Kurry and Kountry Musik

Fungus is gone, Fungus is gone, hoorah, hoorah! But wait, what is this? Reefer Reid for Home Sec? Well he brings a wealth of experience to the job, I'm sure. Just the man to tackle violent drunkenness on the streets.

Well, the weekend is here, nary a moment too soon for me after a difficult few days. This evening I have been slaving over a hot stove, preparing goodies for the party that I am hosting at the ancestral pile this weekend to celebrate the Ruby wedding anniversary of Mummy and Daddy, notably the basis of what will be a fine chicken curry and something I do with pork (oi, no sniggering at the back, there). This entails entertaining some of their friends. As my sister has done the bookings and invitings, I've been able to negotiate some say in this in return for contributing foodstuffs and booze. I don't know about you, but I've always been really uncomfortable with that parents' friends thing, that they are automatically my friends too....there are some I'm just not so keen on. It's strange. But then, they haven't always been keen on some of my friends, so I guess it's legitimate to reciprocate.

Came across this in my meanderings; I think it's hilarious. Note our hero's foot starting to really motor as he gets more irritated with the dickhead. My foot does that too, I always thought it was just a Krusty thing. This is a twenty yr old clip. I don't know if the issue is still relevant in the US, but it is here. You will know that if you drop by here occasionally, and I don't need to rant again. Suffice to say, if you try and ban words because you don't like the ideas they are associated with, well, that's newspeak. Aaaaargghhh, that cheery chappie Orwell rears his ugly head again. (His real name was Blair!!!!)

I'm watching Emmylou Harris on the telly, wearing a truly appalling outfit, playing what is possibly the most un-animated set ever, on a stage set which is borrowed from a pilot for a Terry Wogan vehicle, and with a commentary from the man who does the voiceover for the Lottery - to what fucking end, exactly, do I care what fucking machine and balls it is, no, I just care what fucking numbers, and I can see that for myself, what a great use of my licence fee - from the depths of Auntie's Archives, because it is preferable to 'Grumpy Old Men', which whilst a good premise is spoilt by the presence of Rick Wakeman. Not on my telly. On the subject of telly, Zen, yes, I should have heeded thine warning, for 'Lonesome Dove' is indeed dire, even worse than the trailers, but in an oddly compelling manner.

John, what few readers come here are Americans, so I'll be sparing about taking the piss, but I take your point. But they do have better teeth than us. What I would like to do, and if you have any ideas do offer them, is find a way to bait some of those DeadHead pedants who get all wound up about crappy details, and forget that it is just pop music. They are so funny. I agree on the thing with people not 'sharing' being at a good show. Heh, heh, should've gone to HW, eh? That's a shared night. Why do people not want to party together at a good gig?

Last night I ate boerewors. I've never had it before. Delicious.

It wasn't the nob from the Lottery after all, it was someone called David Allen. As opposed to Daevid Allen. And the show was from Wembley Arena in 1984, which would explain the awful outfit, and the audience that appeared to have been placed in stasis.

The effect of a glass of wine and some cider is that I'm falling asleep at the coalface here, so I'll take my leave and bid you goodnight.