I’d hoped to return to this blog from 5 days away in Weirdy Conference Land with tales of its Kookaburras and Meerkats. As venues go, an agricultural college specialising in rare and cutesy breeds didn’t look too bad on paper. But that was before we found out how abominably cold and wifi-less it was, and how peculiar the desire on the part of the catering staff to serve chips with every meal (including breakfast). Constipation & shivering IN A VOID is no lifestyle choice, my friends.
Short of ranting about what became known as the Oscillating Whoopee Cushion Abdomen Effect or outlining the latest stats from UK supermarkets regarding the price of half cucumbers, I’m forced to rely on one or two items of banter from Facebook to steer me in the direction of potential blog content, all of which makes this post a cornucopia of pseudo-miscellanies.
Here’s a suggestion from Robin:
[What is the] song that most resonated with you when you were in your late teens. And why...
Answering this was a tricky one. I could pretty much dip my net into the waters of Jethro Tull’s back catalogue and pull out any song you like. Depending on my mood (and the cut of my pyjamas), most of them would be a perfect fit for this question at some time or another.
But right now, I’m plumping for Dun Ringill. By the late 70s it was curtains for most of the bands I liked as long hair and camel butt crack flip flops were cast aside in favour of safety pins and noise. Jethro Tull managed to hang on longer than most, and their 1979 offering, Stormwatch, is not just good because it wasn’t bad. Massive changes were in the air at that time, palpable changes that festooned many a scrotum with goosebumps the size of Rice Krispies. I was 16 going on 17, drinking beer and smoking fags instead of skateboarding, turning awkwardly in a wafer thin cocoon of change. This song truly was an island refuge in a storm-tossed sea.
Hmmm. A little too much dressing up going on here, Mr Anderson...
And from Sarah:
[Tell us] your favorite color and how the deeper meaning of that juxtaposes with the state of the Universe. Or maybe the mystery of fart odors.
Colour isn’t really the issue for me. What matters is the depth and shade of the colour. I could say, for instance, that I’m rather fond of purple but some shades of purple are so light and insipid that they drop down the Likeability Scale below colours I don’t normally go for. A good deep purple, a dark burgundy, a Royal blue etc — it’s these I like rather than all the pale stuff (unless the paleness borders on some form of off white). As for the mystery of fart odours, there is none. Thanks to the chips at the Agricultural Meerkat College from Hell, I’ve generated enough foul smelling gas since Tuesday to create a miniature biosphere capable of sustaining intelligent death.