It’s day 4 of this cold and frankly it’s shitting me. I am on my fourth box of tissues, and my nose looks like something off Amy Winehouse’s face. Actually my whole face does.
Despite this, I still attended the Lloyd Cole show at Thornbury Theatre tonight, having bought the tickets about 3 years ago, and gagging to relive some of my late-80s idealism (insert jaded cynical gafaw) . Jazzed on codral “day”, I found the show a little slow – Bill Callahan is pretty much the only person I don’t find boring when solo with guitar – which leaves me in the awkward position of being home at 11.30pm and ready to rock. Hence this post.
And here I find a sketch from the other day, and look, I’m even wiping my nose, except this one isn’t throbbing red like something off Santa’s sled.