blog number 59 is brought to you by the sirrius cybernetics corporation, share and enjoy! or. hitchhikers guide published 30 years ago, WHOOT!

thats right folks! 30 years since that most remarkable book was published. better selling than the cellestial homecare omnibus, more thrilling than 27 more things to do in zero gravity and more popular than the encyclopedia galactica in two respects. one, it is slightly cheaper, and two, it comes with the words 'DON'T PANIC' embroidered in larege friendly letters on the cover.

done from memory so forgive mistakes guys, gals and small furry creatures from alpha centuri.

bloody honestly, whats not to love about these books?? every time i read them they are just as thrilling, moving, ball acheingly funn, wise, clever, and above all-entertaining as hell!!

some favourite things off the top of my loaf

-the relationship between ford and arthur

-the beware of the leopard bit

-when arthur see's fenchurch again for the first time while driving (before the raffle bit) and is so excited he nearly runs her over then hits her with the car door which flings her umbrella into the road. arthur helfuly says SHIT!

-at milliways when ford is explaining to arthur about how the universe started 'for a kicker' ''you get this bath see, and its connical see....''

-slartibartfast

-didnt i tell you i have a brain the size of a planet

-and basically the rest of the books really...


one of my favourite moments from all five books is at the start of 'Life..
Arthur has been onj his own in his cave for i think 3 years while fords gone off to explore. Arthur gets up one morning after his usual scream of horror and calmly announces to the world that he will go mad. Ford is perched on a rock watching and says 'good idea, did me the world of good' Arthur is massively shocked and also greatly relieved to see a real person, on the other hand ford is an almost immediately annoying person. ford puts his hand out and Arthur eventually shakes, putting all his relief and joy into it-ford disengages. after some mad explaining a sofa appears and is bobbing away acrross a field.
for very clear and distinct reaons they have to catch it. and they rlease whoops of joy and delight. they let everything go, all there worries, frustration, everything. and laughing and calling to each other to head off this irrational piece of furniture eventually catch it.

its a wonderfull moment, full of joy.


thanks for reading!!!! what'r your favourite moments??


brought to you by the constant genius of douglas adams,
excitment of that london,
and swindonia

elrossiter x x x x x x x x

some more sad deaths mondi. or. barry letss was aces, thankyou that man!

Barry Letts has died at the age of 84. how very sad, i can't stand all this death. Stephen Gately aswell at 33, sad sad sad.
Without Barry Letts doctor who would very probably not have seen the like of tom baker-the penultimate doctor for most-myself included. he wrote and created the character of sarah jane smith played by the wonderfull Elizabeth Sladen (my favourite 'never aging' companion). he originally worked on a William Hartnell episode but was most known for his stint during the Pertwee era. but forgive my ignorance and read about him from someone better clued in-

http://gallifreynewsbase.blogspot.com/2009/10/barry-letts-1925-2009.html




R.I.P. Barry Letts 1925-2009





R.I.P. Stephen Gateley 1976-2009



thats enough bad news.

brought to you by moving onto another subject

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x

elrossiter is here to receive your calls and information. or. ten days and alls well, hello, is this 57?

so i wake up at some undisclosed time early this friday morning, its still dark so not that early. and i litterally hear a sort of sizzling, burning sound. then quickly realise its on my bed, on my duvet. so i push the covers and jump out of bed, like pretty damned sharpish!! i htink by the time i was out of bed and stood looking at it, the sound was gone and i was slightly beggining to realise that maybe. . . . . something was slightly. . . not quite right. so i go an flick the light on and shuffle back over to the bed, i'm yaknow 'out of it like' and i look at the duvet and lift it up and look under it and that and ascertain that everythings fine and it was just my mind going a bit mental - so business as usual. i switch off the light and go back to bed. offcourse when i get back in i'm bein cautious and tentative, you know. . . just incase. you can't be too carefull can you?

it was the fact that i heard this ssssss burning or hissing, and i'm sure i saw the crease of duvet as something more than it was. it looked brighter and maybe coiled together and as if it could have been meting down toward my, well, legs! i could have been imaging a scene from one of the alien films. maybe ressurection when one of the aliens is slashed open and you see intestines an stuff burning through the floor.
just another case of hallucinatory/dream doing stuff. s'all good.


stand by for a hitchikers at 30 blogtactulerrrrrrr! WHOOT!! maybe satdi when i'm ungover like




hallucionatory dream time folks!

brought to you by irish cream coffee,
madness,
good peoples,
vogon poetry is offcourse the third worst in the univers. . .

elrossiter x x x x x xx x xx x x x x

i can't help it, i've been asking everyone 56. or. ha ha

Q. how many surrealists does it take to change a light bulb?



A. fish




this'll be what my search for surrealism came up with then ha





brought to you by richard hawley,
surreal fish
and green tea

elrossiter x x x x x x

what a waste of post 55. or. its not a waste, i enjoy bloggin

(in his head)
hey there i'm jez, hows it hangin?

(a little deeper)
hey there, i'm jez, hows it hangin?

(deeper still)
hey there i'm jez. hows it hangin?

the door opens to reveal addel i think her name was.
hey there i'm jez, hows it hanglin? (grimace)



PEEP SHOWS BACK!!!!!! whoot. and its still bloody brilliant! some people may well say 'uhh its not as good as it used to be, moan munch moan' but i think this series deffinatelly has it back, if maybe it wavered a bit durin series 4 an 5. in the last one, all the conversations about the boiler were brilliantly written, specially when mark goes mental at it towards the end. nice one david mitchell and robert webb!
awesome sauce!


brought to you by mark and jezs craaaaazy adventures,
chuck palahnuick,
all those wonderfull people in my life,
slartibartfast

elrossiter x x x x x x x x

what an absolute stunning weekend. or. 54, this's 54, last call for 54. . . . . . . . .

this weekend has been too good to be true! it really really has. and why's it been so good you enquire. because it has been spent with a lady (what else) a truly amazing beautifull wonderfull woman. saturday was spent babysitting from nine to eight and it was just so easy and comfortable, the day seemed to last forever and every moment was just right. and though shes gone back to mile end i'm gonna be seeing her again and then who knows what ha ha

i know i'm turning into mush as i type but i aint appolagisin for it, i could not have been happier. and the year and a month old baby we were sitting was a delight.


okay okay i promise not to jam up my blog with this sorta stuff but this one had to be said!

i was sacked from my job the monday just gone and tomorra is my last day. why was i sacked? because the bastards coudnt grind me down and i woudnt jump every time they said frog! anyway i'm over it, goin for a pint of black sheep after my shift. its like what someone at work said the other week-if your having an amazing social/love life or whatever outta work, work is most likely gonna be shit! its litteraly like you can't have both, finding a balance is near impossible. an lo an behold what happens to me? i get sacked then have possibly the best weekend of my life with an absolutely fantastyczny lady.

anyway they can go nannas, the owners and bosses are massive kwonts who do fuck all for there staff and grab at the money like scrooge on crack. i've been saying this for ages ha ha you can ask anybody. onwards and upwards!


DON'T LET THE BASTARDS GRIND YOU DOWN! thats one thing i've learnt.
this man knows what i'm talkin about




but what a weekend!

as long as you have a good time, thats all that matters.
this man knows what i'm talkin about






brought to you by everything i've up there i've just splurged at you,
thoughts of an upcoming visit to mile end,
good times,
and and fucken and (as they were named prior to 'the commitments'!

lots of love
elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

double r.i.p. tuesday. or. i don't know whats appnin, do you?! i don't

keith floyd passed away on monmday september 14th at the age of sixty five after suffering from cancer. he has been described as the epitome of gonzo tv for his cookery programs in the eighties and nineties, sounds good to me.







patrick swayze also fell victim to cancer on monday september 14th at the age of 57. theres that scary C word again. bloody ell honestly.



i'd like to end this on a slightly more uplifting note but haveto say i'm strugglin. i'm gonna make a cupper and leave it at that.



brought to you by a less than uplifting blog.

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x

Short Sharp Science - New Scientist

Short Sharp Science - New Scientist

Shared via AddThis

sundi neet nee internets. or. redrum-OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT

mi compooter done gone went cablooie (type ting) which sucks the ass big time!!!



on the plus side my auntie has given me a bag of old tapes (music cassettes) that belonged to my uncle david!! proper treasures they are, an to think they nearly got charity shopped is just hideous beyond words!


for those of you who don't know what i'm bangin on about, these are tapes-

http://images2.layoutsparks.com/1/147861/mixed-tapes-1-collection.jpg


and this is one from the colection-

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdBvDQlU6yS3a2b8Q55Sqm1fYJAHQ03gxd2yvZ1FeL84qPpAyyrDhPw3Hu1KIwvnA_75xfWtVStFbR1GlX-GQmbr7D55B5_XU6bJBLA9HyXZz5HpH8uoaycip4Hpq_5XiEJhfJlHWZKzEv/s320/earth+wind+fire+spirit.jpg

A GENIUS ONE!! its like listnin to an eighties cop show. reight good.


elrossiter is off to read the shining, pleasant nightmares to you all.




this blog is dedicated to the memory of my uncle david. he played drums for a group called 'the chuck fowler band' among others and was known on the old circuit as dave 'cannon' smith!




brought to you by echo and the bunnymen,
black sheep ale,
nic an daves engagement
and tapes!
love elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

hello's, unusal start to the day saturday. or. as long as you have a good time, thats all that matters.

well this morning i got out of bed at about 8.30 (on a saturday, what the duck) and went to the bathroom, all normal proceedings, and looked into the mirror to see a dead moth squished to my forehead..... which i wasn't expecting. i didn't wig or anything, i just plucked the poor little bugger off my loaf. he had staring beady little eyes-wish he'd obviously not been using. on his squashed body the eyes are almost obscenely large, as if he'd realised what was happening at the last second and they had ballooned in surprise daffy duck style.



tonight after i finish work and gonna mi mates for a birthday barby! and the blokes are all doing an 'Arthur Seaton' tribute from the brilliant film 'saturday night and sunday morning' (more to follow on this)








i'm out to have a good time, all the rest is propaganda.





brought to you by the fantastic Albert Finney as Arthur Seaton,
barby's
overtime

elrossiter x x x x x x xx

silencesilencesilencesilencesilencesilencesilence. or. . . . . . . . . . . . . . sundi

r.i.p. les paul


*blogging will resume shortly*

*please stand by to receive information*


elrossiter x x x x x xx x xx x

fuckinghell he's dead thursday. or. mental.

michael jackson is dead. aged fifty. if this is a massive publicity stunt and he like rises from the dead i'm gonna be massively pissed off! ! ! ! !






r.i.p. sky saxon of the seeds


brought to you by the dresden files,
tea,
country side

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x x

a full none blogging month of sundays, sunday. or. its now actually wednesday in actual fact, wednedsay.

hello there loyal fan type people. i havent blogged in a month an three whole days, god its mental that. busy with work an drinkin beer an that i spose. though i have still needed to get shiz off mi chest. maybe i'll get back into the schwing of it now.

updates list-

1. i have a beard
2. am on the 9th book of the dresden files by jim butcher with 10 and 11 lined up.
3. i've mostly got over the moaning about women bit and infact things are potentially looking up in that department.
4. have been camping and have another trip lined up, and a trip to that loondoon, and. . . . a massive adventure to bosnia to convene with my brother on his massive photography mission.
5. have tickets to see magazine-oh my god yes!
6. used the word hogwash for the first time ever-and baby it aint gonna be the last.
7. ians mick jagger impression was the best pulling technique i have ever seen ever! legend! she fainted because she was so overwhelmed by his masculinity!
8. lily allen is a fucking idiot.
9. one of the girls is the cutest, sweetest little thing i have ever met, bless her.
and 10. good times good times good times



brought to you by good times,
good people,
good books,
good beer
and making your own fate!

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

they drive me absolutely batty sunday. or. i love them and i hate them.

how is it that i'm still so utterly confused and fairly clueless about women? ! ? ! ?
they drive me completely and utterly insane they reall really really do! everytime you begin thinking something it changes or goes tits up or simply turns out you were wrong/mislead in the first place.

god help me i hope i figure something out soon before i give up entirely! they make me want to scream sometimes they really do.

bugger.


brought to you by the timeless confusion of the opposite sex,
and roller discos-they are aces!

elrossiter x x x x x x x x

satdi night, 45, dream me amadeus. or. bussiness as usual

a classical, surreal, inexplicable dream from elrossiter. here we goes-



i was at darnall (in sheffield folks). it was dark so presumably it was late evening. i enter a building that was next to that lighting place which is in turn next to wilkinsons- this buliding is actually opposite 'aquarious lighting' on that triangular patch of pavement. the building i entered was also triangular, yaknow fitting onto the pavement like. later on in the dream i remember making a triangular shaped motion above my head with my hands as description to someone. i had gone to this building to get myself a second job that was in the medical industry and was concerned with new born and prematurely born babys in the nursery like. i got the impresion it was a late evening, early morning job. when i got inside i went into what i could describe as a sort of teachers lounge, it looked like somethin from life on mars. i don't remember in what order i saw the people inside but there present were my good friend ian, another friend who i think was tom, a few people i did not know and the boss who was called gemma. the name gemma obviously came from a new colleague of mine, although it wasn't actually her. i'd had no idea ian or tom worked there and spoke to ian about it, he was like 'yeah yeah been here a while like' type thing, then the boss gemma gave me the overview of the job. i remember her saying to me that you have to be completely focused and that you can't leave the new borns for a single second because something bad would most probably happen. everyone was really relaxed in this 'not even slightly medical' type lounge and i think ian was telling me some stuff and there may have been some food put on. shortly later a poker table was set-up right there in the lounge. two tables side by side in the manner we used to set them up at the boozer i worked in.

shortly after this i was looking out of the window (and here's where it gets A'grade mental) at a tall office building somewhat in the distance. it was all green windows, a dullish emerald colour. the building then began to twist from the top, from my perspective it twisted to the left. all fluidly like it wasn't solid but made of a tough foamy material. then when it had twisted so far as if it had reached a stress point it, well, not exactly snaps or breaks but comes away from the foundation at ground level and snaps to the ground like it was magnetically attracted. at which point the building immediately begins moving towards the building i'm in. like a train or a tram, but there was no accelaration. the building upon toppling and hitting the ground on its side is instantly moving fairly fast, the roof top of the structure being the head of the building/train. so we all try to evacuate being as this office building that thinks its a train is only seconds from collision, and we just manage it. i dunno if there was any new born babys in the place we were in, i don't think i saw any! but ian somehow doesn't completely clear and is caught in the collision/blast. when all has settled i see ian on the ground and he's unconscious, i either find him in the rubble and carry him clear to a grassy bank close by or he's somehow thrown there and thats where i find him. either way we're on this grass and i don't know if he's alive, i maybe look for a pulse and don't find one. i'm seriously emotional and holding him and crying an that-i'm devastated not knowing what to do. a moment or two later he regains consciousness and i'm not sure if i realise this because he says something along the lines of 'easy mate, calm down i'm fine' yaknow that guy thing-whoa your a bit close there dude. so ians oaky then which is fantastic news!!! and i' certain he will think so too.

the next part is a little hazy but i remember walking away from darnall up the priince of wales road. not sure exactly who i was with but there was a small group of us and david from work made a brief appearance. though his bicep muscles in his arms were bigger-blatantly because he's said things like 'why aren't my arms that big?' at work. prince of wales road was different in that it had become more industrial, both sides of the road were lined with big, tall, grey factory buildings. and it had also become narrower so the factories were somewhat looming over head. sort of canyon like. so we got so far and i reallised i had to let my mum know i was alright as i'd just been involved in a pretty serious (not to mention surreal) incident, so i was texting her. just as we were getting to the footpath that leads away from the road towards my house my mum appeared from the path. we hugged and everything was alright. thats about all i remember.




just about finished listening to the doctor who big finish audio adventure-spare parts. featuring the fifth doctor and cyber men and written by marc platt. its pretty good actually and quite fucked up. certainly better than ghost shite!!!!!




brought to you by good good things,
strongbow,
spare parts,
skint satdi neet in

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x x x

heres that maaarvelous beat poet, john cooper clark thurs. or. nee socialisin with work girls tonight, descent readathon it is then.

I'm ankle deep in human waste
the toilet has been clogged
marrowbone jelly all over the place
I don't even have a dog
the man upstairs he grabs my arm
saying don't I know your dad
all I could hear were the fire alarms
the day my pad went MAD

all I could hear were the fire alarms
the day my pad went MAD

The kitchen has been ransacked
ski trails in the hall
a chicken has been dansacked
and thrown against the wall
in walks this dumb waiter
with a fountain pen and pad
saying how do you want this alligator
the day my pad went MAD

saying how do you want this alligator
the day my pad went MAD

The hamster had been slaugtered
the parrot bound and gagged
the guard dog had been sorted out
and absolutely shagged
the goldfish drowned, the cat was found
kicked around and stabbed
the radio did not make a sound
the day my pad went MAD

the radio did not make a sound
the day my pad went MAD

the pop-up toaster refused to pop
the chandelier was smashed
the starter motor would not stop
the tyres had been slashed
there was no way out of there
I was stuck with what I had
out of order, beyond repair
the day my pad went MAD

out of order, beyond repair
the day my pad went MAD

yesterday I had the place rewired
and slung out all of my junk
a tumble dryer and a two bar fire
and a telephone now defunct
I peeped through the venetian blinds
and the rain fell down so sad
on the broken home I left behind
the day my pad went MAD

on the broken home I left behind
the day my pad went MAD



Johnny's in the basement mixing up the metaphors
Ian Burns backstage with John Cooper Clarke-


John Cooper Clarke, the bard of Salford, is knackered. He's spent the last four days hauling his skinny arse, pillar to post clickety clack, from Colchester to Greenwich to Darlington and finally down to Soho, where he's perfecting his slump in the dressing room at Madam JoJo's, a grotty red velvet nite spot where the boys dress as girls, down by the seamy side.

The shades and birds-nest hairdo are present and correct, as are the beautifully worn-in spit and polished black chelsea boots. To complete the effect, this most stylish of our poets is squeezed into a pair of black bollock-tweaking drainpipes ("I know what yer thinkin'", he'll say, " 'ow can such a rich baritone emanate from such a frail androgynous figure?"), a striped "mod" jacket two sizes too small, and a stupendously colared seventies shirt. If Jarvis Cocker had made Blonde on Blonde, he'd have looked very much like this. He is nervously self-effacing about his appearance after four days of living out of a holdall - “I look a right mess...sorry about that,” but oh how disappointed his public would be if he presented himself in jeans and T-shirt. The hair and shades are all, his very own iconography...hell, he can even wear sunglasses in a dark nightclub without looking like someone you'd like to punch, and that's style. John Cooper Clarke has looked the same, give or take the odd striped jacket, for 20 years. As he's fond of saying, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

Some might say that this sartorial, and indeed tonsorial, attitude extends also to his poetry readings. He's been peddling the same poems for years. He's a seventies poet of no modern relevance (whatever the hell that means). As the coup de grace, some would point to the lack of published work as ultimate proof that the man is in a state of poetic stagnation. I ask him whether there'll be any new material in tonight's show.

“When did you last see me?” About five years ago. “Oh, there will be.”

A collection of his poems, 1981's "Ten Years In An Open Necked Shirt", is his only published work, and despite a number of reprints, it is now unavailable. This is a strange situation for one of our better known poets to be in, yet John Cooper Clarke carries with him such an air of comically resigned helplessness that you get the impression that he just can't be arsed with that end of the "business".

“'Well, my stuff ain't in the shops right now because...er...er...well, it's my fault, really! I've not done anything about it. I mean it's gonna happen, but...not with me in charge! I admit, I am well overdue for a new product.”

“Sardonic” is a word that you come across a great deal when John Cooper Clarke is mentioned. I looked it up in my Little Oxford: “Adj. grimly jocular; full of bitter mockery; cynical.” That's the man, officer. He speaks in slow measured tones, rolling his words around and fishing for ambiguities that are ever present in his poetry, and occassionally giving in to a dark chuckle. He is telling me about a book of poems that he is hoping to get published, called "Blue Picnic". “They're poems that have a kind of lugubriousness about them, almost to a Morrissey-esque extent...so miserable that they're funny. I mean, I hope people get it, because not everybody gets it with Morrissey, do they? That kind of misery can be incredibly humorous...it's meant to be funny... you don't write that kind of doleful stuff so that people'll come up to you and pat you on the head and say “there there”...you can write about it and make it incredibly enjoyable, you know?

“I'm also writing a novel...my first one...the “selected memoirs” of a Fleet Street hot shot, called “One Drink at a Time.” The main character is a hard boiled tabloid journalist who writes a column in a drinking establishment called the Pussycat Lounge. It's a well-ploughed furrow, I know, but I think I can bring something new to it...otherwise I wouldn't bother.”

And yet, with a new collection of poems and a novel in the pipeline, as well as a forthcoming role in "The Changeling" (based on the Jacobean tragedy by Thomas Middleton) and a diary that finds space for around 200 gigs a year, John Cooper Clarke will later tell his audience, “I've made a religion of indolence...I eat a third of a Mars bar a day to help me rest.” But then the truth ain't half as entertaining as the persona, and John Cooper Clarke does love a larf. His performance onstage is often drowned out with the stuff, and it is telling that the poetry he chooses to recite usually comes with a puchline. It is as though he lacks the confidence in his poetry to entertain on its own terms.

“Well, I've got loads of stuff that ain't good enough for performance... well, I s'pose I consider my ones that are good enough. The ones that I write that look OK on the page I just think, well what's the point? I've got millions of 'em. I guess someone else would put them in a book, but I think if they're not good enough to read aloud then what's the point of putting them in a book? I dunno...mebbe I'm wrong,” says the man Time Out calls a "near genius". "I mean, I road test new material all the time. That's the ultimate test, to see how a new poem goes over...and I do get nervous when a new poem is declaimed publicly for the first time.”

His art is a hybrid of poetry and stand-up comedy. “Well, people say it's a cop-out, but I like to keep the audience laughing, you know...if they're laughing then I can tell that they're still interested. I do have the odd poems that ain't a hundred laughs but I feel like I have to ask 'em, ”Did you like that one?" With some of the older stuff maybe the crowd laughs out of recognition, but I doubt that humour has a shelf-life. I don't think that humour is the only thing in my poetry, but then I do tend to concentrate more on that side for performance.”

outside the take-away saturday night
a bald adolescent asked me out for a fight
he was no bigger than a two-bob fart
he was a deft exponent of the martial arts
he gave me three warnings trod on my toes
stuck his fingers in my eyes and kicked me in the nose
a rabbit punch made my eyes explode my head went dead and I fell in the road

(from kung fu international)

“I've always told jokes on stage anyway, while I'm looking for the next number, like. You don't want to leave them in silence. I always feel it incumbent upon meself, cos even if I'm not on stage for very long, I like to keep every second occupied...it's ENTERTAINMENT...there's nowt worse than fumbling about while you look for the next poem, you know- "Sorry about this folks". So I tell a joke. And I know so many jokes that I can just tell them on automatic while I'm busy doing something else.”

I interrupt him to mention a memory I have of him offering a pound to anybody who could tell him a joke that he didn't know the punchline to.

“Well, I don't remember that...” (he pauses - timing is everything) “but I've never paid for a joke in my life! I've never wanted to be a stand-up comedian, though. Don't get me wrong though, I love comedians...welll, I s'pose I am a comedian...slightly...certainly when I play comedy clubs I do concentrate on the funny poems, but then last week I did a gig at the Birmingham Readers and Writers Association which was a Literary Event, so I did the slower, leisurely-walking-pace, observational stuff, some prose...

“When I work on the comedy circuit the onus isn't on me to be a comedian...a comedian has got to be funny or it ain't comedy, but poetry can still be poetry even if it ain't funny, can't it? In a way, I'm lucky that I can keep that sort of balance. When I first started doing readings - this is in the mid seventies - there weren't really any poetry venues, there wasn't a Poetry Scene, so I useta hafta perform at places like Mr Smith's, a club in Manchester where I did a Sunday night residency for a few years, for an audience that probably didn't even read books. But poetry has always been and always will be a very different way of writing, a minority interest. It's language with its best suit on, innit?”

He does love a rhetorical question, does John Cooper Clarke, sitting there in what is probably not his best suit, amidst the tat of a transvestite's dressing-room. “Places in decline inspire me. I like that. Places with a lugubrious air, like 'oliday places out o' season...Morecambe, Blackpool...Essex is full o' places like that...Southend, Clacton...Southend 'as the sort o' thing where you go to 'oliday resorts and you look at 'em and you think, “Faded Grandeur,” you know...in fact, Southend has the unusual distinction in that you can look around and, even considering the fact that it has declined, you can see that it was never any good anyway. You look at what's there along the promenade...why is the pet shop that's been there since 1958, still standing? Why is the fortune teller no longer there? The Italian ice-cream parlour- 'ow did it end up like that? I never answer these questions meself of course, but you 'ave to ask 'em!

“But I get my inspiration from a lot of places, not necessarily geographical. I mean, say, Beezley Street could be in any town. With a poem like “Love Story in Reverse.” I just thought, “Right! Endless stream of vituperative language!” It's a form, innit?

There's a great song by Louis Armstrong, called “I'll be glad when you're dead, you rascal, you” which is affectionate, but the things he says are unforgivable. So usually when I write it's because I've been inspired by things like that. You think, “Oh, that's a good idea...an endless stream of abuse" and if it rhymes, so much the better. But such poems aren't based on any one person- I'm not that misanthropic - but more a composite. When I was writing that poem, my main concern was keeping to the rhythm, keeping the rhyme schem rigid, and condensing it, making it relentless and unforgetable. The stylistic end is always the most important.”

Like a dose of scabies
I've got you under my skin
You make life like a fairytale
Grimm
Like a death at a birthday party
You spoil all the fun
Like a fucked and spat out smartie
You're no use to anyone

(from Love Story in Reverse) (or Twat as it was released)

John Cooper Clarke has never been afraid of incorporating the widest number of styles into his work. He is perhaps the only poet to successfully join poetry with rock, and his ascent in the mid seventies coincided with the DIY music boom that gave a voice to urgent young talent.

“Well, I started off writing in a band, The Vendettas, in the late sixties... but, yeah, punk helped because there was a lot 'appening, new places were opening up and getting lumped in with that scene opened up a lot of gigs and opportunities for me. It got me out of Manchester and around the world, really...but I've never felt meself to be part of any movement.”

It was around this time, facing crowds of speed-crazed punk rockaaahs, that he developed his on - stage declaiming voice that one writer has likened to “an auctioneer with a grudge against the world and a sneer as permanently attached as a scar.”

“Yeah, I do read some of my poetry very fast...that did start with punk, really...the high energy side of it. I thought, “Right. I'll read 'em fast.”...and it draws the audience in if they can't get all the words. It's like if you whisper into a microphone then they'll stop talking and listen, cos they feel excluded. If you shout “Shut up!” then they'll just carry on. Like with Chuck Berry in “Too Much Monkey Business” you can't get a lot of the words. I reckon Bob Dylan was influenced by that song when he wrote “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” cos you can never work out the words. Incomprehensibility has its own dynamic, there's no question about it.”

As showtime approaches, the manager of Madam JoJo's enters the room to explain that he can't be sure he'll be in a position to pay in advance, due to so-far sluggish box office action on this quiet Sunday night. I ask John Cooper Clarke if he still enjoys his role as a performance poet, and all the travelling, the living out of a holdall, all the dressing-rooms, all...THIS! “Yeah, I do...I mean, In really enjoy performing. I hate the travelling though, cos I don't drive, but...yeah, I do.”

Later that night, having entertained around a hundred of the faithful with a non-stop stream of poetry, jokes, banter and nonsequiturs, John Cooper Clarke bounds offstage with laughter ringing in his ears

interview by ian burns





brought to you by salfords finest,
the mystery of the hidden/non-existant fridge

elrossiter x x x x x x

the english bumble bee wednesday. or. if you'll excuse me i've just got to break out the smeg hammer to remove mr. listers underpants

bee's have hair on there eyes!



is that the first sign of madness? ? ?





brought to you by bumble bees,
and indeed all other commercially available forms of bee,
the descent by jeff long

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x

42nd post is it then, this can mean but one thing! or. you guessed it

blog number 42. can you really blame me for giving you some hitchhikers guide to the galaxy?! i mean come on there's just really no excuse NOT to throw some hitchhikers into the mix. i'd haveto be a madman not to! not that i've ever needed an excuse before like. anyways its a good bit at the restaurant at the end of the universe, not an obvious bit either. your welcome



arthur turned to ford - he hadn't quite got this place worked out in his mind.
'look, surely' he said, 'if the universe is about to end . . . don't we go with it?' ford gave him a three-pan-galactic-gargle-blaster look, in other words a rather unsteady one.
'no,' he said, 'look,' he said, 'as soon as you come into this dive you get held in this sort of amazing force-shielded temporal warp thing. i think.'
'oh,' said arthur. he turned his attention back to a bowl of soup he'd managed to get from the waiter to replace his steak.
'look,' said ford, 'i'll show you.'
he grabbed at a napkin off the table and fumbled hoplessly with it.
'look,' he said again, 'imagine this napkin, right, as the temporal universe, right? and this spoon as a transductional mode in the matter curve. . .'
it took him a while to say this last part, and arthur hated to interrupt him.
'thats the spoon i was eating with,' he said.
'all right,' said ford, 'imagine this spoon. . .' but found it rather tricky to pick up, 'no, better still this fork. . .'
'hey would you let go of my fork?' snapped zaphod.
'all right,' said ford, 'all right, all right. why don't we say. . . why don't we say that this wine glass is the temporal universe. . .'
'what, the one you've just knocked on the floor?'
'did i do that?'
'yes.'
'all right.' said ford, ' forget that. i mean. . . i mean, look, do you know - do you know how the universe actually began for a kick-off?'
'probably not,' said arthur, who wished he'd never embarked on any of this.
'all right,' said ford, 'imagine this. right. you get this bath. right. a large round bath. and its made of ebony.'
'where from?' said arthur. 'harrods was destroyed by the vogons.'
'doesn't matter.'
'so you keep saying.'
'listen.'
'all right.'
'you get this bath, see? imagine you've got this bath. and it's ebony. and it's conical.'
'conical?' said arhtur. 'what sort of. . .'
'shhh!' said ford. 'it's conical. so what you do is, you see, you fill it with fine white sand, all right? or sugar. fine white sand, and/or sugar. anything. doesn't matter. sugar's fine. and when it's full, you pull the plug out. . . are you listening?'
'i'm listening.'
'you pull the plug out, and it all just twirls away, twirls away you see, out of the plughole.'
'i see.'
'you don't see. you don't see at all. i haven't got to the clever bit yet. you want to hear the clever bit?'
'tell me the clever bit.'
'i'll tell you the clever bit.'
ford thought for a moment, trying to remember what the clever bit was.
'the clever bit,' he said, 'is this. you film it happening.'
'clever,' arthur agreed.
'you get a movie camera, and you film it happening.'
'clever.'
'that's not the clever bit. this is the clever bit, i remember now that this is the clever bit. the clever bit is that you then thread the film in the projector. . . backwards!'
'backwards?'
'yes. threading it backwards is deffinately the clever bit. so then, you just sit and watch it, and everything just appears to spiral upwards out of the plughole and fill the bath. see?'
'and that's how the universe began is it?' said arhtur.
'no,' said ford, 'but it's a marvellous way to relax,'
he reached for his wine glass.
'where's my wine glass?' he said.
'it's on the floor.'
'ah.'
tipping back his chair to look for it, ford collided with the small green waiter who was approaching the table carrying a portable telephone.
ford excused himself to the waiter explaining that he was extremely drunk.
the waiter said that that was quite all right and that he perfectly understood.
ford thanked the waiter for his kind indulgence, attempted to tug his forelock, missed by six inches and slid under the table.







brought to you by pure and unfiltered genius

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

happy easter an that wednesday. or. if your not a good little rabbit, the general will come for you

x x x x HAPPY EASTER FROM GENERAL ELROSSITER x x x x

fourtieth boy have i been slack with bloggage, NEW JOB saturday! or. anti-spectacular big four oh.

well hello hello people. both real and figments of my imagination. i have been slack on here which may be because the mental flow of dreams has been, well, less mental and flowing than usual. i don't know why, nothing much has changed. not until the wednesday just gone that is, when i found out i had got the job!!! YEAH BABY!!

ELROSSITER HAS GOT A JOB!!! HELL YEAH! and it only took several million years.i start monday and i am very happy about it. so aswell as celebrating at the yell gig tonight i am throwing some pictures of some of my favourite people and things of the moment and of all time, out there to you folks. and thats it, more later-


























brought to you by MY NEW FUCKING JOB!!!!,
YES,
YES,
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSS!!!!

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

new books for elrossiter!! or.buffalo and bison. bison and buffalo thursday

i'm not blogging much am i. no real and/or profound reason why not. wow that was thrilling!!!

i have dicovered-



i present to you the dresden files by jim butcher -applause, fanfair, balloons, a child handing me a flower etc. so its a modern day fantasy/detective/character driven/real world trying to deal with magic/chicago based romp, in my own words! okay so it hasn't exactly created it's own sub genre through originality but theres certainly enough there for it to be plenty interesting and apppealing. our hero being the wizard harry blackstone copperfield dresden whom is trying to pay the rent by making available his highly specialised services-

HARRY DRESDEN — WIZARD

Lost Items Found. Paranormal
Investigations.
Consulting. Advice. Reasonable Rates.
No Love Potions, Endless Purses, Parties
or Other Entertainment

-this's all sposed to be in the middle but the twat won't have it!! its on a plaque next to his door. the other main character is lieutenant karrin murphy. harry's expertise are often called in by the 'old bill', by murphy who is the director of special investigations and harry is their 'libary of the supernatural on legs'. i love the relationship these two have, which at times is extremely shaky. they sort of need each other. harry also has a massive cat called mister who we like.


anyway trust me its good, do as i did an get the first from yer local library enporium and look for the next few in the series in a cheap bundle!


aye so storm front ofcourse being the first in a series of many. borrowed from mi wonderful local library emporium yesterday and read three quarters of it. this's my favourite kind of easy/fun readin that i can sit down with anywhere and just tear through it. the perfect escape book! i mean i love joseph heller and irvine welsh to pieces but sometimes you just need somethin thats doesnt require you to remember a million characters and previous events. catch-22-love it but you need full concentration for hours on end, with storm front-read on the bus nee problem.

okay so its got a good premiss, interesting characters you care about one way or another and a good story you can think about. perfect trash,in the best way! theres also a tellevision series which may be great but i'm not gonna watch it cos i'm always slightly disappointed and i much prefer imaging the characters an that for myself anyways.



what else have i got to say. i'm doing the photography for mi mates night 'no uniform' tomorrow so that'l be good, bands, dancing, getting drunk etc. got a job interview in the mornin for a crappy clothes shop so hopefully that'l go well! and rewatching the eccleston doctor who's-which are absolutely fucking brilliant!




brought to you by, jim butchers dresden files,
echo and the bunnymen,
avoiding doing anything usefull,
tea

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

inspired by no smoking in the skullcave friday. or. easy monay!

thas right, the newly discovered most excellent 'no smoking in the skull cave' and becca thereof have inspired this-



Im the darkness in the light
Im the leftness in the right
Im the rightness in the wrong
Im the shortness in the long
Im the goodness in the bad
Im the saneness in the mad
Im the sadness in the joy
Im the gin in the gin-soaked boy

Im the ghost in the machine
Im the genius in the gene
Im the beauty in the beast
Im the sunset in the east
Im the ruby in the dust
Im the trust in the mistrust
Im the trojan horse in troy
Im the gin in the gin-soaked boy

Im the tigers empty cage
Im the mysterys final page
Im the strangers lonely glance
Im the heros only chance
Im the undiscovered land
Im the single grain of sand
Im the christmas morning toy
Im the gin in the gin-soaked boy

Im the world youll never see
Im the slave youll never free
Im the truth youll never know
Im the place youll never go
Im the sound youll never hear
Im the course youll never steer
Im the will youll not destroy
Im the gin in the gin-soaked boy

Im the half-truth in the lie
Im the why not in the why
Im the last roll of the die
Im the old school in the tie
Im the spirit in the sky
Im the catcher in the rye
Im the twinkle in her eye
Im jeff goldblum in the fly

well who am i?





and many thanks to becca for zi inspiration!



today i stood 'like a tool' for four and a half hours outside the sheffield arena queuing for u2 tickets. they most certainly were not for myself (i have no desire whatsoever to see the ole pretentious, world saving, tax dodgin bono and his crew) but for mi dad. he is a long time fan, as in before bono started on his crusade etc so i'll forgive him that. an easy way to earn this weekends beer credits anyways! BEER FOR ELROSSITER-YES!


brought to you by the twice mentioned blog above,
hopes of an amazing weekend,
the divine comedy,
american psycho

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x

some bad shit wednesday. or. please don't say crack jeremy, cos when you say crack it makes me think about crack. and i love crack!

whats goin on out there man? theres some fucked up shit on the news (as per) a bloke convicted of rape and murder has been discovered after 27 years of incarceration to be innocent. so who the fuck did it then?! the bastards been walkin around for nearly 3 decades like a normal person! i don't know.


on a less depressing note, the colour of this yogurt is fantastic! its lemon and passionfruit and looks luminous-maybe its the soft light. the suns been good this last couple days, hell i put shorts on yesterday!! whew i know, i know. hope this weekend goes well, lookin forward to seein mi old college friend.





peep show man seriously-its sooo good. feckin funny funny stuff!


Mark - If you ask me Skywalker was bloody lucky to get away with turning off his guidance system

"Note to self re being the Fonz. Mark, you are not the Fonz."

sophie - Mark you said she was a nuckle head and to nuckle down or you would nuckle her fat head.

Jez - This is good. This is just like watching a porno, except I can't see anything, I haven't got a hard-on, and I want to cry...

Jez - I wish I was a robot, maybe I could punch through a wall (to Mark) 'How thick is wall?'


brought to you by getting nothing of importance whatsoever done,
dune messiah,
mitchell and webb,
the loverly sun

elrossiter x x x x x x xx x x x

monday back to ink, paper, tea, garden, diary bloggin, elrossiter, broken computer, oh my, what, i dunno, who are you. or. computer bust=slow blogs

thas right cats i'm not dead (you can't trust the headlines nowadays can ya?) my computer has merely temporaraly flown the coop (bust that is)

i am currently blogging from the darnall library. and boy am i gonna become a regular here! so little time so much to unnescasary rubbish to fling at you!

was interrupted from my dream this mornin by a fone call-consarn it idle (shakes fist at sky). was on my back garden which looked like a weird birthday petting zoo type affair. cages with rabbits and guinea pigs and groups of people. some nob ead put a pit bull in with the rabbits but there were no casualties! i had a little moan about it and was about to go upstairs with a lovely lady i had been with, i think she a cross between to birds i know but i can't remember which one. was rudely awoken anyways, just before i got to the good stuff yamean.



how awesome is peep show?!?


why does flying around the planet at unheard of speeds thus making the planet spin the other way reverse time and not just send everyone flying into space or liquify them?! still good though

brought to you by tea,
darnall library-thankyou thankyou,
supes

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

you could spend the morning walking with me quite amazed. or. as i am unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed

Spy, spy, pretty girl
I see you see me through your window
Don't turn your nose up
Well, you can if you need to, you won't be the first or last

It must strain you to look down so far from your father's house
And I know what a louse like me in his house could do for you

I'm the cream
Of the great utopia dream
And you're in the gleam
In the depths of your banker's splean

I'm a phallus in pigtails
And there's blood on my nose
And my tissue is rotting
Where the reats chew my bones
And my eye sockets empty
See nothing but pain
I keep having this brainstorm
About twelve times a day
So now, You could spend the morning walking with me
Quite amazed
As I am Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

I got eyes in my backside
That see electric tomatos
On credit card rye bread
There are children in washrooms
Holding hands with a queen
And my heads full of murders
Where only killers scream
So now you could spend your morning talking with me
Quite amazed
Look out, I'm raving mad and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

Now you run from your window
To the porcelain bowl
And you're sick from your ears
To the red parquet floor
And the braque on the wall
Slides down your front
And eats through your belly
It's very catching
So now, you should spend the mornings lying to your father quite amazed
About the strange Unwashed and Happily Slightly Dazed.




unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed elrossiter x x x x x x x x

wednesday i knew that was gonna happen! or. whats that kringer doing in my dreams, get out get out get out!

wednesday afternoon drinkin tea, listenin to pulp-now that we've got the pleasantries outta the way. lets get on with it, what do you say? whatever


so one of the two things has gone tits up which i was secretly expectin but hopin woudnt happen! means i can go massively on the pull though if the mood takes me. plus it allowed me to just nip to the shop to buy a snickers (get some nuts an all that) and lucozade with a pathetic portion of the dosh i was savin. so whos the winner really. . . . . . . . . .



mr. T obviously.



had two dreams last night. i know for a fact that they were both mental and in-depth but frigged if i can remember much of em. one featured 'the infernal kringer' himself. i can picture in my head what was goin on but describing it is another matter. but i'll have a go-

he was doing something that was almost like some twisted deformed olympic event. he was going over some ground, indeed gliding over it (in the manner of peter pan), and carving out lines. two parallel lines that curved and went back over themselves all over the place. i used the word carving earlier because he was using one of those pronged pieces of cuttlery used to to transfer freshly carved meat onto hunger peoples plates. we may have been on mountain because at some point there was snow and ted from scrubs (again with the dreaming about scrubs!) went carreening down a slope. i can clearly picture him in a heap, see him jacket, tie, face and side hair! yeah i dunno what else.


the other was a docotr who dream 'cough' geek! 'cough'-

its frustrating to buggery cos i know loads'a stuff kicked off! there were these robot guys. and they were new york taxi yellow with clunky torso's but the heads were the interesting part. they just swivelled round with no up or down and were kind-of put together in a make-do sort of way. we'd (i don't know who 'we' are) done somethin earlier on to alter their evolution an they weren't how they should have been, think they should have been some magnificent race or somethin. i could av been playing the ole doctor i'm not sure, the master was there though! with his beard and all. at another point we were at this place and there were these largeish pedestal/almost throne type jobbys with these alien guys at the top. the alien guys were semi immobile and dependant on these jobbys they sat in. me an the master were there and on these things were bars of chocalate which we climbed to get at. the chocalaye was lush an we climbed several for the different bars, the alien guys got slightly alarmed and nervous but coudnt do frig all about it so that was that.

lastly a bit in the depths of space. the master was in a small shuttlelike craft, quite like one of the vipers from modern battlestar galactica. he was hoofing it from a fleet of ships he'd obviously pissed off/screwed over/generally been evil to and was heading for what must have been a gateway to another part of space or maybe time. it was a series of rings one behind another. but he wasn't quick enough and was stopped by another ship (tractor beam or summat) while partly through and pulled out inbetween two rings. it looked good in my head. . . .



roger delgado


that is all.


brought too ya by pulp,
lucozade,
michelle shocked

elrossiter x x x x xx xx x xx x

chest hair tuesday. or. infact no-chest hair tuesday it is!!

apparently tom jones has insured his chest hair for 3.7 million pounds. i think thats brilliant!

but does that mean he could go an shave it off. . . . then make up anything he blummin well wanted to?!



coudnt bring myself to put a picture of im with the chest out. your welcome!



i heard this wonderful story by mr jones on radio 2 the other month. he was talking about elvis presley right because they were buds or whatever. apparantly the king was a bit of a gun fanatic and had quite a few, because of which the f.b.i. had to give him a liscence. to make it easy for him to carry guns across borders e.t.c. so elvis 'the king' presley was an official f.b.i. agent! how cool's that! mr jones still has a gun engraved with elvis' initials that he gave him. i think thats cool. you may not.


brought to you by whats new pussycat?
insuring parts of your body why not,
amsterdam by bowie

elrossiter x x x x x x x

the muchly anticipated bill drummond/echo and the bunnymen spectacularrrr. or. all that copying was a nightmare

lets start with a-

zimbo zimbo zimbo zimbo zimbo

and continue with a-

chunky thighs


Finder and original manager of echo and the bunnymen and the teardrop explodes. Wordsmith. Million quid burner. Justified ancient of mu mu. Scots man. And good ole mentalist. It is ofcourse if you haven’t already guessed BILL DRUMMOND! his writing style is such that no matter what he’s talking about you are completely absorbed, nourished and entertained.

Writing this has suddenly become such a burden and is rapidly losing its fun’ness so I’ll only keep goin until it starts grating.


Okay so the book 45 is fantastic to say the least. Entitled so because he put it out at the age of. . . . from the shores of lake placid is a favourite when he’s talking about the beginnings of the bunnymen and the teardrops on Mathew street Liverpool. The cavern club etc. at one point he is being interviewed by some journalist on a train about said bunnymen and just decides to give his mind free reign to say what it will. And it does.-

it’s the interstellar ley line. It comes carrering in from out os space, hits the world in Iceland, bounces back up, writhing about like a conger eel, then down Mathew street in Liverpool where the cavern club – and latterly erics – is. Back up twisting, turning, wriggling across the face of the earth until it reaches the uncharted mountains of new guinea, where it shoots back into space. Deep space. You know what ley lines are? Those things that hippies are into, imaginary power lines across ancient Britain, lines that can be traced by saxon churches, stone circles, burial mounds, that sort of stuff. But just boringly straight and static. Well, this interstellar ley line is a mega-power one. Too much power coming down it for it not to writhe about. The only three fixed points on earth it travels through are Iceland, mathew street in Liverpool and new guinea. whenever something creatively or spiritually mega happens anywhere else on earth, it is because this interstellar ley is momentarily powering through the territory.
Whenever the bunnymen do a brilliant gig, we know its because they were on the line. Sometimes its only there for a couple of songs. Sometimes it pumps down through one bit of thee world for a few days, even a couple of years. . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I make light of what I have already said. But inside my head I’m going, ‘ofcourse, it all makes sense: interstellar ley lines, why had I not realised before?’ another part of my brain is going, ‘you fuckin eejit Drummond, get a grip.’

-brilliant. Another fascinating, mad, entertaining, gripping bit of this section is Drummond talking about the ‘echo’ character-





the bunnymen are understandably asked, whos echo? And will, mac and les answered ‘our drum machine’. With the benefit of hindsight, I am sure that with their answer my relationship with the bunnymen started to take a dark and possibly dangerous path. They were wrong. Echo was not the drum machine. I knew even if they didn’t, that the real echo was something to do with the devil rabbit that balfe had illustrated for the sleeve. A character named smelly elly had come up with a number of imaginary band names, including echo and the bunnymen.



He then proceeds to the library and goes on mad tangents to find this echo character assuming the bunnymen reffered to his followers! He then eats through religion/myth/tribal books and comes up with echo the greek mountain nymph and a mythical hero of the alonquin tribe of red Indians of northern Canada. His name was klustave and he can take the form of a hare or rabbit to travel the world. There was also a nomadic Siberian tribe with a rabbit spirit who, in some way, was involved in regeneration. Then he discovers the concept of the trickster which he gets very caught up in. anyroad the echo character keeps appearing in one form or another on the record covers. Its all brilliant stuff-go read it I’ve had enough of typin!!!


Okay one more thing. On julian cope-

Julian had a new band every week, each with a manifesto, a built in history and a moral high ground. This weeks band was called the teardrop explodes. I instantly knew this was the greatest name for a band I had ever heard.


okay i'm done an i ain't checkin fer typo's!

the heaven up here album is amazing, i love the teardrop stuff i know, bill also goes on about sych things as, travelling, art, soup and scotland-its a fuckin genius book. please read it or don't, i no longer care.
good night!


brought to you by anchorage,
crap technology,
show of strength,
over the wall

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x x x x xxx x x x x

been dazed an confused for so long its not true mondi. or. new week, new life?

there are two things kicking off for me this week. if they both come off as i hope they will, it will be a freakin sweet week! hell if one of em comes off it'll still be pretty damned freakin sweet! fingers crossed man.

i had two dreams last night an i can only remember a bit of one. i woke up at some point thinkin-woof! gotta get that bad boy down a.s.a.p. so lets see if it comes back to me.

god i think thats it fer the moment. except. . . . . whats a googlewhack?!?!? and no ''you can get cream for that you know'' remarks cheers mate ta!


and because this post REALLY needs an image-





brought to thi by john paul jones,
the hulk,
waistcoats,
pancakes

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x

first things first but not necessarily in that order sunday 30. or. thank the gods i'm hungover thirty!

do you know what yer gonna haveto wait for the drummond/echo fest cos i've not got it in me to write it all now!! i can hear the millions of you now, weeping and such-not much longer, keep yer pecker up!!

yes you read correctly. i am indeed happy to be hungover. not because i'm some sort of sado masachist-thats got nothing to do with it! but because it means i went out last night and didn't stay in the house moping about getting massively depressed and frustrated! it was good, i got drunk on pints, had some good chin wagging, stan made me laugh with his whistling along to the tunes, basically i escaped for a bit which was prexactly what was needed.


what else. . . yes ha ha ha another dream! you lucky people-

okay so we were going in search of the 'brown rhino' to yaknow save it sort of thing!! we were in new zealand (the home of the brown rhino?) hmm. . . there was a small group of us, which included tony robbinson, TONY ROBINSON KIDS-YES! we were in a hilly dry area and i can really only remember sliding down a hill and the end of the dream. which was when me an tony spotted the beasty. he slid down a hill which turned up at the bottom into a natural ramp. he took to the air and splashed down in a smallish pool of water which was where the rhino was at. i followed and landed in the pool, sinking to the bottom. i tried to swim up but didn't make any progree, then i woke up-presumably so i didn't drown. tony robinsom though folks!






time for sunday dinner!!!!

brought to you by tony robinson,
david bowie,
pints of beer

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x xx

thursday he who controls the spice, controls the universe. or. WORLD BOOK DAY!

STING! is Feyd Rautha. ha ha how can you not love sting? ? ? its impossible, an he looks far better than he should with that ginger hair (i don't fancy him, he's just cool). 'clears throught' yeah i j ust watched the david lynch DUNE film. its pretty good i think, some of it very good! patrick stewart is gurney halleck for flip sake ha ha ha-did not expect that. i loved the narration thing where we hear peoples thoughts, WHY IS THAT NOT USED MORE? ? ? especially with films of books, the narration is generally what makes the book so amazing in the first place! visually very very good! sand worms looked amazing. the baron was great, the massive disgusting, lunatic, pedo, cannibal, psyco bastard that he is! the casting of paul, jessica, the reverand mother, kynes, leto, the baron, rabban, feyd, yeou and hawat i thought were very good. stilgar wasn't quite what i'd imagined and the little alia did'nt have anywhere near as much impact as the book! i didn't get what that big pragging head/creature in that tomb thing was?! gonna re-read to find out. an the shields were a bit sketchy an i didn't like what they did with 'the voice', i saw it as being the subtleist of changes/intonations of the voice. and i wanted to see more of stilgar and more of pauls trust gaining of the fremen.





all things considered a very ace film of such a massive book!!! ofcourse after reading the book the film seems like the cliffnotes to it which is ultimately inevitable. so i've decided i'm not gonna bother watching the films and just read the books for the most part.





quotes-

gods what a monster.

water is life.

lovely feyd.

he who can control a thing, can destroy a thing.

i must not fear, fear is the mind killer.

worm sign.

THE SPICE MUST FLOW!



brought to you by sting (not fancyin him, thinkin he's cool),
waistcoats,
michael jacksons comeback dates-who gives a shit?!
he is the kwisatz haderach,
bill drummond

elrossiter x x x x x x x

don't speak too soon wednesday (he says with a cheesy grin. or. the excitement, the bewilderment, the surprise, the apprehension and the hope

out of the three massively gash things that were going on today, one of them has just (lets hope i'm not speaking too soon here) hopefully come up trumps! well step one of it at least! i'm not gonna get ahead of myself too much but i'm all a'nervous an excited. it has been a while after all. when i say 'a while' i ofcourse mean a million years!



the bill drummond/echo and the bunnymen blog of the century is still on its way so don't be a'frettin


brought to you by one mental day of up and down which is currently very much up,
the dune film i'm about to watch with sting,
not getting ahead of one's self,
zimbo zimbo zimbo zimbo zimbo

elrossiter x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

wednesday. or. . . . . . . .

bugger

elrossiter can only get so far tuesday. or. normal dreams about women

unbelievably last night i had two dreams about woman! whoopdifuckindoo you may well say, fair enough. but its been so pragging long since i've had a relatively normal dream, let alone two in a row! so suffer or don't, sup to you's


the first was brief but seemed to be set in a knocking shop, like the one i pictured from early on in catch 22 when there in paris, nately's whore an all that! don't remember much, two woman, probably had sex with one.


the second was much better! i had a wife and daughter, at least i assume they were my wife and daughter ha ha. my wife had very dark brown straight hair with a fringe, and was most attractive! my daughter had the same hair i think but yaknow shorter, in fact i'm pretty sure ahe was based on this illustration by the fantabulous rich, in the last pannel, the little girl looking quizzicaly at k-9-
http://comics.shipsinker.com/2009/03/02/the-10-doctors-page-198-2/

anyway i was with my wife in the shower 'having a very good time' then we got out and she was in a dressing gown, so was i presumably. i'm not too sure of the setting, could almost have been an old wooden ship, the walls an floor made out of wood. anyway my daughter only showed up briefly an we sent her to get us two beers (if i ever become a father i will never do this) my wife then produces this very large bottle of 'double scotch', the bottle was plastic as it had some give to it, rectangular and overly large. there was something on the inside wall of the bottle that looked almost like vains. these turned out to sort of water the scotch which i then believe my wife told me after letting me taste it. it was quite drinkable and i noticed it was only like 9%. at this point i became cheeky with her dressing gown and noticed how red her back was from the shower. then we went to the bed and thats all you get to hear! needless to say all conncerned had a good time.



stay tuned for a future bill drummond/echo and the bunnymen blogtactular! whatta writer and whatta band!!! who is this echo? is he a sinister trickster or the only one with a clue? and what have interstellar ley lines to do with him?







brought to you by wonderfull wonderfull dreams,
bill drummond/echo an'bunnymen,
life on mars,
absinthe


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