holding forth

Sometimes I think you could be more than just a punchbag with lipstick on.

I didn't see Clearlake on Monday. If I'd bought a ticket, of course, I'd have had a piece of paper telling me where to go and when to be there. Unfortunately and unwisely, though, I checked the web and followed the headline band's website's directions to The Venue. Which was very closed indeed. I was running a bit late already, and by the time I got to the actual venue The Crimea had just started. I was out of breath and annoyed, but when I'd calmed down I had a very good time. They'd just started Baby Boom when I arrived, and followed it with most of my favourites of their songs. Gazillions of miniature violins was dedicated to the English rugby team, the encore included a Fleetwood Mac cover (unfortunately not Somebody's Gonna get Their Head Kicked In Tonight) and the line "If she's got herpes . . . I want herpes too" was heard. Very fine, although I'd rather have seen Clearlake too. I'd been talking to Ed and his solicitor (who seems perfectly willing to make appointments at seven or eight at night - I worry about people like that). Whenever I miss a really good support band it seems to be because I've been held up doing something for someone else. I should know better. I missed Guy Chadwick once, and Crazyhead another time. And a woman who danced naked in front of rock fans in the name of Art, which I can't help feeling is a little unlikely to have a mostly artistic impact.

Yesterday I was mostly, courtesy of a friend, looking at photos of a piglet being fired out of a mortar.

Sunday's walk round Calton Hill was good. I got there two hours early by mistake - an easy one to make, OK? It could have happened to anyone - so I went looking around a couple of bookshops for Joolz's new one (reviewed very positively here or the other collection of Thomas Lynch essays ("The Undertaking: Life Stories From The Dismal Trade"). I couldn't find either of them. When I got back up the hill . . . it was still cold. We got twenty people, though (as opposed to the six last year) and the new ones seemed smart and keen. A prolonged late breakfast (and pint, and pint) in the Tav followed, then Neon, at which persons (plural) made nice noises about the stuff I used to play there. This was very nice. People I don't personally know have been mentioning Gigantor (this Saturday, Teviot), too, which I'm also chuffed about. Mentioning positively, even. Triffic.

There's a review here of a new mclusky compilation, either (in a one-disk form) for those of you who haven't yet worked out what the fuss was about or (the three-disk one) for anyone who didn't pick up the singles with "Hymn for crashed cars" or "Dave, stop killing prostitutes" on the back.

Apparently Rainbow is to return to television. Only a couple of days ago someone linked to these Rainbow comic strips (only slightly altered to update the humour), which must have been an omen.

Must remember to play Jääkärinhumppa at Gigantor.

This piece from the Scotsman about the Da Vinci Cod, the Holy Blood and the Wholly Specious, and Rosslyn Chapel is amusing. The bit about giving directions to tourists is particularly good.

fizzyboot dropped round last night and we played a couple of games of Go. This was the first time I've played against a person since losing to simont in Cambridge several years ago, so unsurprisingly I conceded the first game halfway through. Phil guessed at four stones as a suitable handicap for the next game, and with that advantage I beat him by exactly one, so his estimate was spot-on. After that we discussed international policy and resource wars. As one does.

I had a short discussion a few days ago with someone (can't remember who) about band names and how I like names that are fairly mundane words until they become names, like Television and Magazine and Pylon, and names which are words or phrases that crop up randomly around the place and give the band free advertising, like Kompressor or Armitage Shanks. Following that, I remembered something purplerabbits said some years ago about the piece of advice which was so generally and indisputably accurate that manufacturers of diverse objects had taken it upon themselves to helpfully print it on all sorts of manufactured items as a reminder. It is, of course, "Keep away from small children". There isn't a band called that, is there?

I've just had a joiner round to get Ed's front door open. He was a bit sniffy about the quality of the boarding, and asked if I knew who (or, implicitly, "which cowboy") had done it as he didn't regard it as secure enough. He insisted on adding more wood on the other side of the door after he'd fitted a new lock. New door to come too in due course.

A bit of a mess inside, but not as bad as I expected. After a couple of months drying out, the scraps of unfinished food were dry rather than rank. Even the open can of pilchards didn't smell of anything.

A couple of J*h*v*h's Witnesses came round here after I got back. They seemed very nice, but didn't want to talk. Just as well - the place is a mess and I was a bit busy.
  • Current Mood: productive
  • Current Music: Cop Shoot Cop - Nowhere
I just got a mail mentioning a concert by "Room to let". Maybe this sort of thing's getting fashionable?
That's beautiful. They never come round when I can chat. This is a shame, because when it comes to evolution they've really bitten off more than they can chew.
I bought the one-disc Mclusky compilation yesterday and have been playing it loudly in my car. Annoying really, as I would have bought the full 3 disc version had I known it existed.
I have lived in Craigmillar for ten years now and never once have i had a visit from the JW. Some hardcore Xtians had a sorty around errr....1997. It seems there are SOME advantages to living here.