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put the needle on the record…
I will never learn. If an event takes place west of Pimlico, it is not for me. If it takes place far enough West to be in Zone 3, I should dismiss it instantly and not even think about going. If I am at such an event and find myself counting the number of people with sunglasses on their heads…
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when we say Cypress, you say…
And it’s two months on from my first trip ever to the Royal Albert Hall, despite my first ever gig in London being thirty six and a bit years ago in 1987 (The Cure at Wembley Arena, for anybody interested) and Cypress Hill did not disappoint. I’ve said it before, but the problem with summer on the blog is that…
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go wild in the country…
And after an unforeseen but brief blog hiatus thanks to unforeseen fuckery, it’s business as (almost) usual, and everything is ticking over nicely! The intervening time has seen a nice walk down to the Tate Modern to see the Expressionists, sadly without Franz Marcs Yellow Cow (but plenty of others to make up for it), followed by my regular evening…