I hear music, but there's no-one there

Here's a little something I nicked from kinkywolfgang on The Word blog

How to Create Your Debut Album

1 - Go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first random Wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to Random quotations: http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.

If you want to do this again, you'll hit refresh to generate new quotes, because clicking the quotes link again will just give you the same quotes over and over again.

3 - Go to flickr's "explore the last seven days" http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/

Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

Put it all together, that's your debut album.

So, pop-pickers, may I draw your attention to my latest opus:

Vistilia

To argue about them



Now you try.

A holiday, a holiday, and the first one of the year ...

When I was 17, Miss Webb took the A Level French group to Paris. This was an occasion of many firsts in my life: first trip abroad, first holiday away from parents, first stay in a hotel, first flight in a plane, and and so on. It was not, however, my first experience of unrequited love: that had happened when I was five and David threw my valentine's card in the bin without even reading it. And that pretty much set the tone of my relationship with lurv for the next decade or so.

Anyway, on the Paris trip the object of my moonstruck gazing was Richard. He - tall, dark and fairly handsome - was however largely oblivious of me - small, mouse and fairly gruesome (it took me a while to grow into my beauty but I did, in the end) - choosing instead to set his cap at my roommate Julie of the dark ringlets and womanly curves (in retrospect, I can see his point).

However, he and I did discover a mutual love of Curved Air (though in his case, I think it was more a love of Sonja Kristina than the band in toto) and fell to talking about music in general. And it was thus that I learned for the first time of Fairport Convention. Richard loved them with an all-consuming passion and, in order to give me a taste of fairporty goodness, taught me the words to Matty Groves. Yes, all the words - well, we were in Paris for a whole week.

When we got home, I went out and bought History of and a lifelong love of folk music was begun.

So I went to Paris hoping for a snog, but instead I got this great, rich, wide musical tradition. I think I got the better part of the bargain.

Cheers Richard.

Meanwhile in Emmerdale ... (4:2 haiasI)

... Dopey Jo, a formerly feisty young woman whom lurv has rendered mindlessly unregarding of her own safety, was finally pushed too far by her meat-fisted lunk of a husband, Andy the Batterer last night.  An unfortunate altercation in the barn, whence Jo had fled for 'safety' (seemingly heedless of the fact that Andy has a propensity to burn alive in such buildings the women he loves) ended with the Batterer battered, or at least impaled on a nasty, sharp piece of farm equipment ...

... thus proving that Jo really needs to reread her Bible.

... all the dead Christmas trees ...

The Unprofessionals

When the worst thing happens,
That uproots the future,
That you must live for every hour of your future,

They come,
Unorganized, inarticulate, unprofessional;

They come sheepishly, sit with you, holding hands,
From tea to tea, from Anadin to Valium,
Sleeping on put-you-ups, answering the phone,
Coming in shifts, spontaneously,

Talking sometimes,
About wallflowers, and fishing, and why
Dealing with Kleenex and kettles,
Doing the washing up and the shopping,

Like civilians in a shelter, under bombardment,
Holding hands and sitting it out
Through the immortality of all the seconds,
Until the blunting of time,

         U A Fanthorpe  (1995) Safe as houses.
            Calstock: Peterloo Poets