One more Cambridge pic. Probably last walked through those doors in 1973 to see Henry Cow and Faust, still one of the best half dozen gigs I've ever witnessed. Oh wait. It might have been Rory Gallagher the following year.
That bit 5.40 into Amygdala on the first Henry Cow LP. Fred Frith's lovely melancholic guitar, that's the bit. That's exactly what walking round Cambridge on an unseasonably wet June morning sounded like in 1973 when you were 19.
When it comes down to it, social media as a virtual pub is still the best working analogy I have. And if it bored me in a pub then it's pretty certain it will bore me on here. I'll be in the snug.
Place gets more like the place where I've just closed my account every day. Please continue to flood my feed with your angst and woe and your elevated thoughts on politics and current events. Or preferably unfollow me. x
Talking about not being into extreme sports with Waggy and he said "if I wanted to feel that level of anxiety I'd take three bong rips and take a call from my mum". The man has the soul of a poet.
Buy Chloe's Beatles drawings. Take it from someone who has. They are bloody fab.
Henderson's Relish. Yorkshire's best kept secret. When we lived in Manchester we used to order it by post. It came by parcel carefully packaged in old cereal boxes.