FlyTheNest

I did used to like a good mosh. But what with my back problems these days...

I keep telling you people drugs are good and have no adverse effects at all.

This is one of the girls from Strawberry Switchblade. I've met a few racists at neo-folk events.

Guess which one joined a fabulously nuts neo-folk band?

Isn't Louis Wain great?

This is the Depeche Mode I grew up with.

Well and other stuff...

I heard this described on the radio today as 'goth pop'.



Ummm...I think she's clearly a Robert Smith fan, she's got the make up and the moves, but she sounds like she wants to be in The Cranberries, which is fortunate as I seem to remember an opening recently becoming available.

Just wearing the clothes doesn't make you something. If I was to venture onto the street tomorrow in full plate armour I wouldn't be an actual medieval knight. Especially if I was brandishing my lance from the back of a pink Nissan Micra.

Sometimes this just has to be done.

I stuck a six inch gold blade in a head of a girl. Oh laughter.



Shake it baby.

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1985, Saturday, late Spring/early Summer. My slightly dangerous friend from London is down for the weekend (we’ve kept doing this since I moved out of London nine years earlier, first weekends away organised by mums, now we just turn up, him particularly). We go out into town with a few other people and meet more there, including my last girlfriend who I split up with… not really, nothing so dramatic as that, splitting up with someone demands a moment in time – my last girlfriend before we drifted apart a year or so ago. We’ve been dancing the dance a bit again recently, nothing happening but spending a lot more time talking and just hanging around together.

I’ve been talking to my dangerous friend about things and he knows how it stands with me (essentially I don’t want to be her ex any more) and we’ve been talking about it this morning, and he smiles at me as we bump into her. We wander around in a group and we wander back and I’m talking to other people and I turn a corner to go towards a friend’s house – and they’re in each others’ arms, and they’re kissing – you know, kissing.

I live two minutes away but I get there in one. I don’t remember three flights of stairs but I took them. I find, as I wave my hands around and have a bit of a shout, that I have a new record with me and I put it on… and on, and on and on. I spend the rest of the day listening to it, and listening to it and listening to it. It feels bitterly ironic (I don’t think I would have even thought that word – I certainly wouldn’t have known how to use it accurately, this is a Pip-like grown-up-looking-back knowingly layered narration) and it feels like it’s laughing at me and it feels like it’s just life and it feels okay and it feels like pride, however pride might be feeling. I listen to it until the early evening when I go out and bump into people and have to meet him because he’s staying with me (and we’re not old enough for him to just disappear without parents getting worried) and he’s annoyingly straightforward but there’s really nothing I can do about it. I feel a bit better now, anyway. Because of the song.

A postscript. A bit later that summer, when things had gone wrong for them as things do, my ever more dangerous friend needed to see her and talk to her but couldn’t risk the wrath of her father. It was okay, though, because he had a plan. You know the kind of plans you realise are just perfect, without noticing that they’re perfect because you’re drunk, or high, or utterly desperate? He used to have those kinds of plans as a matter of course (“We’ll steal some whisky” “I’m sure they’re only blues” “Nobody will notice it’s gone”). This plan was to borrow a ladder from me and climb up to her window, her room being at the front of her house and her dad’s being at the back. My folks were away that weekend (I can’t believe my mum knew he was staying. She knew. She never would have allowed it.) So he waited until he was sure she’d be asleep and set off with the ladder (we’d had a long talk in which I’d told him seventeen reasons why it was a terrible plan and he’d brushed them all aside perfectly politely). It was about midnight, and it was Saturday, and he had to walk straight down the High Street to get there. I went to bed. I was woken an hour or so later by some very persistent banging on the door. There were just the two policemen with him. I confirmed his story (I’ve never been more tempted to go with “Officers, I’ve never seen this gentleman before in my life” but it just wasn’t me) and they shook their heads and warned him to leave town (not really but you could see they meant it), and I put the ladder away.

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Your dangerous friend sounds like a dick, I would have just punched him.

I stole a friend's girlfriend once and he punched me and it was feeble, you have to know how to do it properly.

Proper stance, put your weight behind it.

Anyway thanks Adam.

I believe it was a relative of yours Hindle who was a fan of the quite marvelous...

70's Top of the Pops reminds me of Christmas.

As does this, in its own gaudy way.

There is a considerable and important gap in regards to Stereolab on Youtube which I fully intend to address.

With all of my powers.

Bwaaah ha ha ha haaaah!

Floaty late night bliss

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That kicked floppy haired ass.

Very floppy haired nonsense.

Full on floppy haired shoe-gazing - I saw their first ever gig, playing in the garden at at Posh Darren's party, and their second one in the back room of the Railway.

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Isn't music wonderful?

Until it gets stuck in your head for day after day until a doctor tells you it's a symptom of OCD.

Jesus died for his own sins.

Not mine.

Then again...

I do like psychedelia and French girls.

Together they have a certain je ne sais quoi.

Fuck off.

Reallly?

Isn't this wonderful

SheSellsSanctuary has been on here before. Quite right too.

Bands with winning names - Dogs Die In Hot Cars...

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This, I think, was the first song I ever downloaded.

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Or it might have been this - reposted, hope it works now.

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Sadly not working.

First single I ever bought.

Famously keeping this pompous yet brilliant nonsense from number 1.

I watched Not the Nine O'clock News on the black and white portable that had been my grandads tv but was now mine, I seem to remember most of my time was spent fucking about with the aerial.