Tag Archives: music

These chickens are fish in a barrel

1. I watch both Elementary and the BBC Sherlock and I enjoy them both, and I’m not usually one to make a huge fuss over straying from canon, but in both shows I could really do without all the wishy-washy stuff about how Holmes really loves Watson deep down but has trouble expressing his feelings. Rot. Conan Doyle made it very clear (minus the psycho-babble) that Holmes is a sort of high-functioning borderline sociopath who has no need or desire for intimacy. I want my Sherlock Holmeses to be amusing non-fuck-giving assholes who solve crimes in clever ways. That’s it. I’m sorry but I don’t care how Sherlock Holmes is feeling. More code-breaking! Less soul-baring!

2. I’m the only person I’ve ever met who never plays any sort of games at all. Not at any time ever. I hate all games. I don’t play video games or card games or board games or drinking games (Jesus WHAT IS THE POINT of drinking games I am perfectly capable of putting alcohol into my mouth without bouncing a ping-pong ball into a Solo cup first). And I’m sure it’s an absolute riot but no, I don’t want to play Cards Against Humanity. It’s not just a mild aversion, either – on the odd occasion I let myself be press-ganged into playing Scrabble or whatever I’m fine for about twenty minutes and then I start to feel angry and resentful and trapped. There are just a million things I would rather be doing than arranging tiles on a board for points. Especially at social gatherings. Can’t we all just talk and interact normally? Isn’t that the whole point of us being here? Instead I have to do that and and at the same time concentrate on performing some stupid arbitrary task? NO. WHY. People are weird.

3. I very randomly ended up at a gig in Shoreditch recently and I saw these guys and they were amazing. Like, amayyyyyyzing. (They were also very gracious when I told them so afterwards.) How are they not super-duper famous? Help me correct this injustice!

4. I recently said to an English person that they had “lucked out” and they weren’t sure what I meant. They thought “lucked out” sounded like it should be a bad thing. After all these years I’m still coming across expressions that haven’t made it over the pond, or subtle differences like “blowing someone off” vs “blowing someone out”. If I broke plans with someone, I would say I’d blown them off. British people think this sounds hilariously filthy.

5. If you are a heroine in a Victorian novel who has married the wrong person, don’t despair! He will inevitably die. Here is a very abridged list of Victorian heroines whose ne’er-do-well husbands have conveniently snuffed it:

– Dorothea Brooke in Middlemarch
– Mercy Pecksniff in Martin Chuzzlewit
– Agnes Grey in Agnes Grey
– Gwendolen Harleth in Daniel Deronda
– Emily Wharton in The Prime Minister
– Bathsheba Everdene in Far From The Madding Crowd

Don’t mess with Victorian heroines is the moral here, I guess.

She was writing his name in blood

1. Congratulate me! I’ve got a new imaginary boyfriend. We’re very happy together. Here he is:

Marcus Parks

LOOK AT THAT FACE. Don’t you want to squeeze him? That is Marcus Parks from The Last Podcast on the Left, which I’ve been listening to obsessively over the past couple of months (although…do I ever consume media non-obsessively? Not really. I’m a natural born binger). He’s the main researcher for the show and has an encyclopaedic knowledge of serial killers and cults and weird phenomena, which in itself is pretty hot. He has a slight Texas accent and a goofy laugh and I’m low-grade stalking him.

2. On my walk to work I take a shortcut up a disused access road, which cuts about five/ten minutes off the journey. In the lighter seasons it’s actually a nice, pretty, innocuous wooded area, but this time of year it’s dark and secluded as hell and I’m basically ignoring all the common-sense How Not To Get Rapemurdered rules that all women absorb from birth. I call it the Rapist Wonderland, and every night as I’m navigating through it using the torch on my phone like the opening scene of a horror movie, I sing a little song in my head to the tune of Winter Wonderland. Here’s what I have so far:

In the lane, a perv is lurking
Check it out…I think he’s jerking
He’s waving his dong
As I go along
Walking in a rapist wonderland!

It’s a work in progress.

3. I saw La Femme in Shepherds Bush last month. Being at the gig made me feel very old and very un-hip (and very poor: £5.60 for a plastic cup of crap lager? Seriously, suck a dick, London), but they put on an epic show and were very cute and very talented and very very French. (“Sank you Leundeun!”) Go listen to them and give them your money.

Of course I wore my leather jacket to try and look cool (end result was probably more like “formerly cool mom”). It was cold outside but I figured I’d be hopping from the train right onto the tube and then walking like fifty feet to the venue, so I decided to risk it. This would have been fine, but on the way home there was some sort of train cancellation issue (never explained. Why bother explaining these things to the hoi polloi? They can go where they’re herded!) which meant that I got stuck at Stevenage station for well over an hour. There was no heated indoor waiting area and it was COLD. I asked the very helpful station attendant if there was a warm place to wait, and he let me stand next to him under a mini-heater in his little station attendant area, which was awfully kind, but WOW, socially awkward in eighty different ways. I made some fumbling attempts at small talk but I’m rubbish at small talk and it was incredibly painful and if it wouldn’t have been even more awkward I would have gladly gone back outside and just got hypothermia. Hypothermia I can deal with. I’ve never been more relieved to see a train in my life.

4. Christmas occurred. It was not unpleasant. I hope yours was similar. And here’s to a better 2017, right? The world has been ALL WRONG since David Bowie died.

Everybody knows the good guys lost

1. So if you play an album on Spotify, after the album ends, Spotify will carry on playing tracks from other artists that I guess it thinks are similar and you might like. And you know what? Most of the time I like them plenty. Apparently my musical taste can be predicted by an algorithm.

2. Remember the guy I kept having to say hi to on my way to and from work? This got so annoying that I actually started getting up earlier, and believe me, it takes a LOT to make me get up any earlier than I absolutely have to. I now arrive at and leave work ten minutes early just so I can avoid the uncomfortable half-hearted greeting twice a day. I guess social awkwardness trumps sleepiness on my personal Maslow pyramid of irritations.

3. My last two online dates have been especially fun. Date number one was a conspiracy theorist. And not a casual, what-if, weekend conspiracy theorist: no, a full-on, hardcore true believer. (I asked if he believed in lizard people, expecting him to say “No, of course not, that’s ridiculous” but he said “Well…the lizard thing is a metaphor to describe how ruthless they are.” Of course! That makes sense.) I put up the usual “three people can keep a secret if two of them are dead” arguments and basically sat there with one eyebrow raised throughout the conversation, trying (and often failing) not to laugh in his face. He said that he used to be as skeptical as I was, but that he’d seen an incredibly reasonable and well presented documentary with one particular piece of evidence that he said went through him like an electrical shock and made him start shaking. Of course I asked him what this irrefutable lynchpin of evidence was, but he refused to tell me on the grounds that it had messed with his head so much that he’d nearly had a breakdown, and he didn’t want to be responsible for the same thing happening to me. What a gentleman. I guess I’ll have to stay in the Matrix. No red pill for me.

Date number two was a nice enough guy, if a bit dull, but he had some sort of unfortunate patchy skin condition and a VERY lazy eye. I spent the evening trying to avoid making eye contact because I wasn’t sure which one was looking at me. I mean, I like to think I’m not shallow about looks, and poor guy, but maybe use some clear and accurate profile photos? This is not a few extra pounds. You are goddamn crosseyed as a Siamese cat.

I’m starting to feel like my whole online dating experience is an elaborate prank.

4. Jidenna is weapons-grade cool. And doesn’t he look like he smells good? I bet he smells good.

And man, what a tune. It gets a lot done with very little (ditto the video, actually).

5. I’ve read Wuthering Heights at least three times, and every time I’m freshly amazed at how brutal it is. If you haven’t read it, it is not a sweet love story. I’m astonished it even got published back then. Here’s some of the more fucked-up shit Heathcliff does in Wuthering Heights:

  • Kidnaps a sixteen-year-old girl while her father is dying and forces her to marry her cousin
  • Pins a dude down and bashes his head against a stone floor until he’s unconscious
  • Hangs a dog
  • Beats seven shades of shit out of his wife, including throwing a knife at her head
  • Digs up Catherine’s grave and crawls into her coffin

If you haven’t seen the 2011 film version of Wuthering Heights, do. It’s primal. It’s like the raw, scraped bones of the story. It got right into my head, to the point where I had messed-up dreams afterwards.

6. So. I guess I have to mention Trump. (Do I have to, though? Can’t I just pretend none of this is happening?) I have honestly never been so glad that I don’t have children. I’m worried enough about everyone else’s kids. The leader of the free world is stacking his government with LITERAL FUCKING NAZIS. I know that every generation since the stone age has been convinced that the end is nigh, but for real, the end is extremely fucking nigh.

Life was easy when it was boring

1. The stuff I used to do as a kid amazes me now. I climbed things. I jumped off things. I auditioned for things. I signed up for clubs and lessons. I skied and swam and did gymnastics. These days you wouldn’t catch me dead doing anything involving any sort of public performance, and a brisk walk is about as physically active as I get. Where did that fearlessness and enthusiasm go? Woe is me, for I am so crotchety and embittered.

2. FYI, reading Raymond Carver short stories is a terrible idea when you’re undergoing a Series of Romantic Misadventures. Happiness is transient! Connection is illusory! Life is a series of small tragedies! Pass the whisky!

3. I’m watching a show called Mafiosa. It isn’t great, but it’s French, and it’s hard to find stuff to watch in French, so. It’s about a Corsican crime family that is taken over by (gasp!) a woman, and the description of the show on ITV’s website is “Godfather meets Sex and the City“. What? The show is like 100% explosions and guns and vendettas and undercover agents. Literally the only resemblance I can see to Sex and the City is the fact that there is a female central character who sometimes wears high heels. Dear ITV blurb writer: get fucked.

4. La Femme are the most interesting band I’ve come across all year, and I’m itching to force them on people. Sometimes they’re all frantic electroclash, sometimes they’re sort of coolly retro-futuristic like Stereolab, then there are elements of twangy spooky surfy carnival-psychobilly…and of course they’re French, so add an automatic fifty cool points right there. Go listen to Psycho Tropical Berlin. Go now. I’ll wait. It’s all on YouTube, so you have no excuse. Start with these, though:

5. So. Fucking “Brexit”. (The fact of it having such an annoying name makes it worse.) I’ve never felt relieved before that I have the option of leaving this country. I’m ashamed of the UK right now. They’ve had to send round a mass email at my work because some fuckers have started harassing the Eastern European employees since the referendum results. This is LOATHSOME.

This tweet made me laugh and cry, which is a big ask for 140 characters or fewer:

The bells are ringing themselves

1. So, a couple of Saturdays ago I did not have the best day. Well, most of it was pretty good – I met some friends in Cambridge and spent the evening listening to live music at the incomparable Flying Pig. I caught the last bus back to Huntingdon, which is always busy on a Saturday, and a fairly good-looking guy ended up sitting next to me. I was mildly pissed, and cute guys on the bus to Huntingdon are not an everyday occurrence, so I thought hell with it and struck up a conversation. We got on extremely well! He laughed! I laughed! And then we arrived at his stop and I asked if he wanted to exchange numbers and he made an awkward face and went “Uhhhhhhh…” and I died of embarrassment. I’m dead now. Goodbye.

So THEN I decided to go to my local to have one more drink and lick my wounds. The doors were locked but the lights were on, and there’s usually a lock-in on offer at weekends for the select few, so I knocked. There was no response, but I could see people moving around through the frosted glass window in the door, so I knocked again and leaned in to peer through the glass. Right then the landlady opened the door quite quickly (it sticks, so you have to shove it) and it bonked me in the face and broke my glasses across my nose. I guess that’s what you’d call adding injury to insult. I’m having to make do with an old pair of glasses until I can afford new ones. Most expensive lock-in ever!

2. Hell is Other People, part one million: in Subway the other day, the woman behind me in the queue was RIGHT up in my personal space. Like wayyyyy too close. My fight-or-flight was at Defcon One, or whichever the worst Defcon is. I pointedly shifted away and hoisted my bag on my shoulder a few times so that it bumped her, but she didn’t even seem to notice. Then when it was her turn to order, she kept tapping on the glass barrier with her fingernail to show what she wanted. Ugh. People are the worst.

3. I’m not too bothered by most silly TV conventions – every phone number starting with 555, nobody saying goodbye before hanging up (“Hello? HELLO?”), ‘private’ conversations taking place at normal volume five feet from everyone else in the room, people shouting “STAY WITH ME” instead of calling an ambulance – but for some reason, exaggerated sound effects irritate me. Everything has to make a noise! I’ve never stabbed anyone (YET), but if I did, I don’t think it would make a loud metallic “shhhhink”-cum-squelching sound. And you know that sort of rattling noise that guns always make on TV? My American friend (an expert of course) informs me that if your gun makes that sound, there is something wrong with your gun. I’m watching Arrow right now (I don’t know why – it’s terrible, but not terrible enough to be funny), and every time one of the eponymous arrows hits someone it makes that shhink/squelch sound, and this combined with the terrible writing and terrible dialogue (“I’m not afraid to die.” “No…you’re afraid to live.”) and the endless, tedious discussions about people’s FEEEEEEEEEELINGS are getting right on my nut. I should probably stop watching Arrow. (But I’ve started now!)

4. Good luck getting these out of your head!

Italian mobster shoots a lobster

1. I’m back to sleeping in my bedroom. It’s amazing how luxurious it feels sleeping in a bed again after a couple of months of having to haul myself up off the floor every time I needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. My upstairs neighbour is still conducting rehearsals for Stomp every night between 10 and midnight, and then again bright and early at 6 AM (the man is dedicated to his craft), but I’ve discovered that if I play white noise very loudly and wear earplugs at the same time, I can actually sleep through the noise. Hallelujah.

I bought myself this white noise machine, which gets surprisingly loud, and I use these earplugs, which are surprisingly comfortable. Of course the past few years of neighbour-noise have very effectively trained my brain not to sleep, so I have to make sure a that whole host of other variables are carefully balanced in order to make it though the night without waking up ten times. I’ve cut out caffeine entirely during the week (man, life without tea is barely worth living), I don’t watch any TV or use my phone after 9.30, and I try to stay up a bit later than I’m naturally inclined to so that I’m properly tired. If I screw up any one of these elements, NO SLEEP FOR ME. I got a new laptop yesterday* and spent a little too much time in the evening faffing around setting it up, and hey presto! One shitty night’s sleep.

*It’s a PC laptop, which I bought solely for the purposes of downloading/streaming movies and TV. I’ve had it one day and already Windows is getting on my tits. What’s with the ‘app’ view that replaces the start menu in Windows 8? I hate this so much. If I want to go to Netflix, I will open my browser and go to Netflix. I don’t need to click a bunch of extra times to use the ‘app’ version, which is next to a bunch of useless crap like ‘finance’ and ‘health and fitness’ that I am never going to use. I’ve uninstalled about a hundred of these stupid things so far.

2. Sample spotting! (There should be a name for sample spotting, like ‘twitching’ for birdwatching.)

First, 14:40 by Olafur Arnalds (skip to the five minute mark):

…and now listen to Ray by Daughn Gibson:

Incidentally, I love how Ólafur Arnalds’s music sounds like the soundtrack to an art film where the characters spend a lot of time gazing mournfully out of windows.

3. Some delightful sadist at Channel 5 decided to show Watership Down on Easter Sunday. I love this so much. I wonder how many parents were like, “Oh look! An animated film about bunny rabbits. This’ll shut them up for a few hours” and will now be paying therapy bills for the next twenty years.

4. The 99p shop in Huntingdon is closing down and being replaced by a Poundland. Bloody inflation. This means that there will now be two Poundlands in Huntingdon within five minutes’ walk of each other. I would mock this, but if there’s any place in the world that has the demographics to support two Poundlands in close proximity, it’s Huntingdon.

5. In French, the game hide and seek is called ‘cache-cache’ (‘hide-hide’). This sounds much less fun.

6. I have a new colleague who is Spanish. He’s an absolute sweetheart and great to work with, but there’s a bit of a language barrier. I often can’t understand what he’s saying, and he has trouble understanding me too, and I spend a lot of time speaking slowly and clearly (and trying very hard not to speak loudly) and I keep inadvertently thinking about Fawlty Towers, and I’m worried that one day I’m going to call him Manuel.

I’m a reasonable man, get off my case

1. Robert Plant’s lyrics are so bad they actually affect my enjoyment of Led Zeppelin. I love the music very very much but can’t stop rolling my eyes whenever Robert opens his mouth (and that endless hair-flipping thing he does on stage drives me insane). The ‘baby baby baby’ stuff is bad enough but when he starts in about Vikings, dear God. PLEASE STOP. My favourite Zeppelin songs tend to be the ones with less Robert and more Jimmy.

If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you
Mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me

Watch out, Lord Byron.

T’was in the darkest depths of Mordor
I met a girl so fair
But Gollum and the evil one crept up and slipped away with her

Let me just clarify here – you’re picking up girls in Mordor? And getting cock-blocked by Gollum? That is…unfortunate.

I’d give the yellow section a bigger share of the pie, but this is otherwise 100% scientifically accurate.

2. I’ve been dating up a storm recently. I’ve met some lovely people (and a few oddballs – one guy suggested meeting at Wetherspoons – !!! – and right after arriving at the pub, excused himself to go wash his hands. No explanation was offered) but so far no one that I’ve desperately wanted to see with their top off. I’m getting pretty bored of dating, to tell the truth. I’m sick to death of hearing my own anecdotes. It does give me plenty of fodder for my Twitter feed, though.

3. Another major plus point of my new job is the position of my desk. I’m still in a big open-plan office (for an introvert, working an open-plan office is basically like being waterboarded all day), but instead of sitting in the centre of the room with people constantly walking right past me and talking to me and around me, I’m now tucked away in a quiet corner. My new boss tends to keep to herself, and on average, I probably spend only about five minutes a day actually speaking to anyone. It’s not as nice as working from home, but I can’t complain. I’ve got my back to the window, so there is some glare on my computer screen when the sun is shining; fortunately for me, however, I live in England.

4. I designed this gig poster for fun. It is a real gig that you can go to, if you want to. Not to brag, but I posted it on the band’s Facebook page, and they said it was, AND I QUOTE, “rad”.

gig poster

5. Tunes for you!

When you rock and roll with me

1. I don’t remember ever crying over a celebrity death before, but I had a proper ugly-cry about David Bowie. Musically he was my north, my south (Robyn Hitchcock is my east and west – I nearly sent him a message through Twitter this morning to make sure he was safe and well. I couldn’t handle losing them both in close proximity). I’ve been listening to Bowie since primary school. He was the first artist I officially considered myself to be a ‘fan’ of, and the first record I ever bought, age twelve, was Scary Monsters and Super Creeps, which I found in a charity shop for $2. I used to lie on my living room floor with my eyes closed and play it over and over again as loud as I could get away with (sorry, Mom and Dad). I bought all his albums (even Never Let Me Down, which nobody likes but me), and tracked down stuff like Philip Glass’s ‘Low’ Symphony and the soundtracks to Christiane F and The Buddha of Suburbia. I saw him play live back when I lived in Ottawa, and I’m so glad I did. More than any other artist, he’s been the soundtrack to my life. Man. It seems surreal that he was even mortal. Surely DAVID FUCKING BOWIE can’t just DIE, can he?

One of my favourites from the criminally underappreciated Lodger.

2. A Lidl has opened in Huntingdon, right on my route home. This is big news. The second the doors opened the entire population of Huntingdon was in there like a shot, myself included. The prices are worryingly low. Surely in order to produce a 39p tin of soup you must be doing something terrible to the environment or Malaysian child labourers or both. Morals are expensive, though. I will eat my surprisingly tasty 39p soup and try not to think about it.

I’d never shopped at a Lidl before. It’s a strange experience. The store itself is very no-frills. There are no automated checkouts (which means I have to speak to other humans, AAAUUUGHH) – not even an express checkout queue. In some areas, instead of shelves they’ve stacked crates on top of each other, and in addition to selling food, there’s a central aisle which is just a row of big tubs full of the Deal of the Week, which so far has included thermal blankets, bird feeders, storage heaters, air beds, neck massage cushions, karaoke sets, ceiling lights with built-in Bluetooth speakers, and electric planers. I appreciate the Soviet randomness of it all.

3. I enjoyed the BBC’s new production of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None. It was sort of a gritty reboot, because by law everything has to be a gritty reboot these days (it’s strange to see characters in an Agatha Christie story shagging and swearing), and starred Aidan Turner, who is so ridiculously hot that it hurts to look directly at him. I nearly fainted when this happened:

Aidan Turner

There was no real reason for this, plot-wise. All the other characters were wearing dressing gowns, but he just stood there all HELLO TORSO for like ten minutes, burning holes in my retinas. Clearly the BBC knows which side its bread is buttered.

4. I just finished reading What She Left by TR Robinson. I hated it. The story was fine, but the writing annoyed me so much I started dog-earing the worst bits so I could make fun of them for you. You’re welcome. One of the characters was meant to be a pompous professor, but the prose came off like a first-year creative writing student was trying to make a character sound pompous by having him refer to himself as ‘one’ all the time and swapping ordinary words for longer ones:

It wasn’t exactly ‘research’ I embarked upon, not in the traditional sense. That’s too grandiose a description and alludes to a more methodical approach than I was able – or inclined – to apply. ‘Obsession’ is a word others were quick to use and perhaps there was some verisimilitude in that.

‘Verisimilitude’ means ‘the quality of seeming real’. It is a not a synonym for ‘truth’. Just say ‘truth’. And then this, from another character:

Dr Edwards, my tutor, … reckons I’ve got – and I quote – an extremely mature appreciation of Austen’s work. ‘You’re a sensitive reader, Alice,’ he told me. ‘You’ve also self-evidently got a soft spot for doomed heroines.’

First of all, something that is ‘self-evident’ can be understood to be true without explanation or proof. You mean ‘evidently’ or ‘obviously’. Also, there are no ‘doomed heroines’ in Jane Austen’s novels. Every single one of her protagonists ends up happily married (what else could a woman possibly want??).

Richmond uses the word ‘scuttled’ about six times, and ‘transmogrified’ twice within three pages (again, you mean ‘transformed’. Or better yet, try ‘changed’).

This is all stuff the editor should have caught, but it gets on my nerves, especially since the book was plastered in rave reviews. Book reviewers get paid to notice these things! Why won’t anyone pay me to notice these things? I’m a natural born nitpicker.

I like my sugar with coffee and cream

1. Congratulations to Canada on electing the world’s hottest prime minister. For real, has there ever been a national leader this hunky in the history of the world? No there has not. It’s nice to see Canada at the forefront of something besides zamboni technology.

Justin Trudeau

I’d vote for that.

2. My upstairs neighbour continues to be stompy, particularly during the hour after I go to bed and the hour before I get up. I wish misery and death upon him. I’ve started sleeping in my lounge on an air mattress (the lounge is downstairs and therefore the stompiness is less noticeable there). I feel ridiculous but at least I’m sleeping, mostly.

3. I can’t stop listening to CHVRCHES. They are suuuuuuper poppy but their tunes are anthemic and make me want to pump my fist in the air. Sometimes I do pump my fist in the air. Don’t judge me.

4. How excited am I about the new War & Peace miniseries? FUCKING VERY. Although I picture Bolkonsky differently, but let’s not start quibbling already.

5. I applied for a design position at my job. I didn’t get it, but they offered me a different design position that’s actually more complex and challenging, so yay me. I am officially a professional graphic designer.

6. I saw a patch of blue sky the other day. I’d forgotten it came in that colour. I’m not usually one to be affected by the whole SAD thing, but the endless, endless grey is starting to get to me. It’s not helping that I am having the WORST run of luck when it comes to dating. It’s like I’m generating a man-repelling force field. Do I smell or something? You guys would tell me, right? Sheesh.

Someone shot nostalgia in the back

1. Having been extremely frugal, hard-working and well-behaved over the last six months or so, I’ve given myself a break recently, as my freelancing work has slowed down for the summer (I mostly proofread academic work). This has translated to going to the pub again, and last weekend I even drank two days in a row. This nearly killed me, but over the course of the second evening I somehow managed to attract a very nice-looking and elaborately tattooed 24-year-old. Even after seeing me in the cold, sober light of day, he keeps wanting to hang out and stuff. I feel a bit paedo-y (when I was graduating high school he was FIVE YEARS OLD), but hell, I ain’t gonna say no. STILL GOT IT.

2. It’s likely that when I look back at this time period, a distinct musical sound will emerge in retrospect. Right now though, it sounds to me like a lot of music is just copying or combining older genres, and man oh man, there sure is a lot of apologism for this fact going on in music reviews. This review starts with three full paragraphs of acrobatic rationalisation before basically saying, “Here is yet another album that will make you ask yourself what year it is already.”

3. I have been as excited as a little girl at Christmas about the new series of True Detective, and based on the first two episodes I am tentatively on board. Even Vince Vaughan is managing to not be overly fratty or annoying. Of course I know it can never be as good as the first series, because nothing will ever be as good as the first series. I want to have every single one of Rust Cohle’s lines tattooed on my body. I’m still not sure whether Cohle was meant to be read as a profoundly tragic character dealing with loss through nihilistic over-analysis. My reaction to the character was more like, “This is the sanest person in the world.”

4. I met some Americans recently who are proper Southerners and one of them admitted to having once blasted a washing machine with a sawed-off shotgun. When he told me this I clapped my hands in glee like a circus seal. I mean, guns are bad, m’kay? But still…that’s goddamn awesome. It’s like what a cartoon American would do!

In related events, it turns out the pub landlady has an air pistol, which she uses to get pigeons off the roof. She let me and buddy J have a go in the pub garden last night and we shot at an empty cider bottle and I hit it first go and it was BRILLIANT.

Next thing you know I will be shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die.