Hey Ya (Oh Oh)
So I'm back. Sorry about the gap in transmission, had to see a woman about a dog. No, seriously. Stop sniggering at the back there. I also had an unnerving encounter with a trojan up my back entrance. Fell teasingly short of my prostate gland, though. I should have figured something was up, because I've been feeling a little horse for weeks.
So what with this, and The Hammers conspiring to give away a three-goal head start and lose 4-3 to West Brom it's been a bit of a strange weekend. Looks like another pointless promotion for the boomeranging Baggies then, and playoffs at best for West Ham as they adjust to life under new boss Alan Pardew.
So, what have I missed? Well, The Princess has been busy in my absence, secreting various pictures of herself in semi-undress all over her site. Can you find them, readers? I think you'll consider them worth your while, if ever so slightly not-safe-for-work. Meanwhile, Paulos and Mo Morgan have returned to the blogging fray following lengthy absences from the frontline. Do I smell some Guardian prizes in the air? Could be...
You may also be interested to know that the luminous Anna-Lynne Williams from Trespassers William (or at the very least, someone purporting to be her) has taken the time to write in to Parallax View. She observes that I've been so complimentary about her on these pages, and wonders whether this means we're distant family. Which proves she's as ridiculously modest as she is talented. 'Fraid we're not related, Anna-Lynne, though that could change if you accept my hand in marriage.
Ms Williams was too reticent to mention it, but Trespassers William have their second album Different Stars out in the shops here in the UK as of this week. Haven't snagged myself a copy of it yet, but if taster single and former Parallax View single of the week Vapour Trail is anything to go by it'll be full of gorgeous melodies and shimmering soundscapes, so an investigation is recommended.
Nice to think some semi-famous folk visit these pages anyway, and it makes a change from Cheryl Tweedy's legal team. But hey, maybe Brett Anderson reads these pages as just a couple of weeks after I solemnly declared 'it's difficult to see where Suede go from here apart from splitting up' that's just what they've gone and blimmin' done. If there is a good thing to come out of this, it certainly makes it a hell of a lot more possible for Brett to get back together with original guitarist/songwriter Bernard Butler (currently semi-retired from the business?). I know there are people of power and influence who read this weblog, so make it happen people.
What with accurately predicting bands' futures and bringing you the scoop about the blogging call-girl a full week ahead of the rest of the blogging herd I really have been treating regular readers with up-to-the-minute cutting-edge poop. All this, and Kirsty Gallacher dripping wet in black skimpies for Maxim December 2003 too.
Of course I got the tip about the blogging call-girl via Brooke so it's only fair I should point you to this recent post on her site. It's beautifully written stuff and is my favourite weblog post ever, ever, ever...or at least until Robyn uses the 'c' word again. It's got the lot...nudity (but, bien sur); meteors; lung cancer; lost love; flashback structure; the invention of the criminal database and upper lips curved like spoons. In fact, I loved it so much I bought the film rights, and Julia Roberts' people are already telling me their client's OK with the nudity in return for the 'kudos' of playing the woman who single-handedly invented DNA.
Just kiddin', Brooke baby, I'm loving your work as ever. And don't worry, those polaroids are safe with me.
Tomorrow, there will be content. Or perhaps there'll be discontent. And just maybe if I have my dancing shoes on there'll be disco content. Glitterballs will be optional.
So I'm back. Sorry about the gap in transmission, had to see a woman about a dog. No, seriously. Stop sniggering at the back there. I also had an unnerving encounter with a trojan up my back entrance. Fell teasingly short of my prostate gland, though. I should have figured something was up, because I've been feeling a little horse for weeks.
So what with this, and The Hammers conspiring to give away a three-goal head start and lose 4-3 to West Brom it's been a bit of a strange weekend. Looks like another pointless promotion for the boomeranging Baggies then, and playoffs at best for West Ham as they adjust to life under new boss Alan Pardew.
So, what have I missed? Well, The Princess has been busy in my absence, secreting various pictures of herself in semi-undress all over her site. Can you find them, readers? I think you'll consider them worth your while, if ever so slightly not-safe-for-work. Meanwhile, Paulos and Mo Morgan have returned to the blogging fray following lengthy absences from the frontline. Do I smell some Guardian prizes in the air? Could be...
You may also be interested to know that the luminous Anna-Lynne Williams from Trespassers William (or at the very least, someone purporting to be her) has taken the time to write in to Parallax View. She observes that I've been so complimentary about her on these pages, and wonders whether this means we're distant family. Which proves she's as ridiculously modest as she is talented. 'Fraid we're not related, Anna-Lynne, though that could change if you accept my hand in marriage.
Ms Williams was too reticent to mention it, but Trespassers William have their second album Different Stars out in the shops here in the UK as of this week. Haven't snagged myself a copy of it yet, but if taster single and former Parallax View single of the week Vapour Trail is anything to go by it'll be full of gorgeous melodies and shimmering soundscapes, so an investigation is recommended.
Nice to think some semi-famous folk visit these pages anyway, and it makes a change from Cheryl Tweedy's legal team. But hey, maybe Brett Anderson reads these pages as just a couple of weeks after I solemnly declared 'it's difficult to see where Suede go from here apart from splitting up' that's just what they've gone and blimmin' done. If there is a good thing to come out of this, it certainly makes it a hell of a lot more possible for Brett to get back together with original guitarist/songwriter Bernard Butler (currently semi-retired from the business?). I know there are people of power and influence who read this weblog, so make it happen people.
What with accurately predicting bands' futures and bringing you the scoop about the blogging call-girl a full week ahead of the rest of the blogging herd I really have been treating regular readers with up-to-the-minute cutting-edge poop. All this, and Kirsty Gallacher dripping wet in black skimpies for Maxim December 2003 too.
Of course I got the tip about the blogging call-girl via Brooke so it's only fair I should point you to this recent post on her site. It's beautifully written stuff and is my favourite weblog post ever, ever, ever...or at least until Robyn uses the 'c' word again. It's got the lot...nudity (but, bien sur); meteors; lung cancer; lost love; flashback structure; the invention of the criminal database and upper lips curved like spoons. In fact, I loved it so much I bought the film rights, and Julia Roberts' people are already telling me their client's OK with the nudity in return for the 'kudos' of playing the woman who single-handedly invented DNA.
Just kiddin', Brooke baby, I'm loving your work as ever. And don't worry, those polaroids are safe with me.
Tomorrow, there will be content. Or perhaps there'll be discontent. And just maybe if I have my dancing shoes on there'll be disco content. Glitterballs will be optional.
Labels: robyn
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