HHOS (i)

Sep. 8th, 2016 11:30 pm
hirez: (Challenger)
On the way home, I heave to in a queue of traffic handy for Warmley, where there used to be a brickworks next to where there used to be a railway line. Now there is a park and a bike path, but the station survives as a caff. There is a furious revving and a screech of what should have been tyres, but which smelled to me more like fried clutch. I look for the BMW or JDM something-or-other with a shopping list down the front wing, but there is nothing but a two-stroke Transit (judging by the smoke) and a... Ka?

Posting here seems to be about either computers or cars. That is because I am a middle-class English bloke, and I don't have feelings. I have well-meant mansplaining about the best way to get to Yeovil.
hirez: (Trouble with my worms (ii))
http://danacea.blogspot.com/2011/03/flash-fiction-sixty.html

... Featuring some words by one JH-R of the parish.
hirez: (dissent)
Splendid stuff.

The links in the comments are going to keep me busy for days.

Edit: For instance, this: http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/adamcurtis/ Sheer bloody gold.
hirez: (My name is legion)
How to write science fiction.
hirez: (Cooper-Clarke)
There I am, walking back through Bath to the office, when a chap hails me from the door of The Bath Tap (an gay pub). There's some cheery banter, then he introduces himself. It's Gary Clail.

[FX: Internal fanboy voice going 'Fuuuuuuuuckk!']

Apparently it's all going pretty well for him. And he's a jolly good chap, even if he did call me a goth. (inna Tog24 fleece, fading indigo jeans and Shimano cleats yet.)
hirez: (Trouble with my worms (i))
Good thing: writing again. For this dreadful state of affairs, you may blame the good offices of Cory Doctorow. Who has a good office.

Tangentially, any of you lot (or indeed any of your splendid chums) who would care to get involved in a skiffy writing group, likely centred around the the Birmingham area, should bother me forthwith.
hirez: (Box Frenzy)
Cycling back along the scenic route this even (under the motorway, past driving range, back of hotel and nursery) it smelled of wild garlic, grass, tree-blossom and freshly-turned earth.

That's how you compress a half-hour angsty rant about living in towns into three seconds.

On the other hand, Emma (WINOLJ but blummin well should be) treated me to a long and utterly charming explanation of being teenage and awkward and wanting to go see the bands in the NME (or Sounds) but worrying about not being cool enough. Marvellous.
hirez: (Q-309)
There's one of them meme-things trolling about that invites (as if people need much persuading. It's the online version of a game of Plomley[1]) you to grovel through your local MP3 cache for the five songs with the strangest names.

The originator of this one has clearly never listened to Peelie.

Since I'm at work, the cache is small and I'm not going to cheat (much) and list a bunch of Humppa.

i) Kasimir S. Pulaski Day - Big Black. Not one I would have originally thought about. I've listened to so much Big Black that I don't quickly recall the titles so much as instantly recognise the frightful racket elbowing its way from the speakers.

ii) Harold and Cindy hospital - Severed Heads. There's an embarrassment of riches with the Sevs. I could have gone with any track from the second half of 'Clifford darling, please don't live in the past' (That That Revolves, A relic of empire, Nazi beach party, etc) but since I've been listening to 'Come visit the big bigot'... Again. I wish I knew what it was about that LP. It's twenty-ish and still sounds as other-worldly as always.

iii) Jenny Ondioline - Stereolab. Anglo-French experimental drone-rock. Sort of. Them supported by Tortoise was one of the loudest gigs I've been to. Peng!

iv) Over the horizon radar - Boards of Canada. Sometimes I rather wish I'd paid attention when 'Music has the right to children' came out, rather than deriding it as 'Say old Guardian-reader music'. Of course now I am that sad old Guardian reader, the stuff enthused over (all over. Great ribbons of enthusiasm) by those journos is foul jingly-jangly hippy toss or desperate attempts to appear hip by glomming onto the latest MySpac-of-the-week.

v) Sorvarihumppa - Eläkeläiset. Motorhead's 'Ace of spades' as played by a drunken mob racing each other to the end of the song. Utterly marvellous.



[1] Am I going to have to explain the rules?

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