Friday, June 16, 2006


Popped up the corner-shop earlier to get some fags and found this flyer on the counter:

'Course, 'Arkore never really died down in the West Country, it just got passed down, word-of-mouth, to younger brothers and sisters, then to the children of early nineties Somerset 'Appy H/Kore saw off Progressive House, Tribal and Jungle down 'ere in the woods...big parties carried on at the Cheese Pavillion, Shepton Mallet, and other rural rave venues when it was long dead everywhere else in the universe...Acorn would sell out of 300+ runs of 12-tape 'Ardkore box-sets (and, these days, 12-CD boxes) long after the rest of Europe (apart from Estonia) had tired of this relentless music-form...down here it's the 21st Century equivalent of Bluegrass...

(They d'grow their own E's and light-sticks in weird-lookin' space orchards round these parts, I'm tellin' ya...and DJs like Hixxy are legends round 're way: only the West Country could produce an MC called Adger...)

Still, bemused to see this recent outbreak in Farmer Glitch's own backyard...

But this is total genius: "This time we have 2 massive air-conditioned potato barns..." Fuck, I'm sooo proud to live down here.

Only the South West is cooool enuff to name a major road "the 303"...


Took my eldest swimming this afternoon, and Kid Kid Shirt's cousin, my nephew, set off the fire-alarm at Yeovil Swimming Pool.

(I was stood next to him when he did it, paralysed by a zombie disbelief-trance (How's that Neil Young song go: "All in a dream/All in a dream"...?). Huh, did he just, like, do that? Yep, he did...)

Boy, you should've seen the carnage that followed: flocks of screaming parents running out the building clutching their kids. (Omigod, ohmigod, the water's on fire...The water's on fire!!!!)

Of course, my responsible adult parent head was appalled and embarrassed. But my 16yr old alter-ego (still alpha-napping on a 3am milktrain back from London) was cheering him on: attaboy.

Apparently, he's now grounded (like, er, how d'ya ground an 8yr old?) and has to write a letter of apology to the Swimming-pool's management. But, fuck, I bet it was worth it. He's gonna be a hero at school on monday. Arson next, I reckon. Then some sort of stunt in 2014 in Trafalgar Square involving a Tory MP and a bag of urine, followed by recruitment to a Situationist Internationale meta-terrorist dada-cell sponsored by The Invisible College.

Presumably, I was some sort of passive-trigger whose proximity caused his subconscious to go into pre-pube melt-down. After all, Circle Brophy, Rehane and me once accidentally telekinetically triggered the fire-alarm at Camber Sands in 2004 just by grooving too much to The Magic Band.