Done Is Good, But Done Well Is So Much Fucking Better
Updates are likely to be sparse until the beginning of next week, as I'm off to sunny Lisbon for a stag do (tried to book a lesbian weekend, but British Airways got confused). Apologies for the slow turnaround of posts recently, it isn't for the lack of material or even motivation, it's just that other things have tended to get in the way (like my bedroom windowframe dropping off, for example). I've also been busy ripping CDs to my brand new mp3 player (the one that's like an iPod but sounds better and costs less, and has a much bigger hard drive than my home PC) in time for hitting Portugal's finest beaches.
Have also been preparing for the weekend's festivities by reading Cees Nootenboom's 1993 novella The Following Story in which a former teacher goes to bed in Amsterdam but wakes up in a Lisbon hotel room where twenty years before he slept with another man's wife. Gloomy afterlife visions (Cees, desist!) and philosophical ponderings weren't quite what I had in mind for the weekend, but let's be frank, sleeping with other men's wives sounds much more like it.
Meanwhile, recently returned from Prague, Phill Postage! reviews The Duke Spirit gig at Nottingham's Rescue Rooms. Congrats are due to Liela Moss & Co. whose debut album 'Cuts Across The Land' scraped into the Top 40 despite reviews that largely damned with faint praise. Phill seems to have enjoyed the gig, anyway, and counts up to 11 very serious young men in the various lineups.
Talking of 11 serious young men, poor old Man Ure at the weekend, huffing and puffing in the FA Cup Final but losing on penalties to a barely-trying Arsenal. It was no use red-faced Fergie and sour-faced Keano spitting out their dummies side-by-side at the end of the game, when they fielded a strikeforce that couldn't finish a packet of chocolate Hobnobs between them. Hugely satisfying to see them return to their natural place of mediocrity, the third best team in the country and occasionally picking up cups, from whence they came in the 70s and 80s.
Also at the weekend, of course, was the Eurovision Song Contest. Didn't catch all of this, myself, but from what I heard and saw, Israel wuz robbed (so now they know what the Palestinians feel like, eh?). Shiri Maimon, no Haifa heifer she, is, like our Javine, a former failed reality show entrant, for whom the microphone was 'one of her first toys'. It's so tempting to suggest she practices singing into it next time, isn't it?
Some linkdumps:
The official site for David Cronenberg's A History Of Violence finally has some content, following positive reviews at its' Cannes premiere.
Binky The Doormat steps out as an irreverent popcult blog from York. Possibly linked to this before, but it's still good, so still welcome.
And finally, to Hell with you! Sealed with a kiss, of course.
Updates are likely to be sparse until the beginning of next week, as I'm off to sunny Lisbon for a stag do (tried to book a lesbian weekend, but British Airways got confused). Apologies for the slow turnaround of posts recently, it isn't for the lack of material or even motivation, it's just that other things have tended to get in the way (like my bedroom windowframe dropping off, for example). I've also been busy ripping CDs to my brand new mp3 player (the one that's like an iPod but sounds better and costs less, and has a much bigger hard drive than my home PC) in time for hitting Portugal's finest beaches.
Have also been preparing for the weekend's festivities by reading Cees Nootenboom's 1993 novella The Following Story in which a former teacher goes to bed in Amsterdam but wakes up in a Lisbon hotel room where twenty years before he slept with another man's wife. Gloomy afterlife visions (Cees, desist!) and philosophical ponderings weren't quite what I had in mind for the weekend, but let's be frank, sleeping with other men's wives sounds much more like it.
Meanwhile, recently returned from Prague, Phill Postage! reviews The Duke Spirit gig at Nottingham's Rescue Rooms. Congrats are due to Liela Moss & Co. whose debut album 'Cuts Across The Land' scraped into the Top 40 despite reviews that largely damned with faint praise. Phill seems to have enjoyed the gig, anyway, and counts up to 11 very serious young men in the various lineups.
Talking of 11 serious young men, poor old Man Ure at the weekend, huffing and puffing in the FA Cup Final but losing on penalties to a barely-trying Arsenal. It was no use red-faced Fergie and sour-faced Keano spitting out their dummies side-by-side at the end of the game, when they fielded a strikeforce that couldn't finish a packet of chocolate Hobnobs between them. Hugely satisfying to see them return to their natural place of mediocrity, the third best team in the country and occasionally picking up cups, from whence they came in the 70s and 80s.
Also at the weekend, of course, was the Eurovision Song Contest. Didn't catch all of this, myself, but from what I heard and saw, Israel wuz robbed (so now they know what the Palestinians feel like, eh?). Shiri Maimon, no Haifa heifer she, is, like our Javine, a former failed reality show entrant, for whom the microphone was 'one of her first toys'. It's so tempting to suggest she practices singing into it next time, isn't it?
Some linkdumps:
The official site for David Cronenberg's A History Of Violence finally has some content, following positive reviews at its' Cannes premiere.
Binky The Doormat steps out as an irreverent popcult blog from York. Possibly linked to this before, but it's still good, so still welcome.
And finally, to Hell with you! Sealed with a kiss, of course.
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