A blog of one's own

A pretty low-key weekend, although I thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to pretend to be a spaceman, pretend to be a necromancer and pretend to be an evil otherworldly godthing of mammoth alien proportions. Can you tell I spent most of my weekend with other boys?

It was all very nerdy, but I'm going to a very groovy music festival this weekend, and some girls will be there and everything, so I guess these things balance out.

Incidentally, it was my birthday a couple of weeks ago and among other things got every single released by Atlantic records between 1947 and 1974 - awesome stuff from Ray, Otis, Aretha, Sam & Dave, Booker T and heaps of people I've never heard of but can't half sing. Together with my surreally sexy new collection of Bunuel DVDs, I'm audiovisually sorted for a wee while.

Oh, and some nice men lost to some not nice men in a football match. It were right good, despite the teeth-gnashing awfulness of the commentators supplied by that nice Mr Murdoch. I never thought I'd think back to Andy Gray with such fondness.

Well this post is very stream of consciousness, guess I'm going through a Ginny Woolf period.

Mr Goodfellow said he would buy the beers himself