You know that it’s going to be a strange day when the early news bulletin wraps itself up with the “…and here’s Beryl with the weather,” only for some studio boffin to press the button that drapes archive footage of Rudolf Hess all over the TV in it’s in stead.
You know it’s going to be a strange day when your workplace homage to Ignatius P Reilly is met with “I’m disappointed in your behaviour – it’s detrimental to what we’re trying to achieve here”. I’m not quite certain that my boss has read A Confederacy of Dunces – a sort of Hunter S Thompson writes Gormenghast – but he should, as should you.
You know it’s going to be a strange day when the rain falls hard like sheets of glass, and as if in response you drop the needle on the record just as the wine runs out…
(….whilst listening to…)
King Creosote & Jon Hopkins / John Taylor’s Month Away
(And yes, you’ve spotted the link between this post’s title and the previous diatribe; the bonus point is all yours).