Its getting wet, not that cold, but fucking wet, and that is a direct result of global warming, probably, the result of this is twofold, as I type, without even thinking about it. The logs from our Goat man Goat the log, are wet, damp because the wood has been sitting under the bruised skies of Worcestershire for the last however long, and they’ve been subjected to rain. Here comes the Rain as a once great rock star sung, whom I saw sing this weekend. Regular readers may ask how was the gig? It was excellent and rather boozy, I spoke to a man with a face covered in tattoos; nice guy, kind to his family.

Goat the Log, or just Goat to those in the know, has a smaller truck, you recall last time he was here he was on the way to Glasto, as he has for the last 30 years; helping out and stuff, but his van was well and truly fucked, the AA man used a log which he’d just delivered to fix some spring things above the back wheel; even to a man of little vehicular experience I could see that this one wasn’t going to last for a long time. Fast forward a half year (which I’ve never said) and hes got a new truck. Smaller and so the log load seems smaller, its funny, I was on a fun junket over to Norfolk at the weekend, arriving back, the logs were in a really neat pile and so I’m finding it hard to work out if theres as many as there were last time or not as last time they were scattered all over the front lawn, under my instruction. I’m beginning to think the set out of my mind is similar to the mess around me, my work desk, my shed, my garage, etc, the only thing I seem to be able to  curate is my record, cd and tape collection. I can find you the Ultra Vivid Scene section in seconds.

A fine weekend which I’ve got in my head but see no reason to explain to anyone here. But I am immensely fond of you all. I put the title in alphabetical order to pleas no one else but my self, so if the meaning is lost, theres some inside info for you.