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  Wed 21st December 2011

I get home and the house is as much of a hothouse as I left it at 10am. The heating is on all day, running up a bill in the hundreds - seven is my guess - of which I will have to pay a third. S doesn't understand money - Daddy's paying for everything. My only hope is that his girlfriend, who has already left for Hungary, will admonish him about the bill, of which she will have to pay a third, when she comes back. I used to have combined gas and electricity bills of no more than seventy pounds a quarter.

In town today I met someone who was my next door neighbour for eight years. We lived in farm cottages built in 1675. Just a coal fire. That was it. At night, jumpers wrapped round your head, and I actually wore long johns. We were remembering how cold it was there. "Why should anyone think they have the right to a warm house all the time?" I said. Only through endless access to money can anyone think this.

Went to get a tenner out. £9.15 left in my account till 2nd January. I'm on one of these baby accounts where you can't go overdrawn and the application form suggests your Probation Officer as a possible referee. I went to Kirsty's and presented a bag full of things I'd bought earlier: different types of cheese, a bottle of Prosecco, one of red wine, some port, crackers, a Christmas pudding, chocolates; so we won't starve. We were all chatting, tea in progress, me sitting on the sofa while they ate. Kirsty was about to throw out Jenny's half-eaten chick pea curry that Kirsty had made. "Are you throwing that away?" I said, just before it got into the compost bin.

All I want to do is to be able to go the Lytham Soul Weekender on 6th - 8th January. Gaynor and her fella in one room. John and Ian in another, and me and Gail in another. I've talked to Gail about the sleeping in a double bed. It will be sleeping, and it's all understood. Besides, we won't spend much time in bed anyway what with the drugs music. Just dancing. Dancing dancing dancing, the thing up there for me with good sex.

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looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person


M / 61 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.


There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes

Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
John Whale

One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

The Comfort of Strangers

23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning

If your comment box looks like this, I'm afraid I sometimes can't be bothered with all that palarver just to leave a comment.

63 mago
Another Angry Voice
the asshat lounge
Clutter From The Gutter
Crinklybee Defunct
Exile on Pain Street
Fat Man On A Keyboard
gairnet provides: press of blll
George Szirtes ditto
Infomaniac [NSFW]
Laudator Temporis Acti
Leeds's Singing Organ-Grinder
On The Rocks
The Most Difficult Thing Ever nothing since April
Quillette
Strange Flowers
Wonky Words

"Just sit still and listen" - woman to teenage girl at Elliott Carter weekend, London 2006

5:4
Bristol New Music
Desiring Progress Collection of links only
NewMusicBox
Purposeful Listening ( The Rambler)
Resonance FM
Sequenza 21
Sound and Music
Talking Musicology defunct, but retained


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