Kate Rusby - Christmas Is Merry at The Barbican in York, 11-12-25…

I’M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE!!! Birmingham for a couple of days where I’m aiming to get some hot bedroom action. I intend to wrap myself in a duvet sleep hugely for a couple of days, rising only eat a massive greasy sausage in one or both of the Christmas markets…

A December Tuesday in York, still people knot on damp cobbles, thread through the lights robbed of their sparkle by morning bright, clear and Robin’s egg blue. For the first time this year I’m caught off guard by The Pogues, “So Happy Christmas, I miss you, baby.” For a moment a tear stings my eye…

DAVENT CALENDAR DAY 1 Hop Hut Summer Slam: Tastes like it’s made with actual Hutts. “Bo Shuda…”

Lights glitter spilling over rain slick cobblestones. And the crowds and the throng and the elbows move you by. My traditional start to Christmas, a pie and a mulled cider at St Nicholas Fair. So, here’s to us, You Cats, and a peaceful and happy season…

I mean, Maisie Adam is good looking lass anyway, with amazing legs but stick some fake sideburns on her and she’s proper lighting mi candle. I really am a weird, sad pathetic old man…

The show I’m doing just now has a section about the history of theatre and I tell a story about Maggie being confused by a panto. As I was telling it last night, a maple leaf drifted down and landed on my shoulder. If I was a deluded wet hippy type I might have got a bit misty eyed about it…

Y’know what? Fuck it! It’s November, I like mince pies and Christmas can’t come soon enough…

I’VE GOT WOOD!!!

Today is the feast day of Crispin Chrispianus. Deo gracias Anglia rede pro victoria...

After his wife died a made him laugh, a rich and genuine laugh amidst all that unfettered grief. I’ve always been proud of that laugh. Of all the audiences I’ve stood in front of and won over, that laugh meant more to me. A quiet little sound in a roaring gale of misery…

I collared for a really rare record at a decent price a couple of months ago but haven’t played it yet. A good friend was part of the stage show for the tour it captures and it’s still a bit raw, he died earlier this year. I think this weekend though I listen and smile…

Like Arthur Dent once said, “This must be Thursday, I could never quite get the hang of Thursdays.” Working regular bankers hours lets you know why, it’s a Wednesday dressed up as a Friday. All fur coat, no knickers. Also I’ve just fumbled my “put on boots” roll and punched myself in the balls…

To the unknown, unnumbered souls who stood this day upon Senlac Hill over 900 years ago and died for the ambition of wealthy men. Hail the glorious fallen…

Today is the saints day of Edward The Confessor. The Patron Saint of England before being replaced by a foreigner…

I wonder if a mark of getting older is that people stop making you angry and just make you sad…

Windblown moments hazing, spindrift memories threaded over tides of time. Ever more remote in a sea of, lost chances, lost opportunities, lost laughter. Older now than you can ever be. Still missing you, Maggie, love always…

Why do I keep doing this to myself? Late night lager and films. “Ooh, Event Horizon! I’ve not seen that in years, I bet it’s not as scary as I remember!” Well, now I’m laying here with a full bladder afraid to go to the lavvy in case I meet Eyeless Sam Neill with he lad out…

Delightful! “You will be alerted to the oncoming apocalypse by the cosmic horror of your phone making a sound like Chris Martin fucking a Clanger in a biscuit tin…”

I swear it was only a brew and a bit of cake…

Aegean Haze…

A Very Drunk Cowgirl weaves up to Davva. Very Drunk Cowgirl - “YOU! Are a very attractive man!” Davva - “Aw, thanks, Pet Lamb, so are you…” The Very Drunk Cowgirl walks away unsure if she really has been complimented…

This is the shirt I started to wear when I go out to eat steak. Don’t know why, whimsy, possibly. But it’s worth noting the print acts a lot like a wipe clean bib…

Sumer is icumen in lhude sing cuccu…

This Progtastic medieval melodrama follows on from before…

Well, if I’m having a “Yes-off” then this little beauty is obviously getting an airing…

And thus was I challenged! Is this or Relayer my favourite Yes album? Is Moraz superior to Wakeman? Do I prefer solo Wakeman to Yes? Are Pringles that shape so as to make a more pleasing noise when you crunch them in a sandwich? Why am I asking rhetorical questions?

There a lot to be said for Sundays that involve tea from a pot, bacon and seeing walls of transcendental prog. Sing! Sing you tiny soprano from Accrington…

Any… ANY… load of camp old bollocks is made instantly epic by adding a thumping Queen soundtrack. Even Citizen Kane would be watchable…

Florid, bloated and faintly ridiculous, Dave is listening to this belter…

Traumatised by the events in a TV show that you knew full well were going to happen but are a bit of a fanny any road? Then listen to some lovely Japanese ladies singing punk songs about cake and cats…

The Last of Us: S2, E2. I’m not okay…

Seriously though, today is a day to remember just a man, with a man's courage. You know he's nothing but a man and he can never fail…

He is risen, alright (hur-hur!) WOOF…

He is… Retired…

He is ris… No, wait, still dead <sigh>

He is risen! Awww, no he isn’t…

And so bestirs my Viking heart, pounding writhing my mighty chest like a whippet in a bowler hat…

“There comes a time to make amends, Never too late to try again, To save our soul…”

Incorporating “The Esca Fart Dance…”

Nothing’s forgotten, nothing is ever forgotten…

Brie and Bacon Panini with Red Currant Jelly and a massive brew…

If I’m making a salad then I’m doing it with steak, taters and a spicy sauce…

This new job involves weekends off (which is a novelty!) It’s a beautiful morning, so I thought I’d take myself off for a walk out and for some breakfast. For lovely, lovely, frothing pint of breakfast…

Yesterday I got £50 from Nationwide, because I’ve had my debts handled by them for so long. And that’s lovely. Then today I read that pre orders are open for a glorious coloured vinyl reissue of New Model Army’s 1993 album The Love of Hopeless Causes. I love it when the universe works out…

My old mate…

But this one’s for me…

This one’s for Clem…

Sun’s out, shorts are on and we’re mad for a cream tea…

That’s it then! No more terrible cheese, horrible chocolate and beer weaker than nun’s piss…