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Saturday, 20 March 2010


Here it Goes

I borrowed this from Rog. I've got to find some people to try this with...

A man just rung the doorbell and told me he had a personal invitation from Jesus for me? He looked like he was out of an Agatha Christie film. Well, I reckoned it was kind of impolite issuing an invitation fifty six years too late, so I politely declined.

Thursday, 18 March 2010


The local school has come up with a horrific Orwellian idea of piped music pouring from the local fire/oops the nuclear has blown a fuse warning speakers. This means that every time children enter or leave schoolgrounds the entire town is subjected to truely awful cover songs of songs that were already awful in the original version. I think this is dreadful to brainwash children into thinking that this is even regarded as music. That, and the fact that the mothers are so aggressive in their driving techniques the local police have to stand guard at lunch and teatime to prevent them from running over each other in their enormous four by fours. What memories are these kids going to have?
Meanwhile, out back where they are building a monster villa with no view, there is a competition going on between the workmen from Andalucia who sing about dead things and the South American workmen who sing about their mothers. I have my headphones on.
The above done in Artrage.
Here's something pleasant to listen to.

Wednesday, 17 March 2010

I'm Spooked.

I was watching an antique show on the television last night where they landed up in an auction room in Kendal. What a funny coincidence, I thought. That's where some of my late father's belongings landed up in the not too distant past.
The camera pans round and there, next to the grandfather clock they are talking one of my father's grandfather clocks...and there on the wall is the Swiss wall clock that used to hang in his study...and there is the wooden baby, high chair that my mum used to keep a potted cyclamen on...and there is the big green , glass vase that lived in the cupboard in the hall. I'm still spooked. Is this a message or something?

Monday, 15 March 2010

Look Into My Eyes

This is the time of year when dark Mercedes roam the side streets. The occupants, with dark, shining hair and large sunglasses hang their hairy arms out of the windows and drop trails of cigar butts.
A new batch of Eastern ladies wearing white boots stand on the edge of town.
Why am I here?