HEART OF A PUNK - SOUL OF A RASTA

WELCOME once more to our music Ghetto!

So here we are at the end, this is it, John said I wouldn't be able to do it, but I have, one whole year flogging this crap on the WWW, I shall take a wee glass of the finest gripe water tonight and drink to my success. But what has this glorious year of being on the web brought us? Yes you're right, JACK SHIT! A small diseased part of me was perhaps hoping that someone somewhere would dig what we were doing, be slightly amused by what we have been saying, perhaps even been kind enough to send us a line (of something) saying we'd brought a little joy into a joyless world, but no, zip, nada, nothing, not a peep, not a word, a big long fat silence. So as we shuffle off to continue The Fanzine behind the curtain, it only remains for me to impart the following story.

For just over eight years in the nineties I worked in Wolverhampton, commuting every day from my rural bolt hole in Shropshire. Everyday on my way to the main road (to meet up with all the other killer cars) I'd have to drive down a lane through the middle of a farm. This was ok in the morning, I'd slip by without incident, but on my return it was a different matter all together. Each evening almost without exception the farm sheep dog, on hearing my car approaching, would run out of the farm yard pell-mell straight into the path of my speeding car. Now this dog was not a young sprightly "he'll eventually grow out of it" kind of dog. He was an extremely old mangy "only one back leg that worked properly" kind of dog. The days when THE DOG didn't run out in front of my car were the worst days of all because I'd be driving ultra cautiously on those days. Yes the odd dogless days simply lulled me into a false sense of security. Then the next day would come around and he'd be there racing towards my car and my car would be racing towards him. I got through a lot of tyres 'cause of that bleedin' dog. Anyway after almost eight years of dog and car antics there came a day when the dog was nowhere to be seen, either going to or coming back from work. In fact he wasn't there all week, he wasn't there all month, he wasn't there again, because the intensely annoying bastard had croaked. Joy! I could speed along the lane without fear of emergency stop or imminent death. I had a whole fortnight of unbridled joy, and then. Well then, something strange happened; I started to miss that intensely annoying, old, nonsensical, unfunny, boring, piss taking, shambling, smelly, useless fuck wit of a thing.

And so farewell people!

Have they gone John?
They were never there Ed - we were never here.

I'm smiling



I'm Not