Punkrock101 No1:MC5

Domestique

In all my years living with my folks, I don't think I ever heard the people in the flat above having a row. Possibly something to do with the previous occupant of the flat being an elderly woman of the devout Catholic persuasion. Even when her hubby was alive and she had family staying, they remained obstinately neighbourly, quiet and, of course, devout.

It is, therefore, rather disconcerting to come into my parents house and feel almost a part of the raging torment that was going on above my head. I was up at the folks place to water the plants while they were on holiday, an operation that should have taken about five minutes. Instead, I was there for about half an hour, wandering with morbid fascination from room to room, as the acrimony raged back and forth.

Actually, I only heard one person. A slightly shrill male voice, beseeching his beloved to believe that he had no control over who called, texted or emailed him, and that it 'wasn't his fault'. The female voice was either inaudible or just barely distinguishable. The chap, on the other hand raged like a man pleading for his life. I came to the conclusion that he was either dicking his ex, or his girlfriend was a paranoid loon.

Much as it entertained me, I'm glad the folks weren't about, as the old fella would probably have gone up and offered to hand the guy his balls if he didn't shut his fucking noise.

Blood is a right bitch to get out of a nice new carpet.

Lighten Up Morrissey!

Thank the Lord Russ & Ron are back to save humanity from taking themselves too seriously.

Can't wait for their next single, "Why Don't You Kill Yourelf Chris Martin, You Tedious, Self Regarding Toss Bag"

Sounds quite catchy...........

The Dark Hearted Soul Of the Average Office Drone

Our line manager got made redundant. We celebrated. It was wrong on too many levels to count, but somehow none of us could help it. Like spiteful school children, we quietly sneered, jeered and mocked amongst each other. I am not proud. That said, I won't miss his foul breath, arrogant offhand manner, contradictory bullshit and creepy wee shell-games. So, first day of summer or what? Today had that 'feel', that scent that says summer is just around the corner, with it's mandatory six days of nice weather and endless days of humid, damp misery. I feel better already! Unlike my old Grandpa. He's 94 you know!! He's also in hospital with a sore foot. They want to get antibiotics into him via a drip, then see how he does. Mum mentioned something about MRSA, which obviously raised an eyebrow on my part. If 'Iron Baws' Jimmy Morrison can contract that sort of thing, then nobody is safe.............. Tonight's visit was fairly entertaining though, just as long as you kept him off his usual conversational trajectory. He does a fairly good Private Fraser impersonation, and it's a constant battle to keep him from getting too bloody morose. Gentle mockery and a hearty dismissal of his ruminations seems to get the best out in him, as he realises you aren't going to wear an hour of his "The world is about to end!" chuntering. We also got his story about how the humble tomato saved him from the draft during the war. He grew them you see, and the government regarded them as an important part of the British diet. So important that the Jimster spent '39 to '45 fighting the jolly hun by providing ripe, juicy toms to the populace. I did point out that had he been conscripted and survived the war, it would have constituted a different reality and different circumstances. It was possible that neither myself or my brother would have been born and we wouldn't be having this particular conversation. My brothers girlfriend asked if Jimmy would still be in hospital with a sore foot on this alternate timeline. I concluded that yes, he would still be in hospital with a sore foot, but nobody would be there to visit him.................... New York Dolls - Trash Beautiful archive footage.............

Chap Of The Week

The first thing I do when I see Andy Neil on Late Night is switch over. I didn't tonight, mainly because I saw Barry McGuigan's ugly mush first. I shant bollock on, but as a fan of sane secular education models (Turkey, France, bend an ear....), I wish the 'Clones Cyclone' all the best as he helps the campaign to balance education in NI , in an attempt to steer teaching away from the self-interested grasp of both Protestant and Catholic churches. There is no 'solution' to sectarian hatred and dis-trust, but at least if there are people out there reducing the odds.....................

As It Should Be

I remember the cold, the inept attempts to close it out I remember the love, words that came too easily, becoming tiresome and meaningless on release I remember you lost and crazy with sadness I remember the moments when everything seemed right We weren't happy We still aren't As it should be I pretend there's something left, in weak moments, when silence aids a wandering mind Or before I fall asleep I find it odd that I never dream of you.

No Future/The Future's Bright etc

May plague and pestilence befall the cunts at Post Office Ltd!! Thank you for the lovely quarterly bill for £112.52 that landed on my floor today you hopeless fucking arseholes! This in spite of the fact that I have a monthly direct debit with them. The woman on the help-line tried to explain it, but I couldn't quite figure out what she was getting at. Nor could she if the truth be told, so I bit my lip and left it. I'm crap in these situations. Hopeless in fact. If only I could hire an army of bitter, snippy middle aged women, or a gang of argumentative Glaswegian navvies to handle my telephone correspondences. I'd be swimming in free stuff and goodwill. I'm currently considering one of two options. Either I accept my financial hosing with good grace, or I call up again and ask a few more pertinent questions, like............ "Why wasn't I warned in writing that my line rental had 'expired'?" "Why has this occurred? Was it something I said or did?" "Why do I have to cough up for a quarterly period instead of just the last two months?" "Do you enjoy ripping off increasingly depressed, poverty stricken oafs like me?" Ok, so the last one's a bit unfair, but I'm not in a mood for equanimity or fairness. The world isn't fair, which is why I'm running out of cash only a week after being paid. That said, it is my fault. I missed the fact that I'd not been debited in January, and only just realised nothing came off last month. Oh, and I hadn't received my monthly bill for a while. It has to be said, I've not been myself of late. Work is chipping away at my soul, a little every day. I'm starting to share the same dark, appalling thoughts about my manager as the weird, borderline sociopath who works in my section and won't talk to me. The house hasn't been hoovered in months, the dishes get done once a week whether they need it or not and I've become obsessed with the passage of hours and minutes, to the extent that I clock-watch relentlessly out of work hours. The fact that just under twenty quid hasn't come out of my account for a few months is of little importance to me right now.

Fucksticks!!