flamethrown by Simon Aulman
Harsh noise. You don't even need to click the "play" triangle thing.
Obviously being a harsh noise musican means I am angry and brooding and deep and intense and a total outsider - and come the Revolution I will be manning the barricades alongside you all - but alas only in spirit. I have a touch of sciatica (easily kept under reasonable control by performing the very simple exercises as performed on several wonderful Youtube vids), plus I'm at the age when I do need an early night. Lack of on-hand toilet facilities won't be a problem - I imagine that during all the mayhem no one's going to moan about an old bloke having a pee while illuminated by a thousand petrol bombs.
I've seen some sights lately. I'm sure we all have. Lack of toilet facilities in this wonderful modern world means that I have inadvertently glanced at more naked penises in real life (about 6000) than in all of the porn videos I've seen (about 6). Near where I live is a small car park, and there's a corner where the bushes are high and it's a favourite place for taxi drivers to make themselves more comfortable. I've seen women squatting. I've seen men squatting too.
One of the biggest pleasures of attending an evening concert at Wigmore Hall is the stroll back to Waterloo, crossing Leicester Square and seeing it treated as a urinal. I suppose young people take all this for granted - just as they take for granted being lured into a lifetime of debt to buy things they will never own and would be happier without anyway.
We all know that we Brits don't "do" Revolution. We don't make a scene in a restaurant when presented with a shiny warm turd scooped up fresh from a car-park corner and served even while the taxi driver is still wiping her bum on yesterday's free crap Metro. Everything is crap and we will never complain. The worst thing we ever do is just to stop shopping. And that seems to be what is happening right now. I've really noticed it - out in town - every day is like the taint between Christmas and New Year.
It's quite clever, because it's probably worrying Rishi far more than if we were all throwing petrol bombs about. But god knows what sort of spending example he sets - he doesn't even know how to use a debit card. I'm meant to be at that age when I tut at the growing chaos around me. But instead I am delighted and this is my kind of Revolution.
