No blog entry of great note today, as my evening has been taken up assembling a flat pack dining table and an extending one at that, so plenty of 'fiddly bits' and runners to fit. I'm not going to talk much about flat pack furniture as it's not the most exciting of subjects and is something that is commonly griped about. In fact I have grown to actually quite like the mission of putting a piece of furniture together, especially now my eldest daughter Emily has grown into a capable, willing and patient 'flat-pack buddy'.
So, here I am proudly sat at the new table with loads to write about but little time left of the day so here's just a few brief thoughts before I go to bed.
I have finally managed to download two tracks from the elusive Fleet Foxes debut EP from 2006; 'She Got Dressed' and 'In The Hot Hot Rays' - bloody hell they are good songs too, if very different from the sound of their incredible debut album*** (a possible contender for THE album of the past decade) I really hope they release another CD this year; it will have to be pretty blooming good to surpass their debut.
I'm half way through watching (for the first time in a long while) 'Cracked Actor', a 1974 BBC documentary following Bowie on his Diamond Dogs tour of the USA in that same year. It's only because of the amount of reading I have done on The Great Man over the past few years that I now know that he was by the time of that tour and the documentary, already locked into a colossal 'devil's dandruff' habit which might explain his wafer thin, edgy, evasive and at times slightly annoying (especially his 'There's a fly floating round in my milk' speech delivered in his best posh Jagger voice) persona in the film. But I think that goes some way to summing up the genius of Bowie, you never really know if that's what he is really like or if he is just putting on an act / taking the piss.
This wasn't meant to turn into a Bowie post, but it does link into a final and more personal thought to share, concerning my oldest brother and the great quest that awaits (he is also at present one of only two known followers to my blog so this is a bit of a deliberate direct message to the reader). To my beloved brother I can only say that I hope the application of a Ziggy Stardust postage stamp is the portent of a great future, and that you do indeed get to roam the Earth as 'some kind of KFM'
Tomorrow I have good intentions to blog on one of a number of subjects; The Scariest Thing I Saw As A Kid, My Ineptitude At Fantasy Football and 'Is It Me Or Does the New Dr Who look Like A young Tommy Cooper' are all shortlisted, but whatever the subject will be, I can assure that there will most definitely be......
More to follow
Col
*** God help me if some camp old twat on that bloody Dickinson's Real Deal today didn't pronounce the word 'album' as 'awl-bum' when valuing some sweet old dear's cigarette card 'Awl-bums' - I thought I'd had this word pronunciation thing out of my system the other day and then I'm confronted with that monstrosity.
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