The Wisdom of Kirsty Young

"Public spending is being cut by £81bn (nearly 6% of total national income) within 4 years, pushing up unemployment by half a million in the public sector plus adding nearly a further half million in the private sector whose jobs depend on public expenditure." Michael Meacher yesterday (thank you Vicus for alerting me to the existence of his blog, ooh ages ago now).

The Kirsty Young presented series The British At Work has been a load of union-kicking nonsense. The unions were "on top" till the 80s when employers got "on top", did they Kirsty? If by "on top" you mean protecting jobs and working conditions I suppose they were "on top" but that all went out the window in the 80s.

Kirsty proved she knew fuck all about what was going on in her own generation with her take on the lyrics to the single Wham Rap! and the image of the band Heaven 17 on the cover of their album Penthouse and Pavement.

In Kirsty's world, Wham Rap! was about finding a job you like in Thatcher's land of opportunity. Of course the song is really about the impossibility of anything but a dead-end low-paid soul-destroying job or the possibility of rejecting this and having some self-respect on the dole. Better to be out of work than doing long hours of shit for peanuts.

In Kirsty's world the "message they are giving..." on the cover of Penthouse and Pavement "...is very clear: BUSINESS IS NOW COOL AND SEXY."



Fucking hell, woman. You really don't get irony, do you?

Music and Me

I used to think I was going to be a musician, a writer of songs and a star. No I didn't, I was fooling myself. I haven't picked up that ol' geetar for nigh on 25 years.

But recently, what with all this new technology and whatnot, I have begun to have dreams that maybe there's something there, maybe I've got the music in me. I've downloaded an app for this thing which has three synthesisers, sequencer, etc. The manual's fifty pages long!

Then I think who am I trying to kid? Whenever I hear somebody's music, somebody who blogs or who tweets, I think, yeah, well, you're alright and I'm glad you've got a hobby and all that, but you're a better blogger or tweeter.

It's so easy to expose any old shit on Twitter, not much harder to do any old cock on your blog, but when you say to the world "This is my music" you really are laying yourself open to comparisons with stuff that actually sells. I know I haven't got a hope in Hell of selling any of my music because I just haven't got that star quality, the gift of writing a catchy tune, so I'm sorry but you'll just have to put up with my bollocking words for the next however many years. I'm not going to be the next Mungo Jerry whoever he is, so this is it, this is all you're getting.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

New App

I've got this new app, you see, which means I can blog from my iPhone. This is the future, man, using the one finger I use to point accusingly at animals.

"Did you do that, you naughty boy? You're going to be in trouble."

I don't know how this is going to turn out or what to touch next - it's either "Done" "" or the little camera symbol. I'm guessing it's "Done". Any ideas what happens if I press the other two?


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

A Hairy Escape

Last night I had a bad-trip dream.

I walked into some kind of market and was accosted by a woman standing outside a building. I seemed to be on a promise but she asked me to do something before I could go inside with her. She was a kind of hippy woman but not too smelly. I said OK I'd do whatever she wanted.

She went inside and came out again with people I could only describe as her sisters. Her older sisters, hairy and more smelly. Men appeared around me who looked like this...



They smelled to high heaven, too. They were chewing heavy wholemeal bread which I could see was what the commune were selling at the market as the bread was stacked high on a stall.

My new girlfriend handed me a false beard. She said I was to wear it before I could get access. The beard was made from hairy pubes, earth-mother minge hair presumably donated by the ladies present. Don't ask me how I know none of it was from the men but I just did, OK?

Then the eldest woman present brought a bowl containing a placenta to the proceedings. Don't ask me how I knew it was a placenta, I just did, OK?

I put on the minge beard and the placenta was handed to me to cuddle. Meanwhile, the men (see above) were watching me intently, chewing their bread. And the women looked at me with maternal pride.

So the dream ended.

But in real life, here's my latest film. Don't all rush at once.