bus station. A man dies of a heart attack
in Waterstones. I step onto the Megabus
and vanish.
Photies from Glasgow
here
Report from the weekend in Glasgow below...
Friday - 19:23
I sit, at long last, on the plane,
my fate in the hands of a pilot. I am
helpless.
Not quite enough time in the airport to
buy snacks, too much queuing for security, foreign
folk needing to queue jump to avoid missing their
flight. At the check in desk, so paracitic
credit card chugger. I script in my head what
I'd say, I'd ask if he has a credit card,
one of those, and does he pay it in full
every month. Does the 16% APR look set
to be reduced in line with interest rates and isn't
10.5% profit a bit steep?
The bus dropped us off, leading to
a frantic dash to the check in desk, this
immaculately designed building raped with security
barriers, they look temporary, in that way
that things do after they've been in place for
fice years.
Was running late to get out of work,
firing of a final salvo to Anorak. Why
is it always antagonistic and confrontational
Is it me? No, cos even when I'm not
there Tasty fires salvos, even when I don't
mention stuff, Tasty brings things up.
Maybe he has never stopped loving me.
It ain't healthy, this running through
my head.
"It might help if you asked The
Plimptons to write some good songs" quoth he.
"If they did, would you listen?" Untyped.
The chap sat next to me is getting
frustrated. "Fuck" he says,. The plane isn't due
to leave for another five minutes.
The stewardess with the mic is amusing.
Two lost passengers, are we sure we're
not them? Are we sure we're going to
Glasgow?
Friday - 21:37
The venue isn't open yet, The Beat Club
375 Sauchiehall Street, so I head to ra
Noodle Bar for ma dinner.
Somewhere behind me and to the left a
chap from my first year at university is having
food with his friends.
Since I stepped off the airport bus,
Central Station stop, I've been filled with
glee, I'm home and dry. The streets warm and
embracing, familiar and safe.
This one time I ate in here before a
Belle & Seb gig at the ABC, there was a
crowd of ten or so of us, bickering over eating in
or take away.
Saturday - 00:47
The Beat Club is dark and neon lit when I wander
in, through the murk I see Paul Smith
of Pin Up, and thence emerges Martin Smith
and in the distance Adam, friends. I spot
five or six people, Plimps and entourage. On
stage are some noisy shoegaze Oasis kids. If
they weren't too young I'd figure they were taking
the piss.
Text message from Robbie, he's round the
corner at The State, and seconds later, I'm there
too. Finton Stack, and a chap called Anders, the
name's a little familiar, but I've never seen
him before in my life.
The chaps are there sampling beers
uninterested in joining me at the Plimptons gig
probably awaiting the new album rather than
internecine gigging.
We chat, time passes and I return to
Pin Up Nights.
It was years ago, 1999 when I
first met John D McGonagle, one of the
founders of the Pin Up Nights franchise, him and a chap
called Graham. We'd been competing against
each other in the elections to be student
president at Strathclyde.
I didn't see John D at the gig, thing
slowly fall apart I guess.
Excitement buids before the Plimps take
to the stage. I recognise folk in the
crowd, the smiley foreign lass from
Sounds of Sweden, Chris, Dave and
Katie from the Just Joans, ancient
scenesters from long ago.
The place explodes when the Plimps
take to the stage.
They have the new album in their
minds, still raw, not recorded. The
band all psyched, Rowan smiling eyes
asparkle, Martin overcome by crazed animal spirits,
Cal the youngester fitting in neatly to the six-piece,
Adam twitching by the mic, on home turf, Neil
back to the audience sorting out levels on his
bass, Paul - eyeliner.
Whilst there are still the regular old favourites in the
set, Could I Be Loved and John Major, they
take the opportunity of a full band to play the
more complicated stuff from their 2004 debut
album and earlier demos, The Plimptons Rap
even gets an airing.
Tracks from the third album include Lonely
Old Man, who's MySpace references could date quickly
and Virgin on the Ridiculous, which sounds
terrifyingly like Elvis Costello, Paul Kelly's influence
in the song writing.
Most terrifying of the evening are the
people dancing, looks of glee on the audience's
faces isn't enough, there are mobs of
complete strangers dancing in front of the
stage, folk coming up and shaking Adam's
hand after the show.
What have they
gained since I left?
Text message from the girl, she's just
finished work, Robbie, Finton, and Anders
are there so I head off.
---
The next day, the weather's shite
as we head off to the farmer's market in
Partick, on a quest for duck eggs and
homemade sorbet.
Some further acquaintance from uni is
running one of the stalls, selling porridge oats,
my eyes glaze over as I try to recall
how I know him, but the moment passes.
Robbie and Finto are there,
four of us head to a bearby Polish Deli
for pickles and kabanos. In Glasgow its
still a novelty instead of the norm.
The weather's still crap as we sit
in The Three Judges. I leave myself at
the combined mercy of the others' expert
knowledge of fine beers and ales.
The rain is torrential with blobs of
snows, the girl's feet soaked, when we
call round at my old flat to pick up
mail. A good carrier bag full for
me to wade through an hour later at
the Bon Accord as we're served a
succession of Bloody Mary derived drinks.
The one with floaty nits of horseradish
is unexpectedly
pleasant, but
would be a
task to persuade
others to sample.
An indian
takeaway, the
film Chopper
with Eric
Bana and NCiIS
on the TV.
Its dark and wet out when we
stagger into The Cellers. Used to be the
Brunswick Cellers back in my day, now its still
cold and gloomy but utterly without soul.
Flatmate Alan and his wife Claire are here
for my birthday. They haven't seen us since
the wedding, two months ago, they
bring gifts. I melt in a gooey mess of
happiness, leaving Natalie and Alan to
do the talking. The Wolfknuckles soldier on,
Iain Thornton is still around, no one's
seen Teamie in months, the old club nights
are achanging, naked woman on fliers.
Bis still playing gigs. Working over
Christmas. Teamie appears, the
descent of the Winchester, change, change,
change.
Drinks are drunk and baby its time to
move on.
The weather's still crap as me and
Natalie find The Flying Duck, the entrance
is hidden, but inside its homely. We
strangely see Bis's Sci-Fi Steve fluttering
down the corridors like the fifth Doctor,
before we pay in and retrouve Robbie and
Finto.
The latest version of that crowd is here,
faces missing, far away, unexpected face
now here, like Big Duncan and Wake The
President, last see in London just days
before.
Robbie dragging me to the dancefloor for the Rutles.
Nat dragging me to the dancefloor for some other dancing
Me dragging Robbie to the dancefloor via Gav for Hectors
Natalie taking photies of the boys, looking cool
Fear / jealousy of Natalie and Finto chatting and flicking through my camera, then remembering faith and the phrase 'true blue'
Flashes of years gone by, similar folk dancing similarly
Somethings change, but not everything
Text message from the ex-wife, she'd just finished work and wanted to know where we were, battery on my phone failed before I could reply.
For a few seconds I thought it could be awkward were she with us.
Robbie mentioning some sad news about an ex- in London. Feelings of helpnessness "But I should do something"
More booze, more dancing.
Trying to get Ally to play Pipettes.
Trying to get Ally to put on more bands at the Winchester
Replying to Colin's post on Anorak offline.
Switching on lamps and eating cashew nuts, pilferred from the night before.
Dancing to Stone Roses.
Smiling at Finto and Nat dancing to Pulp. Did I really drag him out to the Winchester?
Did I have fun, damned right, didn't
even have to apply Mental Judo.
Next morning we stagger to the
bus station. A man dies of a heart attack
in Waterstones. I step onto the Megabus
and vanish.
Something in the middle of this reminded me of the bit in Tipping Point about how whilst 80% of people get jobs through "Friends" actually its mostly through "Acquaintances" who you only vaguely know, and only about 3% through close friends. You're generally in the same room/sphere as friends so you're competing for the same opportunities, whilst with "Acquaintances" there's greater opportunities
Friday, 7 December 2007
Gah!!!
To much stress, rail trouble getting to Stansted, so I'm having to get a coach, whilst at the same time, frere's asking if he can borrow my car this weekend, which will mean trying to get him put on my car insurance and finding some way to hand over my keys to him without missing any transport connection.
Need to somehow escape from work, get home, find my car insurance policy number, get back to work, somehow get out of work early again and so on.
And at the back of my mind is this nagging suspicion that Glasgow's going to be an empty shell, I'm paying hundreds of pounds, travelling a thousand miles to stand on my own in several empty rooms in aid of relics from the Glasgow music scene and people I used to know.
Whilst l'esprit d'Hibbett and Mental Judo is keeping me going, but I have blissful fantasies of being mighty mighty pissed off by the time I arrive home on Sunday night.
To much stress, rail trouble getting to Stansted, so I'm having to get a coach, whilst at the same time, frere's asking if he can borrow my car this weekend, which will mean trying to get him put on my car insurance and finding some way to hand over my keys to him without missing any transport connection.
Need to somehow escape from work, get home, find my car insurance policy number, get back to work, somehow get out of work early again and so on.
And at the back of my mind is this nagging suspicion that Glasgow's going to be an empty shell, I'm paying hundreds of pounds, travelling a thousand miles to stand on my own in several empty rooms in aid of relics from the Glasgow music scene and people I used to know.
Whilst l'esprit d'Hibbett and Mental Judo is keeping me going, but I have blissful fantasies of being mighty mighty pissed off by the time I arrive home on Sunday night.
Thursday, 6 December 2007
Success!!
Crikey, my porno video has had 79,000 views in the last two days, that beats my previous best on youTube by a factor of ten.
Not Safe for Work, but it does have a cracking soundtrack
Click here
So, are you coming out on Fri/Sat for me birthday? C'mon its Plimp/Winch respectively.
Not Safe for Work, but it does have a cracking soundtrack
Click here
So, are you coming out on Fri/Sat for me birthday? C'mon its Plimp/Winch respectively.
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
Sometimes comic strips
I have vague memories of being Shelley Winters here
And I think this XKCD was one of my posts back when I was doing the illegal and almost got me fired Linn Products blog
In other news...
I'm getting rather psyched about this weekend. I'm going to get really drunk, make a fool of myself, lose lots of friends, sleep on a street corner, drink coffee in the 13th Note and spend lots of money.
Yay.
Vague memories last night, trying to get to sleep, of being at IndieTracks and getting a train ride in the middle of the night with someone, but I can't remember who. I worked through in my ead about thirty people from that scene, before coming to the conclusion that it might have been Robbie, but probably wasn't, was it a girl?
And I think this XKCD was one of my posts back when I was doing the illegal and almost got me fired Linn Products blog
In other news...
I'm getting rather psyched about this weekend. I'm going to get really drunk, make a fool of myself, lose lots of friends, sleep on a street corner, drink coffee in the 13th Note and spend lots of money.
Yay.
Vague memories last night, trying to get to sleep, of being at IndieTracks and getting a train ride in the middle of the night with someone, but I can't remember who. I worked through in my ead about thirty people from that scene, before coming to the conclusion that it might have been Robbie, but probably wasn't, was it a girl?
Monday, 3 December 2007
Mental Judo
This song, verse two.
For my birthday one yearHas made me book a flight to Glasgow next weekend, whence I'll be going to Pin Up Nights to catch the mighty mighty Plimptons on Friday night and then The Winchester Club on Saturday night. If anyone fancies a drink, I'll probably be buying with wreckless abandon in the hope of making friends with acquaintances and trying to find somewhere to spend the night.
Two of my friends took me out for a beer
They'd invited other people I knew
To come and meet me
I didn't mind
That hardly any of them arrived
But the other two spent the whole night
Going on about it
I said I do not care
If there's never anybody else there
I'm going to enjoy it for what it is
Not not for what it isn't
Mental jud
This way a round'll be cheap
And we'll be sure that we all get a seat
When we go out dancing, 'cos we're going out dancing
Mental judo
Its my birthday see, and whilst there's probably dinner and acquaintances closer to the time in London, there's a great density of friends in Glasgow, and don't forget you get extra bonus points for social interaction, rather than just being seen.
Saturday, 1 December 2007
Starbright
Idly listening to music on random from my PC when Bis's 'Starbright Boy' comes on. I'd been watching the video on youtube weeks ago, but I don't recall downloading the song. Time passes and I discover that I'd been listening to the Hey Hey Honeypop podcast. Amongst the many fine fine tunes on this podcast is Town Bike's 'Trouble Fucken Rocks' which sounds a little like The Loves's 'This is Love', but a fine tune nonetheless.
The podcast was constructed by CrystalBall who I often see at gigs, I say 'hi' or make eye contact and then run away and hide. I really ought to stop hiding, neither good for me nor anyone else.
However, thus inspired, I think I might do another podcast, I seem to have lost the last one in the fog of the intermeme. This new podcast will include such songs as The Kinks's Harry Rag
The podcast was constructed by CrystalBall who I often see at gigs, I say 'hi' or make eye contact and then run away and hide. I really ought to stop hiding, neither good for me nor anyone else.
However, thus inspired, I think I might do another podcast, I seem to have lost the last one in the fog of the intermeme. This new podcast will include such songs as The Kinks's Harry Rag
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