"I didn’t know I was this geeky until I discovered the online world through my office’s 2400 baud modem back in ’93." Tag Archives for selected
Holy cow I’ve seen the light
Guy Garvey’s a perfectionist. One of those type of singers whose entire experience of a show can be ruined by missing one single note. When he does that at the end of a particularly taxing and otherwise perfectly angelic song, … Continue reading
An exercise in terror and music
Reading Matthew’s ‘premature evaluation‘ of R.E.M.’s upcoming album Accelerate, I realised I’d never posted my thoughts on the two shows I saw the band do in Dublin last summer. I did write about it on my Dutch music blog, but … Continue reading
Mr Butcher, dirty bollocks
Utrechtsestraat, Saturday afternoon. I’m in search of pork belly but the luxury butcher is all out of pig. ‘We had to send it back, it wasn’t right.’ Poor piggie. Murdered to death and then discarded. I try my luck at … Continue reading
She is sashimi
Party scene. Crowded. He brings her in, comes over, kisses me while she avoids me. They sit down at the table behind me. I can hear them fight. “I can’t do it with HER here,” she says and I turn … Continue reading
Mrs Lynch’s Christmas pudding’s always the same
She makes her Christmas pudding in plastic containers, not like her mother, god rest her soul, who’d wrap the thing in cloth and let it hang and rock from her Singer sewing table. Is the recipe secret? ‘No, I’ve got … Continue reading
The road to Mizen head
We’re dependant on the network’s reach. It’s been a while, a week, or more, or less. My head’s been killing me and my shoulders ache in sync. I got a signal outside, he says. How are ya? OK, I say … Continue reading
Whitstable: spratts & sprogs
We hurtle down the M2 to Whitstable on the North Kent coast. Two women falling asleep in the sun, Mr Hg behind the wheel. Will we make it in time for the table at noon? 17 degrees according to the … Continue reading
Cream
There’s music on the hi fi and he turns it down before I place it. He loves the quiet. “I’m writing, not bleeding,” he chuckles, “you know what I mean?” I do. I see a boy hunched over a table, … Continue reading
Jesus on my head
“Jesus broke his arm,” she says, clutching the crucifix like a popsicle. The plastic figure’s limb has come loose from the body and hangs sickly from a nail on the cross bar. The little girl, all pre-Raphaelite features and messy … Continue reading
