Records and clothes on the floor / remind me of the night before / a pounding pain in my head / I think I’ll spend all day in bed… yeah, that’s a pretty good summation of things; the steep ascent towards the vermilion altitude of weekend. I mean, we’ll probably all end up drunk in a ditch with the remnants of some stranger’s shattered iPob XVIII for company. Another night in the cells… or failing that, a succession of long, lonely hours parked before one of the more obscure cable channels. Wall to wall Antiques Roadshow, with slivers of saliva leaking down our double chins and nothing to thrust at the turntable but scratched Motorhead LPs and the soiled dregs of our whiskey bottles.
Love Is All / Make Out Fall Out Make Love
Oh, a title. It’s Swedish for Sausage Hut, or Sausage Shed, or some such. The strange snippets of knowledge one picks up, huh?