From the vinyl vaults

There are a lot of Thatcher Death Party soundtracks floating around at the moment. One of my favourite collections in this one, because it includes some tracks that aren't just angry punk screaming.

Like this classic bit of rave-era revenge: sampling Thatcher ranting about acid parties to provide a self-referential soundtrack:



And now I'm going to go home and slump into oblivion. I've seen several dissertation students, counselled more by email, and been to 3 long meetings. No marking, no preparation and certainly no chance to sneak off for a swim. Feeling very fat and unhealthy at the moment.

There's plenty of other work to do too. I've agreed to review two new collections of R S Thomas's poems for Poetry Wales (Uncollected Poems and Poems to Elsi) which might add to the legend of RST, and a piece for the Literary Encyclopaedia on JG Farrell's Troubles. Plus several papers to start thinking about… But for tonight: the waters of Lethe. Once I've got the ironing done. It's a rock and roll life I lead, I tell you. At least I have the new Kurt Vile and Gesualdo LPs to soothe me, and the meta-genre stylings of my new literary discovery, Keith Ridgway's Hawthorn and Child.

Until tomorrow, I bid you adieu. Or rather, I'll let Jahn Teigen and Anita Skorgan do it for me, with the song of that name which formed Norway's entry to Eurovision 1982. A classic, I think we can all agree. And quite a contrast to the Thatcher track.

Pros and Cons of dying, aged 98, on Saturday 14th May

As I mentioned, my beloved maternal grandmother passed away a couple of days ago (it's OK, I've got another one, and she's only 90).

So what did she miss?

Stoke City in its first ever FA Cup Final.
Stoke City losing in its first ever FA Cup Final.

The Eurovision Song Contest
One of the best Doctor Who episodes ever, written by Neil Gaiman.

Some good rain.

On balance, it was an OK day to depart.

First party down, two to go

A birthday party for Laure was held at my house yesterday - 50 French, Polish and assorted Euro-students crowded into a Victorian terrace to drink Lambrini (how could you?) and dance to an astonishing range of Eurovision-cheese. Despite feeling like the ghost of Christmas past, I did chat to a very interesting Slovakian and drank fine real ales, but thankfully didn't witness any of my students behaving in ways of which their parents wouldn't approve. Then just about bedtime for old people, they all trooped off to The Planet, Wolverhampton's scuzziest rock club.

I particularly enjoyed this conversation:

Her: I know your face… I really know your face from somewhere.

Me: I teach you… when you turn up.

Her: Oh. Oh yeah.

Tonight there's another party - mostly postgrads - which will involve huge amounts of quality Spanish food… mmmmm chorizo. Then tomorrow morning I'm acting in my second film of the week, a promo for the university. I apparently will be playing a lecturer. Hope I can fake it. After that, a day's break before yet another party - for a computational linguist of my acquaintance. My poor liver.