 So many words last week. This time I'm just going to point and grunt about the past seven days. Fuck yeah capsicums @ $5 for a huge bag. Roasted and froze those slightly irregular little bitches; they will serve the hummus (not humus) of the future. Lilies. Hate binning them before the last one is over. |  |
Looking toward Roseneath across Sawyers Bay from the football ground at sunset.
Oystercatchers are shedding their black and white feathers all over the field.
Oystercatchers are shedding their black and white feathers all over the field.
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Golden Celebration and Summer Song are into their second flush. Someone drew this saucy and highly improbable penis on the footpath down the road. Caption is v...sh yum? Something something tasty cock? (I've got one at home but do still call me) Shiny storage tank at Back Beach.
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Red Hot Pokers at sunset overlooking Back Beach. Red. Hot. Pokey.
| Interpol / roland. Interpol songs are like mayonnaise. Their utterly inapposite elements should not work together but they are whipped by the power of guitar into something that coats you smoothly all over. Paul's charismatic paraparesis and robot sheep delivery are off the hook here. And closing with that looping FB / back to the punters shit gives me the fucking vapours. Look it's stopped snowing! | |
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