Winston Churchill once said "crikey, the day drags when your trousers chafe", but my days seem to be tumbling from my grasp at an alarming rate. I've hardly got time to fart, which means a potential gas build-up followed by an extravagent explosion of guts and pies and toes, which would be no good in polite company.
Last night's full-mooned show was our fourth, admittedly a bit wibbly, but it was a chance to use the Pixies' Debaser to prompt a discussion about French surrealist cinema. I missed out on Sometimes Records' exellent Volume night, so I played Pachuco's The Night in their honour. After slipping in a bit of Johnny Cash by the back door, I then spent 12 hours and £65,000 in a random taxi home.
>£65,000 later...So it was time for a lie in this morning, a smattering of touring cars on the tellybox, then back to the playlists. Tonight I'll spin the following artists in no particular order: Dashboard Confessional, Canton Jones, Violet Burning, Charity Von, Charity Empressa and 4th Avenue Jones. And maybe a bit of Madchester in honour of tonight's Manchester Passion.
I'm hoping my evil twin grandma co-presenter Lee will play Mull Historical Society. Then again I'm trying to grow a third elbow with mind power, but you can't have everything you hope for, not in this life.