Bin Laden's Video
Does it strike anyone else as odd that having heard nothing from Mister Bin Laden fro a year now, the day he chooses to remind us that we should vote for W is three days before the election. Sorry - he was sending the video to remind us wasn't he? As per his orders from the CIA...wasn't he? Oh - then for gods sake surely he would have been better timing it just after the elction to say "hello" and "yes we're still going to bomb you" to whoever the new president is.
Or perhaps it is more important to him that Bush gets elected again, after all, he doesn't want his funding cut.
- posted by Buntifer @ 10/31/2004 09:09:00 am
Two days away from the start and I am beginning to wonder why I signed up - I mean I know why I signed up, but I am beginning to wonder if it will work.
Still sifting through the thousands of comments that have been left for me in the past six weeks - always a pleasure...
Pleased to see that Greg has managed to turn the tables of the poll his way, and personally I feel my contribution was well worth it. Now lets wait and see what Student Direct does with this cutting edge customer research...my guess is...not a lot.
Unhappy to see Mr Goulden ignoring his blog in favour of work...not quite as bad as Mr Sianodel, who has been ignoring his blog in favour of....well not much really, but still pretty poor. What is even more distressing is that he seems to have stopped checking his hotmail account as well...dammnit - I shall have to phone him mayhaps.
Seren, well he is still on his way to taking over the world (Iamevil blogger) but since he is studying "taking over the world" at Oxford he doesn't have much time to keep us ex-students informed, but he is doing well. I saw him a couple of weeks ago and i can confirm that he has a very evil, albeit somewhat gay, haircut at the moment, and has Oxford under his dominion. We wish him all the best and hope that he spreads the weight of his evil empire to encompass the USA before and more damage is done to it by master W. He, of course being very good at taking over the world, but not so good at the "evil genius" part, he is more of a slightly irritable monkey. Kerry looks as if he could be an evil genius, or at least an evil reasonably intelligent chap, although I suspect this may all be a facade - he looks sleazy to me, dunno why. I think W looks more wholesome, despite the fact that I know he is Christian. Perhaps it is the look of dumb innocence on his face, he has total deniability because when his advisors are discussing which conspiracy they will foist onto the American public this week he won't understand a word of it. He can lie with impunity because he believes God is on his side - I wish I could lie with impunity like that, but I always feel that somehow, someday I might actually have to take responsibility for my actions. W doesn't have to because he prays before making any big decisions, and can claim his hand was guided by God,
"Our father who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name,
Is it ok for me to bomb shit out of Afghanistan?
I'm gonna take silence as a yes, just to let you know.
Give us this day our daily pretzel,
And forgive us for trespassing in other people's countries for extended periods of time,
For thine is the kingdom,
Mine is the United States
Thine is the glory,
Mine is the power,
For ever and ever,
Until November the 2nd when there will be a reckoning,
"P.S - Please turn Kerry into a pillar of salt soon. Looking forward to meeting you when we institute regime change in Heaven. yours faithfully GWB"
- posted by Buntifer @ 10/28/2004 01:45:00 pm
dunno if anybody is up for it - it is an attempt to write a 50 000 word novel in a month. It doesn't have to be coherent, or well written, or even very original.
Follow the link and sign up if you fancy joining me.
I was gonna link to another of my blogspots to allow both fo you to read along with what I write - but since I have decided to do something which I would rather keep publishable (if it turns out any good) I have decided not to post it on the net where of course my unseen hordes of screaming fans would instantaneously descend upon it.
If any of you are really bothered I could always email it to you.
anyone who wants to join is welcome along for the ride...
- posted by Buntifer @ 10/20/2004 05:35:00 pm
Sarah and Jonathon were happy. They lived in a typical suburban neighbourhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth. They drove a people carrier that smelt of young children. Crisps overwhelmed their packets on the floor, and the sticky patches on the seats had blended with one another to the point that the patches had become one. Jonathon mowed the lawn every Sunday at the same time as the neighbours, and would shout platitudes of small talk across the fences while smiling grimly through his teeth.
They had three children, two of whom were screaming round the house breaking things after their breakfast, the third of which had grown up and moved away from home a year ago. Jonathon sighed, “We have to get out of this place.” He looked older than he should have done, much much older than when they had moved here six months ago. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it. “This place is driving me insane, the kids are going to grow up into adults I would refuse to speak to, and the neighbours hate me.”
Sarah looked at him, and smiled. “I love you when you’re grumpy.” Jonathon couldn’t help but smile at her. When Sarah smiled she caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again. “Anyway,” she continued, “We are going to be gone just as soon as your lousy contract is over. Then we can sell the house back to the corporation and move somewhere that is actually worth living. The kids are at boarding school from next week, so you only have to keep them away from this culture for another six days and holidays.”
Jonathon grunted, he didn’t like being won around this easily. “Lets get the boat out then. Private education waits for no man.” The boat was Jonathon’s little toy, and his infamous response of “not so little” was enjoyed by all the family, excepting Susan and Max, who were too young to grasp any humour that didn’t include faeces. He felt freer when he was out on the lake, even bounded on all sides by land the boat allowed him to forget the mown lawns and the picket fences for a while. He ran it down the slipway and manhandled it to the mooring at the end of the dock where he killed time waiting for Sarah and the smalls by looking out the lifejackets and making sure that the radio battery was still fully charged. He was on his way to the house to fetch the picnic cooler when Robert’s car drew into the drive.
“Bobby!” was the cry that greeted Robert as he unfolded himself from the car, he swung the door shut behind himself and waited for Jonathon to meet him on the driveway. Bob was taller than his father, he was as tall as a six-foot three-inch tree, which was four inches taller than the tree that Jonathon was as tall as. “Hey Dad, I’d like you to meet Mary, she and I are going out together at the moment.”
Jonathon turned his attention to the redhead getting out of the car. She was nearly as tall as Bob and this made Jonathon feel a little intimidated. He thrust out his hand with a, “Pleasure to meet you.” and tried to assess his son’s latest acquisition. She was pretty, with a good body. Bob was a geek, but he was a geek that worked out, and Jonathon knew that it was important that he shared interests with the girls he dated.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr Deakins. I’ve heard a lot about you. We brought the dessert for this afternoon. Was that right?” Jonathon looked at the tub of ice cream she was holding and then back to her face, her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the centre. He nodded.
“I have to get the cooler with the rest of the stuff, you guys head down to the boat.” He threw over his shoulder as he set off. He had retrieved the cooler and was just exiting the house once more when from the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and "Jeopardy" comes on at 7pm instead of 7:30. “Honey?” He called back. Sarah poked her head out of the window, “Max doesn’t want to wear his smart shirt. Do you think he’ll be ok in the one he wore for breakfast?”
Jonathon thought for a second, “The one that says ‘Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me!’ on the back? I would rather he didn’t. We might meet someone out on the lake. Try him with another t-shirt. A collar won’t make much difference on a six year old.” Sarah’s head disappeared again.
Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T:\flw.quid55328.com\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\flw.quidaaak/ch@ng by mistake. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a drier without "Cling-Free."
“Did that not seem odd to you?” He asked Mary. She shook her head, watching the willow tree that overhung the boathouse shaking in the breeze.
“It’s going to rain you know.” She said, “The wind says so.”
Bob shook his head, “My Dad. He seemed worried. I know he doesn’t want to be out here. He hates suburbia, he says it’s worse than purgatory. He isn’t religious though, so that doesn’t mean much to him.”
“What a beautiful boathouse!” Mary was exclaiming over the overgrown structure that Jonathon hid away from his responsibilities in. The red brick wall was the colour of a brick-red crayola crayon and the ivy that covered it thrummed with verdant energy. She brushed past it and wandered out onto the dock. The planking was rough and uneven, but Jonathon did his best to keep it safe. Children and water were a dangerous enough combination as it was, without needing to complicate matters by making it easier for them to fall in.
Bob leant against the greenhouse thinking. His father’s successor, the infamous Crichton McBride, had thrown himself from the top of the company skyscraper, after having charged home to New York and demanding he be recalled to civilisation. McBride had fallen 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag filled with vegetable soup, he had made national news, because he had called the papers before he jumped. The company had not been pleased, and they had extracted promises from Jonathon not to do any jumping, and relocated their headquarters to a huge warehouse with only one floor.
Mary smiled at the neighbour who pulled up in his fishing gear and a dinghy. He had flies stuck in his hat, fake ones, and a couple of real ones in his hair. He tied up and stuck his hand out towards her. “I’m Herbert. Jonathon lets me moor here.” Herbert and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met. Mary shook his hand carefully.
“Any luck?” She inquired, indicating the rod in his hand.
“Heh! NO chance!” Herbert boomed. “Not with the rain comin’ in and all. You plannin’ on having a sail?” Mary nodded. He chuckled fatly, “Better make it quick.” He hurried off up the far side of the boathouse as Bob appeared, still looking pensive.
“Were you talking to someone?” He asked. Mary pointed up the slope, the neighbour was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr. Pepper can. Bob hurried onboard, carrying a case of beer and shaking his head, he didn’t seem wholly focussed on the outside world. Mary sighed gently. Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Tall Man."
Eventually the entire family was assembled, Jonathon snorting at Mary’s suggestions that it might rain, and Sarah grabbing and shoving at Max and Susan as they complained about wearing their life jackets. Jonathon cast off, smiling for the first time in the proceedings, and Bob cracked open a beer. Susan and Max quietened down and started to lean far overboard watching their hands moving through the water. Mary could see why they needed life jackets. Sarah allowed herself a beer and pulled open a packet of cheese straws, which were passed around until Max took it upon himself to empty them overboard as “shark bait.” Bob tried to explain to him that sharks weren’t massive cheese fans, and Mary combated this by explaining that while in the sea, sharks ate fish and people, in freshwater lakes like this one they almost all ate biscuits and adored cheese straws.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
The family ate lunch together, Jonathon allowed each other member a turn at the tiller, but refused to drink anything in case it affected his judgement. They reached the mooring at the town opposite their house, and Jonathon rhapsodized about being able to get into town without using a car, until Mary gently pointed out that the diesel motor that ran the boat probably swallowed three times as much fuel as a car did. Jonathon began to sulk, and said that he would rather drift in the boat on his own for an hour than come ashore with the rest of the family. He dozed and allowed himself to imagine that he was off the coast of France. It didn’t last long. He was woken by the sound of bad weather. The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play. He started the engine again and headed back to the concrete moorings where the family should be waiting for him.
As he neared them he could see Max and Susan standing holding disconsolate ice creams as the hailstones leaped from the pavement around them, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease. He could see Robert no longer holding hands with Mary, and Sarah looking upset.
He sighed, it was going to be a long journey back, all five minutes of it. As they boarded the boat, Sarah muttered to him, “Straight back Jonathon, RDM.” Jonathon swore under his breath and shot a look at Bob and Mary. They weren’t looking at each, other, they weren’t touching each other.
RDM stood for relationship damage minimisation. He and Sarah had coined the phrase to help them deal with Roberts tempestuous love life as he passed through his teens. It generally involved denying all knowledge of his whereabouts to any girls that came calling at the door, offering lifts home to the girls that came back from dates with him crying or screaming, and getting spurned girlfriends out of the family house/car/boat as quickly and as humanely as possible.
Mary didn’t look too upset, Jonathon mused. She sat looking out of the prow of the boat as if she couldn’t wait to get back. Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze, and her eyes shone, tear free. Robert on the other hand was hiding his face in his hood, sniffling audibly and muttering what sounded like blasphemous references to Mary’s family under his breath.
Approximately a minute away from safe landing Max decided he was bored with watching the water. “Why is Bobby crying?” Was the question he decided to break the silence with.
Jonathon tensed himself and waited. Sarah started to shush Max, Bob tore his hood back from his face and screamed, “BECAUSE HER BASTARD MOTHER-FUCKING WHORESON OF AN EX-BOYFRIEND WHO HAS BEEN IN PRISON FOR THE PAST SIX YEARS PROBABLY FOR KIDDY-FIDDLING JUST CALLED AND SAID HE WAS OUT AND COMING DOWN HERE TO GIVE HER THE BEST SEX OF HER LIFE ON THE HOOD OF HIS NEWLY STOLEN CAR!!”
Jonathon held his breath and drew the boat gently alongside the mooring. There was indeed a new car in the driveway, it was a BMW, but he was willing to bet that the vents in the hood would make it pretty uncomfortable for sex. He jumped out of the boat and tied up, ignoring the shocked look on Sarah’s face and Roberts relapse into tears. Susan was patting Roberts knee and Max was excitedly murmuring “bastard mother-fucking whoreson!” to himself.
Mary pulled herself out of the boat and gave an apologetic smile to Jonathon. “Sorry to ruin your afternoon.” She said and set off up the lawn to meet the man who was climbing out of the car. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy lawn toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36pm travelling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19pm at a speed of 35 mph.
Jonathon looked back at the boat and sighed. It was going to be a long evening.
- posted by Buntifer @ 10/20/2004 04:52:00 pm
The following are actual winning analogies in the "worst
They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag filled with vegetable soup.
From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and "Jeopardy" comes on at 7pm instead of 7:30.
Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.
Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T:\flw.quid55328.com\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\flw.quidaaak/ch@ng by mistake.
He was as tall as a six-foot three-inch tree.
The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be burried in the credits as something like "Second Tall Man."
Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36pm traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19pm at a speed of 35 mph.
The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr. Pepper can.
John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a drier without "Cling-Free."
The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red crayola crayon.
and my challenge? write a short story containing all these...
- posted by Buntifer @ 10/20/2004 06:59:00 am
Just a little link
I thought this was funny
it started out that way, but then I found this which just miffed me.
For those people worried about the upcoming US Elections
For those of you who like chocolate, comics and Francis Ford Coppola
Heavy Metal Belly Dancersneed I say more?
and the ultimate form of communication
- posted by Buntifer @ 10/15/2004 09:25:00 am
2000 hits old yesterday
At least i think I was. I have 2009 today, and I had fewer yesterday so I am blogging today.
Those jolly fellows at Darkcounter have been keeping count. According to them I have had 9 visitors today, 10612 total hits and 2009 total visitors. The last ten search terms were:
- concepts of inside and outside beauty for a person (Yahoo)
- cheesemonger (Yahoo)
- production compnay for To Kill a Mockingbird movie (AOL)
- swimming girls taking it off for money porn (MSN)
- how does the word chav originate (Google)
- link:NKy1PZt7XuIJ:www.straint.com/ (Google)
- Zamyatin in Newcastle (Yahoo)
- cradle of filth videos (Yahoo)
- cheesemonger (Yahoo)
- cheesemongers (Google)
So anyway - aside from the random links I have finished the tour. Winchester was a bit of a disaster, not artistically but because we turned up three hours late and then half the audience (who had already paid) didn't turn up so it felt awfully empty, which the audience responded to by not really laughing. A lot more work for Mark really then.
Monmouth was great, eighty people wetting themselves, the only downside being that I was about six miles away in the lighting box and as a result felt a little divorced from what was going on.
Oxford was superb, first night sold out, second night nearly sold out. First night was one of the best nights on tour, rounded off nicely by drinking in the St. Peters bar till they threw us out. Saturday was a little odd because I felt a little empty, and I felt as if Mark was opff pace. The audience were laughing but he didn't have them in the palm of his hand as he had done the night before.
So, back to my favourite occupation - hassling temp agencies. Walked into Reed and they were like "oh no sir, we would have to get you to come back in, we are all booked up with so many temps and not enough jobs" until I politely pointed out that I was already signed up, at which point the woman started trying to foist upon me a job.
Nice. So If she rings back tonight then I start tomorrow. I kind of hope she doesn't cos I could do with some time off.
Saw my brother - depressing house. Take a shitty house and make five guys who drink like troopers and smoke forty fags a day each and about an ounce of dope a week and stick them in a house. There are sedimentary layers of munchie packets. Beercans are like tin elephant droppings if the elephant was to have been fed a ton or so of ex-lax. Water constantly drips into the centre of the lounge through a light fitting. The guy next to the lounge has a one of those car radios that can deafen a cat at sixty paces in his room. I am a massive fan of loud music, but this guy plays the musical equivalent of greasy turdburgers through it...all the time. How much Ja Rule, J-Low, Jay-Zee and J something else can one brain take, well this chap has been listening to it for years and he doesn't have any grey matter left. He does have twelve caps though, arrayed on his wall like fine art.
Still, nice to see Sam. At least he recognises that the other guys in the house have qualities which are less than perfect. I would be worried if he were proclaiming his everlasting friendship with them...
So, back to an orifice job, as the prostitute said to the vicar. I am quite looking forward to being able to justifiably come home in the evening and veg - or write or something, and to be able to feel that my bank balance is slowly crawling its way back into the black. I am out on the piss tonight and then should be staying sober for a while.
Reading "On Green Dolphin Street" very good so far. Listening to "Robert Cray - Playing with my friends." Very good.
Damnit. Work Friendly link - very funny, needs sound.
- posted by Buntifer @ 10/14/2004 03:20:00 pm
Stupid Evil Bastard
This guy is one of my favourite "sometimes" reads. He rolls up on Blogsnob fairly often and I usually anjoy what he has to say. This sequence of links is far too amusing to keep to myself and so I thought I would share both Mr Bastard's site and his links to PvP with you lot.
I have read PvP in the past and found it less than funny - but this set of strips are brilliant.
- posted by Buntifer @ 10/05/2004 11:26:00 am
I suppose a blog is the ultimate literary work in progress
welcome to the world and welcome to the rest of you as well. I approach my 2000 th birthday [slowly] and I look forward to it with great anticipation. I have been ordering print cartridges today, as is my won, and because I have run out of printer ink, and seem to have got a good deal. I include these fascinating fragments of information to let you know just how thrilling my life is. For a bit of variation, I am going to return the videos the Brunette and I rented recently to Blockbuster halfway through this post. Deep waters my friends, deep waters.
I am spending some time today applying for jobs I won't get, which is my usual occupation when I am temporarily employed by whichever firm happens to be presently understaffed. Maybe one day I will apply for one I will get, it's like playing the lottery, only more depressing, at least when you pay your pound for the lottery you know that your chances of winning are 14 million to one, and that you are 7 times more likely to be struck by lightning while filling in the ticket than you are to actually win the jackpot, but with jobs you tell yourself you have got more of a chance, there is no reason why you shouldn't get it, and surely, surely, 14 million people won't apply for the very position that you are going for.
In fact recent mathematical tests have shown these beliefs to be fallacious, for each job that you apply for, twenty four million, three hundred and sixty five thousand, six hundred and ninety seven people other also apply for it. Not only that but there are plenty of reasons why you shouldn't get the job, like the fact that you are probably the wrong colour, and your parents have too much money, plus it is a strong possibility that the admissions person simply doesn't like you very much, [that is something to do with your haircut] and that you are simply stupid.
Now is the time when I settle myself down and tell myself that I should probably try and get some actually useful stuff done today before I start boiling my brain down to its core essentials.
So I shall leave you sooner than we all expected. Blogging is a young man's game, and while young, I have responsibilities too arduous and boring to explain here. One day I expect a particularly vehement blog will run me to the ground and thus shall I pass on the Cheesemongerly Legacy down to someone who truly appreciates it, and hangs on my every word.
The above paragraph can be ignored by anyone who hasn't seen or read the play "Anorak of Fire" as it is far to referential for you to even begin to guess at the layers of complex humour I have imbued it with.
Well, it's been lovely, and I shouldn't think that any of you will have read or seen Anorak, but never mind, at least I'm laughing. I just can't stay away for so long, I wish I could explain it to you, but like I've said, you either feel it or you don't. Well, stay and read if you want to, but don't say I didn't warn you. You might just get hooked.
- posted by Buntifer @ 10/04/2004 11:14:00 am
Computer working - me happy
At least it seems to be so far. I was told that the disk I was buying was a windows disk, which it wasn't/ I shall have words on monday. Bastards.
However I am back online and fucking happy about it. I have spent the afternoon trawling round sites I haven't had a chance to look at recently. Nice to see Greg back on form, and even Spices Bloke seems to had the plasters taken off his hands. [It is terrible thing for a musician to have all their fingers broken, even in a good cause.]
Why is Elton John giving his money to Beckhams baby chav when he dies? How/When/Why is Brooklyn going to want for money - oh...hold on...a good chav can never have too much shit gold jewellry, and they can't be seen to pay market price for it, they have to pay double to make sure the bling factor is high enuff..
Let the anger out, bring the love in. My emotional therapist was telling this when I was shouting at the radio. Frankly my dear, NO!!!!!!!
I like being fractious, it makes me feel superior and confirms my belief that I can do many things better than the people who are actually doing them, which given that from the Monday after next I will be unemployed, is a necessary evil.
Customer service in this country sucks ass anyway, as does our railway system. Our NHS is in the process of being systematically destroyed by the government [Practically the only thing they consistently achieve independant of what they promised or what the previous government started/promised.]
I have just found out how to do links per word, which is remarkably easy. I didn't like the link button, but its use makes sense more now - cos I know how to use it. Bwah ha ha ha ha
Come the Monday after next I shall be back on the market for shit jobs, and in need to filling up my bank account, as it has emptied remarkably while I have been working for Small Fish.
So far the majority of the audience have loved it. The venues have been great as a whole as well.
The Space - Stroud: Crappy space, lovely people, shit lights but what a crowd! [130 people, sold out]
Charles Cryer Theatre - Carshalton: Great space, lovely lady in the audience who was really quite angry that our audiences hadn't been better.
Everyman - Cheltenham: In the studio, Corin was brilliant, shame about the music coming through the walls.
Norden Farm - Maidenhead: Coffee offered as soon as we entered the space...nice. Great Technician [Tom] Nice space, pity about the pine floor.
MAC - Birmingham: Beutiful theatre, lovely complex, audience shipped in from local morgue. Awesome lighting desk. Truly beautiful, just sheer quality...mmmm
The Old Town Hall - Hemel Hempstead: You can smoke in the space, nice. Technician [Jez] was cool, Bill Hicks fan...heh. Wonderful audience, great space to work in, and beautiful veiws when the window was open.
Lyme Regis - Bastards cancelled. [4 tickets sold - now if it had been Boat spotting]
Sterts Arts - Liskeard: Three parcans strapped to a curtain rail, literally. Wicked. Fed us, free beers, audience that practically wet themselves, despite starting slowly. Hospitality prize definaitely. I want to go back in the summer because the outdoors amphitheatre looks incredible.
The Space - Isle of Dogs/Mudchute: Staffed from the special school, not literally, but almost. Lights were fine, only we had to wait for hours to get to the fucking things. Bar upstairs [Hubbub] is a lovely little hidden place that it far too far out of town to ever bother going there unless you were in the area, but if you are, visit. Snug and homely, not toooo pricey, and what smelt like great food.
Next week: Winchester, Monmouth, Oxford. Book now to avoid disappointment ;)
Right I'm off to whistle down the wind, or smash some pumpkins, or something.
- posted by Buntifer @ 10/02/2004 04:18:00 pm