Wednesday, June 2, 2010


I hate suspense.
I hate not knowing.
I hate it when relatively small people possess in the hands in their heads on the tip of their tongues
A snippet of information which is for them
& Par-for-the-course
& Is everyday
& Is matter of fact
But for you can
Make a difference
& Change your mood
& Affect your well-being
& Change your life.

I hate being forced to wait just so some middle-manager or music executive or TV presenter
Can revel in silence
& Can revel in the power
That the silence creates.

If someone says that they want to talk to me I want to know exactly what about
I don't need to know that we'll cover it later.

I wouldn't last in any reality TV show.
I would be crying and storming off stage
Face burning up
And the tears scald
While Ant&Dec&SirAlan&GrahamNorton&John&Gregg
And wait
And wait
And wait
And Chris Tarrant
Cuts to a commercial break
And wait
And wait
And wait
And... and... and...



As The Clash once sang: 'No Elvis, Beatles, or Rolling Stones / In 1977'.

Sadly I'm writing this at a time:
  • Where the latter band have just had a spangly reissue of their 1972 LP Exile on Main Street enter the UK album chart at number 1.
  • Where Paul 'Macca' McCartney is off on a stadium tour. I mean, he was the fricking bass-player. That's barely one step up from drummer...
  • Where despite dying on the shitter, in 1977 no less, Elvis Presley is still being spotted alive, buying a fish supper in Kirsty McCall's old local chippy, no doubt.
It's as if we've learned NOTHING AT ALL from history - instead we just regurgitate it and re-enact it. I mean Christ, somehow in the UK we've managed to get a Conservative-led government in a country that hates bankers and corporate fat-cats.

Why do I care?

'Cos I was born in 1977, a year of PUNKROCK and Star Wars and the Pompidou Centre and the Commodore PET and Apple II.

A year of digital advances, musical sledgehammers, God Save The Queen (we mean it man).

And now, thirty-three years on, we're just rehashing the same old past, remaking the same movies, the same TV shows.

We're using new technology for old purposes.

We need revolution, REVOLUTION, REVOLUTION!

The Windsors, Jagger, Richards, McCartney, Ringo (no autographs peace'n'love) Starr, Cameron, Clegg, Osbourne, The Daily Mail, The Daily Telegraph, the media companies repackaging and re-promoting tired old product just because they have decided the public will think the whole thing is a wheeze and is what we wanted.

All of you. Up against the wall. Single file now, into the safe house. Now stay there. Don't leave. Don't make contact with the outside world. Let us get on with things for ourselves.

I was born in 1977 - I don't live there.

Hello, Shit and Money.

This is my 'blog. Which is short for weblogalogablog.

I have been struggling for eons to come up with an interesting / money-spinning concept to make into a 'blog.

Sadly the best I managed was nothing but toilet-humour in extremis : LogBlog and Rate-my-Shit.

I realised that no-one, not even the scatologically curious would ever want to see these websites, and neither would I want to put them together. Certainly, impossible to monetise.

I failed: which is why this blog is entirely not-for-profit, like a charity, but not so benevolent.

But who really cares about money? Really? Apart from these guys?

The only thing I do for money is go to work, doing something I dislike in exchange for crisp ten-pound-notes and the knowledge that I could afford to pay the mortgage.

Everything else I do, I do for enjoyment, for love, for keeping my fingers busy. I hate the combination of business and pleasure. I keep falling into that trap, and regret it terribly.

I'd love to get paid for doing things I love, but I wouldn't want to do the things I love for money, if you know what I mean.

I'm rambling now. Sorry. You'll see I do that. A lot. An awful lot.

Or, if like me, you read 'blogs from newest to oldest, you will have already seen that.

I'm sorry.

Truly truly sorry.

And please send your loose change or generous donations to actual charities, not me.

Try the NSPCC or the Alzheimer's Society. Go on, they won't bite.