Planet Bluto

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Personal Jesus – Depeche Mode

Quite clearly you do not want to hear what’s it been like down the writing well this week. How one kind of goes slightly mental down there. In my defence, I am spending a lot of time with myself. In my head. Alone. Me and Irene. Cackling away. My gibber can be hard to handle at times. Imagine when it’s all the time? Dose.

Also, I am quite sure you do not want to hear about a few slick DJigs this week. Pool parties. Rooftops. Savage spots. Fun all round. Giddy up that green honey. Here is a tremendous photo encapsulating how tough DJigging can be at times… Continue Reading »

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Viro – Pryda

Some balls. Not happy. Just been flagellating myself off the floor. Feel exactly like Fionn Mac Cumhaill’s son. You know… Oisin. You know… When he left Tir na nÓg on that horse. Warned not to get off. As he would die if his foot touched the ground. Then he fell off, turned into an old man and died. Tut. Fell off the horse. Kind of like me. And the writing horse. You know the one. Horse which gets bigger and bigger and seems harder to get back on the longer you stay off. So when you do try to heave yourself back up you just end up rambling on aboot a mighty old Irish myth. Exactly like Fionn. This is going well. Being back up riding a horse. Words are flowing. Tut. Time for a rant. Funking bouncers… Continue Reading »