Well played that there Ms. Pollock (aka Lady Bathory on alt.gothic in the distant past and I wot not on LJ) for being published in the largely non-cylindrical Steampunk Magazine. (via Messrs. b0ing^2)

Bukkake stencils.

Signed 'wanksy', obv.

If you're the offspring of a Goon Show enthusiast like me, the name 'spon' will resonate strangely. (You'll have to your own Seagoon routines, I'm feeling a bit dim today.[1]) Grandfather had a cow named Spon, and another called Platerack, but that's a different story.

Thus I was more pleased than most to discover Spon End and the associated ( Read more... )

There are too many people.

There should be a cull.

We can begin with the poor fellows afflicted with distended testicles or suppurating penis or whatever other terrible accident forces them to sit on the tube with their knees at an angle of 45 degrees. Shooting the infection-site would be a mercy and put them out of our misery.

The clearly splendid types over at Lineout Records are giving away a(n) MP3 by the new model ELRmy (Yes, I read the NME in the 80s. I can handle it.) and it's very fine racket indeed. Howling guitars and lush production values. I am very much looking forward to seeing them in action on Friday night. (Is it sold out yet ( Read more... )

So I'm staring gormlessly at FTV this AM, as anyone with a brain might when confronted with enough vacuity to pull lawn-bowls up a metre column of mercury, when the music swaps from cranked-by-the-yard techno to someone trying very hard to be Joy Division ( Read more... )

The last time we went to London, the 900 tried to reject its exhaust system.

This time, the exhaust is the only bit sans tinworm. Oh well, fun while it lasted and let's hope the 9000 is recoverable, otherwise there's going to be more cycling than usual in my future ( Read more... )

It's all a bit odd really. For the most part, I'm feeling reasonably cheery. In that there's a bunch of stuff that I should probably worry about, but worrying won't fix any of it, so, um, stincle. Previously I would have been near catatonic with fear, thus unable to work during the week and boozing heavily at the weekend. (And the bits of weekend ( Read more... )

Since there've been pleasing developments on the de-larding front, I'm now emitting snot like an over-enthusiastic Doris Stokes. I'd fondly imagined that I'd be otherwise unaffected, but no. I am considerably thicker than a woodshed stacked full of stout planks ( Read more... )

Round the corner from the house is a strange pound-shop run by a cheerful bearded fellow. I know that I'm supposed to find pound-shops a terrible sign of poverty and wossname and should probably be aspiring to shops selling coffee with complicated names and Mac accessories, but they're usually filled with mad objects. If you've got the right sort ( Read more... )