Dream Machines book launch covers the entire history of everything (and talks about cassette tapes for a bit)

The Manchester launch for Matthew Collin’s new book Dream Machines: Electronic Music in Britain From Doctor Who to Acid House^ was an ambitious affair.

The launch was held at the Louder Than Words festival^ on 16 November 2024. It attempted to cover every beat of electronic music history, from post-war experimentalism to the rise of techno. In a 90-minute event, this mission was doomed to failure, but that's okay – we had a jolly good time attempting the impossible.

On the panel, Matthew was joined by Graham Massey from 808 State, DJ and rapper Aniff Akinola, and member of Quando Quango, Hillegonda Rietveld. A bunch of sonic superbrains, wrangled by question-master and host Ryan Walker.

There was love for Daphne Oram. They discussed Barry Gray’s puppetry electronica. There were mentions of Cabaret Voltaire and Human League, of course. Respect for the “untutored electronics” of Hawkwind, the first band Massey saw live.

They highlighted contrasts too. The opposing tones of the cold Kraftwerk and the sensuous Stevie Wonder. Electronic music as being simultaneously music of the people and music of the avant-garde. And despite bleepy music breaking into the pop charts, they discussed the outsiders and the mavericks of electronic music culture. “I love it, and I love you,” said Collins.

Remember cassette-swapping culture? They touched on how the advent of cassette players fed the hobbyist scene, as people explored new sounds on their own terms. Indeed, Akinola said his childhood was devoid of pop music because of his parents’ religious beliefs, yet the family still had a top-end Aiwa cassette recorder because his mum wanted to record her pastor’s sermons.

And the huge, huge importance of dub music. “It was a new way of experiencing music as a listener,” said Matthew. “It changed everything.” 

Dub wasn’t easy to produce during its earlier development, said Akinola. “We had it harder in the old days, because we didn't have sound systems that physically assaulted you!”

What else? The list is long. I think it was Rietveld that mentioned using an LFO wobble as a rhythm track. They chatted about Malcolm X samples. About learning to cut tape as an editing technique. Blacktronica and West London broken beat. Gary Clail and Adrian Sherwood. The influence of StreetSounds compilations. “Voodoo rage” becoming “voodoo ray”. Mantronix using scratching samples at the Hacienda, much to the chagrin of other DJs in the room. Larry Heard’s “brutal electronics” arriving in our ears seemingly without origin. 

As you'd expect, the Roland TB-303 came in for praise. Its unexpected rise as an acid machine happened because people ignored its original intention as a bassline instrument.

Explained Akinola: “Its sonics are close to a saxophone which is near to the human vocal range. So it’s almost speaking to the human consciousness. This is why I think it was such a popular instrument, when it was used in the wrong manner.”

It was a proper Manchester event, with old Hacienda ravers present in the audience. Just before the launch, Akinola and Massey realised they had gone to the same secondary school, Burnage High. I didn’t say anything. I was a Parrs Wood lad.

As I'm a former bookseller, let's do a proper plug for the book. Dream Machines is "a paean to all the originators and early adopters of electronic music", according to Stephen Mallinder. '"A perceptive and highly entertaining breakdown of the crucial development of some of the most innovative music of my dreams," says Martyn Ware.

You can buy the book from all good bookshops^ and some evil websites.

Further Fats: Chosen Words – R is for Rhythm (2010)

Further Fats: I too am a book killer – the Manchester Central Library book disposal (2015)

Ultimate 90s number one: Things can only get Doopier

As I write this latest instalment of the Ultimate 1990s Number One contest, the world seems to have gone to hell in a handbasket. Which is a phrase that is thought to have originated from the practice of guillotined heads that land in baskets, as featured in an 18th century book by Winslow Ayer about civil war. Thanks, Wikipedia.

So with that bloody backdrop in mind, let's turn our attention to the painfully trivial task of deciding, of all 1990s UK number one singles, which was the bleepiest banging tune. Here are the latest contenders in this never-ending chart battle. Of the 120+ featured so far, only 15 tracks have made it through to the next round.

The contenders

B*Witched: Blame It On The Weatherman  |  Billie: Because We Want To  |  Boyzone: When The Going Gets Tough  |  Boyzone: You Needed Me  |  Chaka Demus & Pliers: Twist And Shout  |  Cliff Richard: The Millennium Prayer  |  D:Ream: Things Can Only Get Better  |  Doop: Doop  |  Puff Daddy and Faith Evans featuring 112: I'll Be Missing You  |  Robson & Jerome: Unchained Melody / White Cliffs of Dover 

God's number one

In a 2010 blog post about Christian music, I described Cliff Richard's The Millennium Prayer as "stripping the charts of all that is good and holy". This belch of Satanic nonsense paired the words of the Lord's Prayer with the tune of Auld Lang Syne, with all the grace of a vicar performing a baptism on roller skates. The song must be exorcised from this competition, like wot they did with that spinny head girl in that Tubular Bells movie.

 

Now, I'm not saying Boyzone are Beelzebub: that's for you to decide. Two of Boyzone's six 1990s number one singles appear in this selection. One is a Comic Relief cover of a Billy Ocean song, and one prevented Geri Halliwell's Look At Me from getting to number one. So mixed fortunes. But they have no place in a bleepy banger contest.

Not a massive tune

Here is another clutch of singles that I will gladly eliminate from this competition.

Despite versions by the Beatles, the Isley Brothers, the Tremeloes and Salt N Pepa, Chaka Demus & Pliers is the only group to get Twist And Shout to the top of the UK singles chart. Its one redeeming grace is that it knocked Mr Blobby off the top spot.

I described Unchained Melody as a "massive tune" in a March 2024 edition of Ultimate 1990s Number One. However, a cover of Unchained Melody by two blokes from the TV series Soldier Soldier that, incidentally, made Simon Cowell a millionaire cannot, on any level, be described as a "massive tune". Robson & Jerome? Nope.

In the video for B*Witched's Blame It On The Weatherman, the inoffensive songsters fanny about on a soggy juggernaut. In the week this topped the charts, Underworld's Push Upstairs made a brief appearance at number 12. Underworld should have been number one. They weren't. I blame this on the B*Witched women.

Time crime

The next two tracks are bangers. They are bangier than an old banger driven by a sausage which is also known as a banger.

Is Billie Piper a better Billy than Billies Joel, Ocean or Bragg? Yes, because she went and did time travel with that phone box doctor guy who wasn't a real doctor. The music video for Because We Want To had Billie prancing about in a UFO, which is way more impressive than a Tardis. Anyway, definitely a banger. But not bleepy.

Sting sued Puff Daddy after the rapper ripped off The Police for the Notorious BIG tribute I'll Be Missing You. This is not Mr Puff's worst crime. The lyrics are appalling as is his clunky rap flow. Also not his biggest crime. He prevented Bitter Sweet Symphony from getting to number one. Also not the biggest crime. Somehow, the song is still a banger.

Is it the best thing?

This leaves us with two chart-topping acts with electronic music credentials. But are they banging enough to get through to the next round of this competition?

The Dutch duo Doop had a massive smash hit for their electro swing take on the Charleston. Their follow-up singles appropriated easy listening and ska. The video for their single Huckleberry Jam had a fart joke. Nothing good came from Doop by Doop.

And finally, you can walk my path, you can wear my shoes... After its release in early 1993, D:Ream's Things Can Only Get Better took a full year to reach number one in the charts. It then lingered in our consciousness for years thanks to New Labour. However... 

Their debut single U R The Best Thing is a better song, with Cunnah's breathless vocal delivery (Cunnah pictured above). If that had been the single under consideration here, they'd be straight through to the next round. But Better? It's almost a banger, it's almost bleepy. But not quite there.

No-one makes it through to the next round of the Labour leadership conte-- er, I mean, Ultimate 1990s Number One. Shame. And I didn't even mention Professor Brian Cox.

More Ultimate 90s number ones 

Fat Roland's blog: happy 20th birthday

At the risk of raising your heart rate until your eyelids burst, I’m happy to announce that this blog is 20 years old today.

On 13 November 2004, in a post titled ‘Fat Roland’s blog’, I wrote 49 simple words heralding a new series of “blogs”, by which I probably meant “blog posts”. Blogging made sense: I'd spent much of my life as a journalist (see picture). And the rest, as no-one has ever said about any blog ever, is history.

On that same day, BBC weather bods promised the coldest night of the year. The Strokes and The Libertines dominated the front page of the NME. And it was the end of the Wu Tang Clan’s Ol’ Dirty Bastard, who died at far too young an age, as did John Balance from Coil.

Meanwhile, in my metaphorical basement, I was tapping away on my metaphorical typewriter. Early blog posts featured my under-developed thoughts on X Factor, Bill Drummond, Sandi Toksvig and, er, the Formula One driver Takuma Sato. A lot of it wasn’t that focussed.

In 2009, I decided to take my blogging seriously. Have you had one of those friends that suddenly becomes a knitter? They’re clacking out scarfs like a machine? This was me and blogging. I went from 50 to 140 posts a year, pledging to myself that I would post at least every three days.

My blog posts became more interesting. Speculation about Aphex Twin's new album. Guides to the Mercury Music Prize. being silly about The Prodigy, my bestest Warp tracks. critiquing Michael Jackson. An ill-advised pretend letter to James Blunt. A fake Autechre album leak. My sacking as a DJ and my debilitation from a stroke. Gaining MC Hammer and Barack Obama as readers (!) thanks to this post and this, or at least the people who run their socials. It has been quite the ride. 

I won’t bore you with the rest of this blog’s history, so here’s a precis of all the things my blog has led to. Think of this as a montage sequence, like wot they did in the A-Team. 2010: win blogging awards. 2012: become columnist for Electronic Sound magazine. 2014 and 2015: win awards for my spoken word gubbins. 2016: quit my day job to earn money from literature and performance. 2022: blog is infiltrated by the deep state, who use it to control your 5G. Okay, I made that last one up. I owe all of this to my bloggerising.

This blog still limps on, like a decrepit family cat that plops around the house in places you least expect. The site's view counts once reached the giddy highs of ten-thousand-plus, and have since dropped to the hundreds. A Blogspot page flattered by some Photoshop design is not "where it's at". I'm very much okay with that: it's a humble home but it's my home.

I asked ChatGPT to write me a tribute to blogging. A heart-warming paragraph extolling the joys of web logs. Here is what the AI came up with:

Blogging is a beautiful, chaotic celebration of personal expression. Whether it’s crafting whimsical rants or profound musings, each post offers the joy of connecting with the unseen. It's an archive of thought, a playground for creativity, and a space where ideas grow at their own unruly pace. Long live blogs!

And now, here is that same text rewritten by me, but with key words replaced with electronic music artists and/or animals.

Blogging is a beautiful, chaotic Sweet Exorcist of personal X-Press 2. Whether it’s Tomcrafting Whildchild rabbits or profound Mu-ziq, each polecat offers the Joy Orbison of Kon Kan-ecting with the unicorns. It's an armadillo of thought, a Playgroup for creativity, and a Spicelab where ibexes grow at their own unraccoony Plaid. Daddy longlegs LFO blogs!

Jeez, that was rubbish. Aaaaand that's how blogging works.

Pictured: Me (right) working at a newspaper in the mid-1990s. Cheeky news man Tristan Freeman on the left. Photo by Mark Waugh^.

Further Fats: Hammer time for Fatty Bumchops: how to blog properly (2011)

Further Fats: Blogging highlights 2004-2014 (2014)

Lunar tunes: Jon Hopkins sends his music to the moon

Not content with flattening audiences with his massive bass frequencies, Jon Hopkins will now attempt to destroy the entire universe by sending his music to the moon.

You see, Nasa have this box of memorabilia called the Lunar Codex, in which is stored tens of thousands of artistic creations. It's like the Blue Peter time capsule, the only difference being it's not in a garden, and its sodden contents won't be scowled at by a tortoise.

The Hopkins tune Forever Held will be one of the tracks rocketed to the moon as part of the Lunar Codex. The string sections on the track are by Ólafur Arnalds out of Kiasmos, so it's a double-whammy as far as I'm concerned.

It's a great track to choose. Forever Held is the kind of airy panorama that Hopkins is so good at, and the strings are truly moving. If anything, it's going to make any passing aliens blubber with emotion, their extra-terrestrial tears finally granting the moon that elusive liquid we've been hoping for. 

Nasa's Creative Director Erica Bernhard has made a visualiser for the track, which is just a fancy way of saying video. This will also be included in the capsule. She says Hopkins' composition "asks us to consider our place in the universe and our responsibility to the planet." No pressure, Jon.

It's not the first time Nasa have dabbled with dance music. Earlier this year, they hosted a 'Kennedy Under The Stars' techno party, which included a resident DJ in their Rocket Garden, a miniature golf course which had their colossal Apollo Saturn IB rocket instead of a lighthouse, and circus acts dressed up like the Blackpool illuminations.

This sounds amazing, so if the Kennedy Space Centre wants to invite me to the next one, I'm well up for this. I will dress up as Buzz Aldrin or a xenomorph or something, and if you're paying for my travel to Florida too, I'd like to go in a rocket please.

So well done, Jon Hopkins. Your music is venturing to the moon, trundling down and up craters like a disco Wallace and Gromit. Don your space helmet and watch the video for the track^.

Further Fats: The devil has all the best IDM: Jon Hopkins (2010)

Further Fats: Watching space from inside papier mâché (2016)

No Bounds Festival 2024 – a review

I spent the weekend at No Bounds Festival in Sheffield, marvelling at the splendour of the city's cathedral and revelling in the raves held in its grubby old factories.

This was my second trip to the festival. You can read my review below. What I didn't include is I treated myself to a hotel room with a proper veranda, I trilled with delight when I crossed its spooky Cobweb Bridge, and I had a smashing time having a pint with my mate Lee.

Also you can see me in one of the photos on the Electronic Sound website. See if you can spot me. It's like Where's Wally with emphasis on the wally.

I sit at a picnic bench in the cold night air. Surrounding me is a cluster of industrial buildings, and inside each of these is a rave. Dirty techno rhythms pulse from inside, and the windows dance with colour. In the relative peace of this outdoor smoking area, a student called Chris joins me and exchanges pleasantries. He tells me about the DJs he has seen here and the DJs he wants to see. In turn, I preach about the strange sounds I heard in the cathedral, and I ask if he is going to chapel on Sunday. He does not flinch. This is No Bounds Festival. It is no ordinary rave...

Continue reading my review on the Electronic Sound website^ – including the stunning full photograph by James Ward featured above

Ultimate 90s number one: The Steve Miller Band ruins everything

Pull up a chaise longue. You're just in time to suffer through the latest edition of my Ultimate 1990s Number One competition.

This is a blog series in which I attempt to wheedle out the best number one single of the 1990s, and handful of chart-toppers at a time. Only the ultimate bestest tunes will go through to the final. 

My twin judging criteria are (a) is it bleepy and electronic, and (b) is it a banging tune. I don't really show my workings-out. Rather, I just waffle until we all lose interest.

Let's take a peek at the latest batch of contenders.

The contenders

Bryan Adams: (Everything I Do) I Do It for You  |  Cornershop: Brimful Of Asha  |  George Michael and Queen with Lisa Stansfield: Five Live (EP)  |  Kylie Minogue: Tears On My Pillow  |  Manic Street Preachers: If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next  |  New Kids on the Block: Hangin' Tough  |  No Doubt: Don't Speak  |  Shaggy: Boombastic  |  Steve Miller Band: The Joker  |  Vanilla Ice: Ice Ice Baby

You must be joking

Let's start with some excellent humour. Steve Miller Band?! Yeah, he certainly should be. Banned, that is. See what I did there? That is clever wordplay; the kind of linguistic acrobatics you've come to expect from someone who uses a big hardback dictionary as a pillow.

Steve Miller. Steve flipping Miller. There he is in the photo above. In a 2021 blog post, I said The Joker was "one of the worst songs ever written". In another 2021 blog post, I described the single as "one of the worst singles of all time" and "I want this song to die". This sounds like I've only formed this opinion in the last few years. Quite the contrary. My loathing for this song has been burning within me since the beginning of time.

For a start, the lyrics are naff. He "loves your peaches". And "lovey dovey, lovey dovey". He loves smoking and he's a "gangster of love". If he talked like this on a first date, I'd walk straight out of the Greggs without warning.

What's with the wolf-whistling guitar? I know the song is partly based on a song penned in the 1950s, but surely we can leave lazy sexism in the past. Nobody wants to listen a guitar sound like it's winking at you while rubbing its crotch. Gross.

And another thing. The Joker stopped Deee-Lite from getting to number one with Groove Is In The Heart. This is the worst injustice that has happened in the history of humankind. Yes, I see you reaching from your dusty hardback book of historical disasters, but you know I'm right. Steve Miller made Towa Tei sad. And nobody should make Towa Tei sad.

Also. Yes, there's more. Also, The Joker is roughly the same age as me. Not the exact month, but close enough that we'd probably share a birthday cake. I cannot accept the fact that there is something the same age as me that is as annoying as me. That is not acceptable. Steve Miller makes me ill-er.

Everything's ruined

Oh great. Thanks to Miller, I don't have enough time to properly cover all the other songs in this list. Sorry, George Michael, there are barely any column inches left to let you know that I found your Queen covers somewhat dull. And no, Kylie, I haven't got the energy to explain that your Imperials doo wop cover was one of your weaker hits.

Miller has also robbed me of the opportunity to opine, at length, at the blandness of New Kids On The Block. Or to explain, in a patient but forced voice, that nobody really likes Vanilla Ice's Ice Ice Baby, especially when Uncle Kenneth is drunkenly slurring the wrong words at Sunday night karaoke. Mr Ice should have stopped when he said "stop". in that bit of the song where he says "stop"

What's the point

I've still got that Steve Miller song on loop in my brain, each annoying guitar lick a razor blade to my ear drums. There are two epic songs on this list that I would be impressed by, but The Joker has bled me of all hope. Those songs are...

In July 1991, a month after Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves landed on cinema screens, Bryan Adams' theme song (Everything I Do) I Do It for You shot an arrow into the number one spot of the UK singles chart. It stayed there until Halloween, when it was overtaken in the charts by U2, 2 Unlimited and the comedian Vic Reeves.

And in a just world, the Manic Street Preachers should have scored a string of number one successes by the time that If You Tolerate This... topped the singles chart. It's a big anthem, for sure, although marked a blunting of their once-cutting edge.

Both are epic bangers, but they're not bleepy enough to continue in this competition.

What a joke(r)

This leaves us with a few final singles to talk about – if I had time, that is [glares at Steve]. No Doubt were ten years into their career when Don't Speak dominated the charts. A veritable banger with pop credibility. Meanwhile, Shaggy's Boombastic is the only song to have topped the charts containing the lyric "don't you tickle my foot bottom". Which is silly song-writing but not as ridiculous as Steve Miller and his space cowboy carbuncle.

This brings us to the only electronic music-adjacent tune in this selection. That is Cornershop's tribute to the Indian film industry, Brimful Of Asha. The song got to number one in the form of its remix by Fatboy Slim. Sadly, it's not bleepy enough to continue in this competition. Which is a shame because Cornershop tracks like the 16-minute jam Spectral Mornings are a dancefloor delight.

So nobody wins this round. Do you know who I blame? Steve Miller. Steven Haworth Miller. Miller and his band which is called the Steve Miller Band. Cheeky rapper Enimen might be on a one-man crusade to revive Millers career with his recent Miller-sampling single Houdini). But honestly, Stevie-boy has ruined this blog post, and possibly this blog, and possibly the entire universe.

I guess WE'RE the joker, amiright?!

More Ultimate 90s number ones 

Brothers gonna work it out: my short story in 'The Book of Manchester'

I have fiction news, so please unfurl your FICTION NEWS banner and tie each end to a lampshade. Ready? Here goes. I have a short story featured in 'The Book of Manchester', an anthology coming out on Comma Press.

Comma have a long history of releasing city-specific fiction anthologies. Their locational muses have spanned Shanghai to Sheffield, Cairo to Coventry, and Gaza to, er, goodness-knows elsewhere. There's loads of them, but this one is special in a way: Manchester is their home city.

The blurb for the book talks about the city's industrial past, its music scene, and – in themes that are perhaps more relevant to this book – the homelessness that is skyrocketing as the same rate as its new towers, and the "struggles of ordinary residents navigating a city in dramatic flux".

My story is called 'Ten-Two Forty-Four', and I wrote it during the fog of my stroke recovery last winter. The tale of two estranged brothers is threaded through with the discommunication and illusory nonsense-bobbins I experienced as a result of my medical emergency. Not that it's a story about strokes, but the elements are there.

Because the way this story came about was kind of painful and personal, and because this feels like a literary reset of sorts, I'm publishing under my real name Ian Carrington. The full list of writers featured in the book are (deep breath): David Constantine, Tom Benn, Pete Kalu, Brontë Schiltz , Sophie Parkes, Ian Carrington, Shelagh Delaney, Mike Duff, Mish Green, Okechukwu Nzelu, Reshma Ruia, Yusra Warsama, and Zig & Zag. I lied about that last one.

Because you are special, due to the fact you still read blogs, you can read the opening bit of the story below.

You can order the book from the Comma website^. Meanwhile, everyone's beloved and/or baffling writer Fat Roland will continue, of course, on this blog and in Electronic Sound and on various comedy stages hither and thither and where-iver.

Ten-Two Forty-Four excerpt

He turns up looking like a drowned rat or a soaked ferret or some other crappy animal dragged through piss that had no business being on my doorstep. The rain drips from his hands and his nose and whatever appendage that had not been chopped off by the torturing scum that had been holding him. For a moment, I say nothing despite all the things I had been planning on saying. Something about not trampling into the carpet or not sending me a postcard or some other witticism that, in truth, I am too afraid to say... (continue reading by buying the book^)

See the Book of Manchester launch event (Contact Theatre, 7pm, 12 October 2024, tickets £12 / £10)^

Charley says you should always trust a scheming pussycat

 

In summer 1991, the electronic dance music act The Prodigy had a top ten hit with Charly. It led a craze of telly-sampling rave hits, and started a long career for the Prodge who went on to have ten more top ten singles.

The iconic miaowing cat sample was taken from a series of public information films made in 1973, with the titular cat being voiced by DJ and presenter Kenny Everett.

This much we know.

However, I am hear to tell you that Charley the cat from the original films was, and I'm sorry to say this, a bad cat. (Yes Charley, not Charly. For some reason, the Prodigy, ahem, dropped the e.)

That's right. Charley the cat was a bad, bad cat. Here's why. Let's go through each of the Charley films produced by the government's Central Office of Information.

Charley film 1: Falling in the Water

Charley the bad cat leads a small boy away from his father during a fishing expedition. While showing off, Charley the bad cat jumps over a puddle and falls into a pond. Charley the bad cat ends up freezing wet and wrapped in a towel, spoiling everyone's day.

Charley film 2: In The Kitchen

In the family kitchen, Charley the bad cat is startled by a pot of over-boiling water and the fatty spit of frying sausages. Charley the bad cat then walks out of the room, directly behind the legs of the family's mother, who is chopping vegetables with sharp knives, probably. Dangerous.

Charley film 3: Matches

While playing with alphabet blocks with a small boy, Charley the bad cat dives onto the table and scatters everything everywhere. During the mayhem, he pushes a box of matches towards the small boy, who proceeds to reach for the matches, presumably for arsonistic reasons. At the end of the video clip, Charley the bad cat and the small boy walk off, leaving the matches scattered on the table.

Charley film 4: Mummy Should Know

After doing handstands carelessly in a back passageway, Charley the bad cat prevents a small boy from hanging out with his friends. Instead of socialising with his peer group, the small boy is forced to go to the park with his mum while Charley the bad cat eats a fish, no doubt stolen from a fishmonger on the way to a park. 

Charley film 5: Charley's Tea Party

While tearing around the house with inconsiderate abandon, Charley the bad cat claws at a table cloth. Charley the bad cat tugs the cloth so hard, he brings the table's contents crashing to the floor and destroys an entire tea set, a loaf of bread, and a plate of cod. I suspect this is a metaphorical and literal swipe at Jesus's feeding of the five thousand with loaves and fishes. Charley the bad cat ends up badly scalded, and appears to have torn up the tablecloth to use as bandages.

Charley film 6: Strangers

As a small boy is playing on the swings in a local park, a very nice stranger offers to show him some puppies. Charley the bad cat pulls the boy back and, not for the first time, prevents the boy from making friends with someone who's not a cat. Charley the bad cat is rewarded for his gaslighting with a big juicy fish, while the friendless small boy has to make do with an apple.

So there you have it. The Prodigy launched their lengthy career on the back of a manipulative moggy who seemed intent on destroying the social life of an innocent child. Public information films? Feline red flags, more like.

Watch out, Custard our of Roobarb and Custard. I'm coming for you next.

Further Fats: The Prodigy's Invaders Must Die: tingly breakdowns and a trouserful of fun (2009)

Further cats: You can watch all of the Charley films, and much more besides, in the National Archives^

Charley illustration: Fat Roland