Yes, Comrades
So there's been a flood of...oh wait, no there hasn't. I was going to say there's been a flood of messages about the songs played last Sunday, but not really, a couple though. Jesus, easy. I'll play more predictable stuff next time, bugger me. And as for not playing my own material, well, I explained that. Plus, to play me own stuff and then see the radio's Facebook page and just sit there, fuming. "My God, these people, they know nothing. The pain I go through for them as an artist! How dare they!" D'you know what I mean? What would be the point? Not that I'm ashamed, Christ no. As has been said before, if I walked past a busker and he was playing one of my songs, I'd mosey on over, take his hat and tip the money into my pocket.
There was a 'pinch me' moment the other day at work. Discovered a fella I had to phone with the best name you ever did hear. Changing his first name, just on the off chance he Googles his own name - and believe me, if I were him I would, every fucking day - and gets a bit of a shock when he finds this, some vagabond slagging him off. Anyway, I swear on my Venus flytrap's life that everything after this guy's forename is real. So, this feature's Sort-Of-Nameless But Never Shameless shines the spotlight on Mr Herbert Fuk Poon. I couldn't do the call in the end, would've been like phoning a leper to ask for a facial, without laughing.
Lotta folks complaining about the Beeb's coverage of the jubilee. I concur, solely because they didn't cut Paul McCartney's performance altogether (stop playing Live And Let Die, even Roger Moore's left those days behind). I changed channels and found two programmes I wouldn't enjoy: one each on One Direction and Futurama. But at least Futurama only has one Bender. Anyway, there was further outcry about Fearne Cotton who, incidentally, may not mind being called Nostrils, but apparently she hates being called Fearney. Anyone who talks like that should be shot too incidentally. So, if you meet Fearne Cotton, add 'Camp' to the beginning of your name for five minutes. Camp David, Camp Rebecca, Camp Barack, whatever, and call her Fearney. Anyway, she was selling sick bags with Big Q Liz's face on them at the celebrations. "You can get them in red or blue, your choice. They're gorgeous" Yes, she did say that.
I just thought I'd share this with you. A conversation I saw months ago and captured cause I knew I might in future need it for a blog I might start and might maintain. It was amuse to me, people of the internet. Thoughts?
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| And the rest, as they say, is history... |
In a bit.
SD
The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. I don't want your shitty number, and I certainly won't maybe call you.
Monday 5th January 2009
I could go a Miller High Life. Went to the creatively named 'Big Pineapple' today. Ate Macademia nuts (more please) and now know pineapples inside out. What a man of the world I am. Also spoke at length with a cockatoo, met a celebrity (the Ya Rly owl) and a kangaroo who was most placid. Then visited the biggest pub in Oz and drank nothing. 2 hours pass in the car and I'm playing World Tour with Mark. I'm better with drums than I thought. He bought a 360 Elite too. Gears of War 2 and Halo 3 bound. Not long til new Wii games. I'm just dying for my bed just now. This journal, I can't wait to finally be rid of it. 9am rise tomorrow.
"Must be the music, keeping me satisfied"
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