Frustrated of Woolwich

Well, no actually, it's not that bad. But my music quota has dropped drastically recently. And the reason? Well, I'm not sure that reason comes into it when music is concerned. There has been very little variation in my music habits recently and due to an on-going feud with Secure Mail Services, I didn't even make Decoration's gig on Friday night (it's a lame excuse really and isn't actually much of a feud. Can one feud on one's own or must it be reciprocated? Unrequited feuding is so last year).
It's all the fault of "podcasting" although again, podcasting probably doesn't worry too much about me. Between The Now Show, Danny Baker, Martin Kelner, Smodcast, Test Match Special and the rest, I really haven't been interested in listening to much music.
When I started going to the gym I packed the ipod with lots of very long songs. I figured that if I was rowing, I would complete the programme by listening to two Talk Talk songs (say New Grass and After The Flood, both nine minutes each). Better to think "I'll row to the end of this song" than "I'll row to four more songs". Better to think neither in truth but you get the point. So, despite the self-indugent drivel that constitutes podcasting (and this coming from a "man who blogs", I refuse to call myself a blogger however Kevin Smith really should take a long hard look at himself and say, over and over again, "I'm not that interesting, I will shut up about my life especially about my sex life and bowel movements.")I'm now cycling away for forty-five minutes on the exercise bike safe in the knowledge that I'll still have ten minutes of Danny Baker to listen to whilst doing some weight.
However, if pushed (and stop pushing me you bully) to select the best song ever if only for the next fifteen minutes then I'll return to Hell's Ditch, by far the best Pogues album probably because Shane's influence is more diluted. But Ghost Of A Smile is by a long way, the best song ever.
It is my mission for the week to try to find something different, something beyond my comfort zone.

So, this irony thing like, you know? (Dave Eggers fans look away now)

Well, I'm not sure if this is ironic as the definition seems to be shifting around. I'd ask that bloke Eggers but he's turning into a strange beast, especially if anyone read that awful piece on football published in the observer at the start of the month. And if I want advice on writing a novel I'll avoid asking you because yours if such a major disappointment. I mean, I liked that first book AHBWOSG and the short stories are kind of ok (but not AHBWOSG) but the novel sucks the root my good man. Did you even finish writing it? It feels like an attempt to put all the ideas swirling around inside your head for the last thirty years into 120,000 without bothering to check on whether anyone wants to listen or not.
Face it, the best writing you will ever put on paper happens to be the introductions to MacSweeney's.
But irony. You know about that.
Which leads me to my point (cue thunderous applause or tumbleweed delete as appropriate).
For the next fifteen minutes (although maybe all day, I do have pool to play, guiness to drink and three good Star Wars films to watch) the best song ever really is a belter.
If I Should Fall From The Grace Of God (geddit) by The Pogues

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