Manchester, so Much to Answer For

Welcome to the North.

Happy Birthday Billie Holiday

"If I'm going to sing like someone else,
then I don't need to sing at all."

Billie Holiday, born April 7th, 1915

The Real Reason Why I Drink

Be Passionate
LOVE
Dream Big
Be Spontaneous
Celebrate
Change The World Or Go Home

This inspiring bottle of wine is brought to you by Stormhoek. I bought mine at Asda.

The Discos of Christmas Past - No 3

1984

was one of the great Christmas party seasons. I spent much of it getting obliterated in a strange pub / club / Italian restaurant / knocking shop called Nonno's in Preston, an appropriately nihilistic name.

The original "Do They Know It's Christmas?" was number one (factual answer: Ethiopia is the second oldest Christian state in the world, after Armenia, so yes, I think they probably do) and elsewhere in the Top Ten Prince was threatening to party like it was 1999, Strawberry Switchblade were ripping off one of Sibelius' best riffs, and a (still heterosexual) George Michael was trilling

"Last Christmas,
I gave you my heart
And the very next day
You went off with that tart..."

But this was the tune that made me want to

• go out and buy a sampler,
• study Kandinsky and the Italian futurists,
• forgive Paul Morley his unreadable NME articles, and
• dance like a drunken idiot.

Close To The Edit
ART OF NOISE

It has one of my favourite basslines ever, naked men by the legendary Victorian photographer Eadweard Muybridge, and some line drawings that look like an influence on the young Homo Escapeons.

I Am The World's Forgotten Boy

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour

This song is soooo retro I feel like I'm fourteen again. ("Here comes Johnny Yen again"). The band are rehearsing in a room that's got an old Wurlitzer organ and some naff furniture in it, like it's a church hall or something.

The bass player looks like Paul Simonon from the Clash, and the guy whacking a tambourine has his jaw clamped shut so tight you know he's deeply pissed off that he's not doing the singer.



In the chorus, there's a synthesised string patch that sounds all slurred and reminds me of being on a dancefloor with some slightly dodgy chemicals beginning to mess my head up. This is a good thing, although strictly speaking, it's not a fourteen-years-old thing. Don't try this at home.

The singer is pretty hot by the way. She's complaining about how she's been dating a Bad Boy, and it's all gone wrong (typical). I think she sings "he leaves my soul on the floor like a dog". Why do hot girls actively seek out men who don't give a damn about the content of their souls? I still don't know.

The band are from Copenhagen. This is their first single. You can buy it in the UK from Monday. They have a MySpace. Check 'em out.

So, for three minutes and forty seconds, I am fourteen again. Only this time, I have a driving licence, and I can get served in pubs.

Bring. It. On.

"Thou shalt not use poetry, art or music
to get into girls’ pants:
use it to get into their heads. "
SCROOBIUS PIP

Women's Petition Against Coffee

I know I am depraved beyond redemption. It is not yet nine in the morning, and I am already sipping the rich, dark brew. And thanks to my habit, Thoufands of Buxome Good-Women, are Languifhing in Extremity of Want (sic).

Coffee was introduced into England in 1650, and clever people very quickly lost interest in the Civil War and became scientists and merchants and natural philosophers. The Queen's Lane Coffee House in Oxford was established in 1654, and I often go there when I'm in Oxford and feel like getting in touch with the spirit of the Enlightenment and dispelling a hangover.

But not everyone approved of the change. The Women's Petition Against Coffee is a satirical pamphlet about men who never fight with any weapon except the tongue, and are 'unfit to be the life-guard to a cherry-tree' (mmm, you bitch.)

The women's petition concludes with these stirring words:

Wherefore the Premises considered, and to the end that our just Rights may be restored, and all the Antient Priviledges of our Sex preserved inviolable;
That our Husbands may give us some other Testimonies of their being Men, besides their Beards and wearing of empty Pantaloons: That they no more run the hazard of being Cuckol'd by Dildo's:

But returning to the good old strengthning Liquors of our Forefathers; that Natures Exchequer may once again be replenisht, and a Race of Lusty Hero's begot, able by their Achievments, to equal the Glories of our Ancesters.

We Humbly Pray, That you our Trusty Patrons would improve your Interest, that henceferth the Drinking COFFEE may on severe penalties be forbidden to all Persons under the Age of Threescore; and that instead thereof, Lusty nappy Beer, Cock-Ale, Cordial Canaries, Restoring Malago's, and Back-recruiting Chocholes be Recommended to General Use, throughout the Utopian Territories.

In hopes of which Glorious Reformation, your Petitioners shall readily Prostrate themselves, and ever Pray,&c.
FINIS.

I like my coffee like my women. One or two, first thing in the morning, before I start work. Then another, a couple of hours later.

I am really not sure what a back-recruiting chochole is. It sounds a bit gay, if you ask me.

Drunk Emails

When we were kids, the television was our babysitter.
The Internet is not our babysitter.
The Internet is a drunk librarian, who never stops talking,
and is always trying to get into our pants.

When I send you drunk e-mails,
And you send me no reply,
Where is the love you feel,
That you give me in the daytime?


Yes these are loaded questions,
Sent to you late at night,
But baby I still need answers,
That I'll take to heart at sunrise.


When I send you drunk e-mails,
And you send me no reply,
Where is the love you feel,
That you give me in the daytime?



Chock-full of typos I know,
Language and grammar die,
Questions that must be asked though,
I won't have the heart at sunrise.


When I send you drunk e-mails,
Why do you not reply?

THE SMALL SINS