Swines

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It's amazing just how quickly you can become totally out-of-touch with what's going on in the world these days. When I went to bed on Monday night, there was some vague news on TV concerning one death in Mexico from something called Swine Influenza. On Tuesday morning I was up at 5.00am (yes, it happens) out all day, and was indisposed for most of that evening due to someone breaking into the Sonic Chariot. The perpetrator had bent the passenger-side door at the top to gain access then made off with a pair of Primark sunglasses that cost £2.00. Don't you just love smackheads?
Anyhoo, my point is that I managed not to see a newspaper or TV news bulletin for a little under 24 hours. By the time I got to see some news on Tuesday night, there were 150 Mexican deaths, with reports of outbreaks in Scotland and numerous other parts of the globe. At the time of writing (Thursday) it is now a Level 5 global epidemic. We're getting leaflets through the door, schools are closing, people are wearing surgical masks to have sex and sales of pork scratchings have plummeted. Those germs sure can shift themselves pop-kids. It really is like one of those future-doom dramas from the 70's.
Come to think of it, I have at least two of those symptoms listed up there...


Unbridled Optimism

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It must be said that us Brits are enjoying somthing of an early summer at present. I mean, you can pretty much get a sun-tan if you put your mind to it. Excellent for April. Mind you, I recall waxing lyrical about the Weather Gods smiling down upon us around this time last year, and things went downhill for yours truly pretty soon after that. Reminded me that unbridled optimism doesn't always mean that sh*t won't happen. Summer turned into something I only saw on TV and shook one of my crutches at in anger.
Still, as I've been heard to mutter before, this is not a weather blog, although this very topic - The Weather - for me is right up there with 9/11, Scientology in Hollywood, and Seinfeld as being something I rarely tire of talking about.
You'll find examples of each of these scattered around this site in various places, though thinking about it now, it's been a while since I even mentioned the crazy futuristic cult of Scientology...and now we have the whole Will Smith thing to think about. Expect an update on this.


Fear of Facial Hair

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Caught Fleet Foxes on the Culture Show over the weekend. Music aside, what caught my attention was the band's apparent devotion to facial hair. The appeal of the latter has always been a mystery to me, especially when exhibited by the under-60's. Ok, your songs may be sourced directly from 1968 but you can still indulge in a little grooming now and again, no? Whatever fashion-based skeletons I may have packed tightly in my cupboard, I can assure thee that face-fuzz sure ain't one of 'em.
And while we're at it, that interview... jeez, it's like something from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. I'm sure the lead-beard is one helluva song-writing prodigy, but if you remove the word 'Like,' he actually utters about 6 words in total, proving that sometimes there's a lot to be said for faceless techno anonymity.
Don't get me wrong pop-kids, I can be a sucker for timeless-acoustic-guitar-from-wooded-glade-in-Laurel-Canyon music as much as the next Mojo-reading beard-jockey, (check out today's Listening to selection) but many of it's exponents, these days at least, don't make for great interviews it has to be said. Now this band of folk-revisionists did it right in my book. Exactly how I like it - no song-explanations, and never, ever any facial hair.


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