Music

HSBC and the virtue of profit.

I think this blog is going to be about economics.  I’m not an economist. But since they seem to know bugger all anyway, I don’t see why any entirely unqualified bloke-in-the-pub shouldn’t chip in, and make just as little sense as anyone else.

 

The global economy is almost five times the size it was half a century ago. If it continues to grow . . . → Read More: HSBC and the virtue of profit.

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760×151, your teeth are like stars, roger kite philosophy presteigne

I’m just coming up to a year of posting stuff (occasionally intermittantly, I admit); and in a week or so I’m over to Perry’s for a bit of a web-site zhoosh up, so the thing should be slightly different come the New Year, with dozens of exciting new features.

Looking through the most popular search terms that brought people here, apart from the fairly . . . → Read More: 760×151, your teeth are like stars, roger kite philosophy presteigne

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Washday Blues

Charlie is living with her old Dad at the moment, which is top, but we are both on our uppers, and I’m currently unable to afford the services of Rachel at LaundryToTu, the internet launderette at the end of Presteigne’s historic High Street. Rachel is a sweetie, but as dim as a Toc H lamp, which has not prevented her from putting my clothes . . . → Read More: Washday Blues

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Stoned man finds God shock.

I’ve been looking through some old stuff, and I found this little bit from what was part of my notes for The Fool’s Errand, which is my answer to ‘Smile’ or ‘The Teenage Opera’  i.e., unfinished. But this seemed worth posting…

Now, you might think you are an athiest. You might believe with all your heart, (though not soul, obviously) that there is no . . . → Read More: Stoned man finds God shock.

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Another shitty fucking day of life

Back in the day, when I managed the Quinto bookshop at 48 Charing Cross Road (which address, psycho-geographers might argue, encodes the famous old shop at No. 84), I used to catch the 38 bus back home to Hackney from outside the Central St. Martin’s building next to Foyles. One dark freezing foggy evening in winter, waiting for my bus, a derelict old gentleman . . . → Read More: Another shitty fucking day of life

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