Friday, October 21, 2005


Still, all is not lost: Howard Brown, that guy from the Halifax Building Society adverts, visited Yeovil a couple days ago and signed some autographs for kids at a local nursery. Star struck? What, us?

Howie B (pictured below in a verrrry creepy-looking piece of Art Brut (Since when have Da Halifax been employing Outsider Artists for their Ad Campaigns, huh?)) is soon to be releasing a single of Barry White's "You're My First, My Last, My Everything..."

Me, Dom Zero and his undead older bro' Lurch saw Barry White walking thru Oxford Street in full-fat pimp regalia in, ooooh, 1977, I think. About 3 years ago, my wife Chris saw Goldie in pretty much the same place, give or take a quarter-mile or two. A coincidence? I think not...

Also, 'SF' Writer Peter Eff Hamilton recently visited our miniature little model-village-cum-toy-town for a book-signing. Sad to say, but Yeovil is actually smaller than most of Hamilton's novels. People had to travel out of town on very small buses to get copies of his books signed, otherwise the entire population would have been crushed by them. (As it was, outlying village Stoke-sub-Hampton was accidently flattened by "The Neutrino Alchemist" or whatever it's fucking called) And now gigantic slab-like signed-copies of his High-Concept SF novels have been abandoned and are sat there, surrounding our pitifully tiny town, blocking the sunlight like a series of Colorado mesas or a small mountain range. Or, more appropriately, like a pile of them monoliths from 2001: A Space Odyssey...

Oi, you! Move 'em now, pal, or I'm complaining to the council! And shift them blimmin' apes too, or I'm phoning the RSCPA...

I was going to pop down to the signing and get some writing tips directly from Hamilton...ask him, y'know, how he was able to write so many words.

On a related note: "The Terror of Tiny Town" was, to my knowledge, the world's first (and only) Midget Western:

(Me to Chris: "Waaaal, sweetheart...what say you and I saddle up and head on over to Dukes (niteclub) and get us a coupla stools at the bar. I hear they sell real big bags o'crisps up there, bigger'n a horse's nose-bag. And if you play your cards right, darlin', the little guy might put in an appearance later on tonight..."

Chris to me: "What, Flinty?")


And this is utter shite, btw:

I forgot I had this 7" and accidentally rode around town w/ it in my rucksack for a month. I think I subconsciously knew it was going to be crap.

Look, if I wanted to buy a record by The Specials, I'd, wait...I hate The Specials. Why the fuck would I want to buy a record by them?

A mix by The Ordinary Boys? I mean, c'mon, get a fucking grip.

Hopefully, the twelve is a lot better. This is sooo profoundly disappointing that...

Ah, fucking forget it.