Cast your mind back – it was the days leading up to Easter, and nobody knew what was next for us all…
As will become clear over the coming days and weeks, the narrative is being established. If Johnson pulls through his mild persistent illness, it’s because he’s gutsier than you and anyone you’ve ever loved who has died…
I’ve noticed a lot of writers on my social media talking about how hard it is to get any writing done, what with everything that’s going on, and I thought that it might be an interesting exercise for me – and for me – to examine how that’s working out here in this household. And see what insights that might provide me about how I’m doin.
I’ve been seeing folks doing calls for – and offering up – playlists to offer some kind of respite from The Lockdown that’s gone into effect here in the nations of Britain and Northern Ireland. So, what better time to belatedly offer up some of my favourite tracks from the happy days of 2019?
As it happens, the apoplectic.me post of my favourite choonsof 2018 began by noting that it was the death of David Bowie that had heralded planet Earth’s one-way trip to hell in a hand basket.
So, join me, won’t you, on a trip down memory lane to when things hadn’t yet gotten entirely out of hand? Or if you don’t like wurdz, just hit up the Spotify playlist.
After the last two posts collectively regarding strokes, pigs, and sci-fi (Kicking A Dead Pig and Mind Reading), I recalled that I have a short short story of speculative fiction sitting in a metaphorical drawer about a man suffering quadriplegia, pigs, and sci-fi.
Now. You might think that all sounds a bit silly. And you might be right. But read on…
Long-suffering readers of the blog may have noticed that I often use these posts to grapple with subjects of which I don’t yet have a grasp.
VfL Bochum there, using a pretty broad palette for their 1997 kit.
So, when Long-Suffering Reader Of The Blog Paul asked me if the pig thing [was] lighting up my various comms channels, I was thrilled to discover that The Pig Thing was A Thing that needed both grappling and grasping.
I mean, I was there. Not James Murphy. Though he probably was, too. I saw Pavement touring their first album, the epochal Slanted and Enchanted, at Edinburgh’s late and legendary venue, The, er, Venue.
I haven’t written much on the blog recently that’s directly about Brexit. Partly, the reason is that I’m continually hearing news stories and vox pops and politicians and business leaders on the radio banging on about it and I’m thinking –
Why do I keep hearing about this? What has this got to do with me? Why does this affect anyone I know?
For Easter 2019, I was going to have David Bowie rise from the dead, having observed that it was his death that had set the world on a single trip to hell in a hand basket. It was gonna be great stuff.