John Junkin said it. John Lennon said it. "He's very clean" they both said. I know they were talking about Paul McCartney's grandfather, but my penchant for a bath most weekday nights, in addition to my daily morning shower and, well, I'm surprised sometimes I don't squeak. I'm hoping Carson Robison's theory that too much bathing will weaken you is not based in fact.
Apparently NHS 111 is creaking: listening to James O'Brien on LBC this morning, concerned callers - who may or may not have Coronavirus - are, in some cases, taking over 30 minutes to get put through to a human being. I guess that shouldn't come as a surprise. Will the NHS be able to cope with a global pandemic? Systemic starvation of funding to our health service over the last decade was never going to end well, was it? Then again, when you look at the clown heading up the department, you'll wonder in amazement that the NHS is still 'a thing'. Given his (and his paymasters) way the whole kit and caboodle would be replaced in a trice by shiny stars & stripes, pay as you go, Recovery Hotels available only to those earning telephone number salaries.
But I digress. While you're at home self isolating and wondering if and when things will ever get back to normal*, you could listen to this:
And put it in a very safe place where your doubt can't get to it
Cos once you're certain, that all hope is gone, a long shot is better than none...
All you need to know about football life wrapped up in one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. I always get a lump in my throat when I listen to it. Maybe I'm a snowflake; you're probably made of stronger stuff than me.
Megson - The Long Shot
Megson are acclaimed folk duo Stu & Debbie Hanna. And they're on tour in the UK right now.
On this day in MMX a blog was born. My blog. Everyone seemed to be writing one at the time, so I thought why not me? Back in 2010 my collection of randomly scribbled notes - then called 'Even Monkeys Fall Out Of Trees' - was set against a backdrop to a world where Prime Ministers were honourable, beer was ten bob a pint and nobody bothered locking their front doors. Or that's how it appeared at the time. Fast forward to MMXX and contrast the above to a world where all the familiar and reassuring signposts - pointing to hope, optimism and sunlit uplands - have been taken down and replaced with, well, precisely nothing. Nobody knows where we're going (certainly not the cunt presently occupying 10 Downing Street), or how; though Hell and handcart spring to mind. Who knew just a decade earlier that we'd be incrementally sleep walking into a dystopian nightmare? A nightmare we seem destined never to wake up from. In other news, I'm thinking of getting a new kitten.
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A huge thank you to all the waifs and strays who have swung by in the last 10 years - I couldn't, as they say, have done any of this without your continued support and friendship (whether from the sidelines or in 'real life'*).
* That said, there are still two people who I really do need to see in the flesh this year - they know who they are.
In true Magnus Mills style I guess it was inevitable that when a local record listening club got a little too priggish, a breakaway faction would eventually peel off and try things a bit differently. And what better way to listen to cherished albums than in the comfort of your own living room; with a select guest list, a varied assortment of hot and cold beverages and, of course, some quality listening material, what else do you need? Bringing it all back home.
Here's to you Messrs. Robinson (Rich, left, & Chris)
I'm made up: the Black Crowes are coming to town in October and tickets go on sale next week. The feuding Robinson brothers have patched up their differences and are going to be playing $hake Your Money Maker - the band's 30 year old debut album - in its entirety. What's not to like? I've seen them a few times over the years - up and down the country - and always came away thinking 'this is what it must have been like to see Rod and The Faces in 1971.' Yes, they really were are that good.
If my friend David Swift is reading this in Melbourne, Australia, I'll be mortified if I don't see you on October 16!
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The Black Crowes - Jealous Again (from the Howard Stern Show, Nov. 2019)
It's a little after midnight as I type this. We're out of Europe. After nearly four years of infighting, which has left half the country despising the other half, we have now turned inwards on ourselves and become Little Britain. A Britain that is now run by swivel eyed loons.
I feel sad: I know I'm not on my own. And still nobody I speak to who voted Leave can give me one tangible benefit they/we will see now that we've Brexited that will improve their lives - their sad, miserable lives; which probably explains why at about five past eleven what I thought was a car backfiring (do cars still backfire?) was actually a rather pathetic solitary firework.
William Orbit - Barber's Adagio for Strings (1995)
