Every now and again, Lego-preferred publisher DK Books puts out a tome specifically designed to part a fool and my money. Often, that book includes a special minifigure, or tiny build that you wouldn’t, for a moment, think of purchasing separately, but now that it’s attached to the front of a $50 book you’ll flick through once or twice and leave on the shelf to gather dust and give the cat asthma, weeellllll, all of a sudden, there it is, on your shelf, and the cat’s sneezing its box off…..
Anyway, this is one of those ‘tiny build’ examples.
Thing is: DK put out pretty good books. And the tiny build in question is one that, you know, has some resonance. Which is all well and fine and stuff, but is it any good?
Eleven days into self-isolation. By now, you’re beginning to see faces in the bowl of custard that’s been sitting in the fridge since January, and you know they’re starting to look pretty suggestive.
And let’s be honest, you’d be getting on with it, if it wasn’t for those damn neighbours spying on you via 5G radio waves, and the French trying to poison us all by blowing ill humours across the channel with giant bellows, and I don’t like the way that squirrel is looking at me, and being followed by a giant hedgehog named Spiny Norman….
It’s at times like these that a hero will rise and teach us all to lead the way. A Texan hero. A Texan Jewish hero, with spangly hat and a suitcase full of detective novels. A Texan Jewish hero with a fine line in tasteless, controversial, and unbelievably hilarious songs… provided you’re of a certain state of mind.
After eleven days of erotic thoughts about hatefucking expired custard, you’re probably in just about the certainest state of mind you’ve been in since Scum stole the election, and ready for some advice on what to do next. Kinky style…
If you’ve missed the party so far, here’s all the things we’ve listened to:
The second week of our Covid playlist arrives, and for some of you it’s been a lifetime since you’ve seen a human face that you remember you used to love but can’t quite remember why. Toast supplies are running low. Some bastard has put the Nutella back in the cupboard with less that a scrape in the bottom. The bottle shop knows you so well they have your daily three bottles under the counter waiting for you. Even floating photos of Scum the Crime Minister in the toilet bowl so you can play games of Stuka Dive Bomber has lost its allure.
Chin up, guv’. Worse fings ‘appen at sea. Spirit of the Blitz ‘n all that.
It’s probably no surprise that I’d pick James for this entry. Luscious and I have been mainlining the band for several months now. Laid and Getting Away With It (All Messed Up) were playlist staples for several years, but we’d never really thought beyond that until we let Google Home keep playing beyond those two once, and realised how many brilliant songs were following on from each other while we listened, agog.
There’s something about the band’s sound, and both the voice and look of lead singer Tim Booth, that remind us inextricably of Blake. They help keep him with us, and the pain is both bittersweet and bearable.
Crash is the opening track from their 1999 album Millionaires: arguably their finest, and one I will be taking with me any time I fly just in case I’m marooned on a desert island. The title might describe the way many of us are feeling right now. The lyrics certainly do.
If you’ve missed the party so far, because you’re not allowed out unless you’re somebody society is willing to sacrifice or this is a potential booty call, here’s what you could have been listening to instead of saving lives or bonking in the name of exercise:
Is 21307 Caterham Seven 620R a great set, or is it simply one of the greatest sets Lego have ever released? Today’s Lego 250 review asks a question that can only be answered by deciding which exclamation you want to throw in front of “YES!”
If you haven’t heard of Ian Duryby now, you’ve managed to get to today years old without experiencing one of the most unique, magnetic, and brilliant wordsmiths to ever rise from the world of popular music.
I envy you. Oh, the things you’re going to discover as you lie about today, flicking from youtube video to youtube video, exclaiming “How the fuck did I not know about this?”.
Yes, the world is gloom. Yes, it’s doom. Yes, we still have to look at the smug, Dunning-Kruger, punch-here arsefaces of Scum, the Orange Humgruffin, and Boris the Bastard.
But it’s Sunday. Time to relax, just for a day. Time to think of reasons to be cheerful.
Why don’t you get back into bed?
If you’ve missed the party so far, because you’re not allowed out unless you’re somebody society is willing to sacrifice or this is a potential booty call, here’s what you could have been listening to instead of saving lives or bonking in the name of exercise:
If there’s one thing Covid-19 is good for, it’s good for us no longer quite giving the shit we used to give about Lord 15 and movie ratings. So last night was The Fly, the 1986 R-rated remake version. Even after almost 35 years, Jeff Goldblum is amazing and Geena Davis…. has…… legs…… anyway: The Fly, mixed movie quote style.
