Sorry for moaning//AKA THINGS ARE REALLY GOOD

I would like to apologise for the existential nonsense below, and to quit harping on about nothing important, and offer instead a collection of some of the reasons why TWENTY TEN has in fact been a magical year so far// see below but above aforementioned nonsense// and why it will surely continue to be one. Good things and good people doing them and doing them lots because they know as well as I do that the world is probably going to end pretty damned soon:

Miss Jessica Higgins and the many contributadores to Museums. She is the pied piper of zines and when this one finally comes out we are all in for a treat. More can be discovered round abouuuuut here:

The good lads who call themselves Waiters and who are called Waiters by others and who knock out some cracking fucking tunes on a regular basis. They is on MySpace innit, which is like for the kidz and that:

The kindly and bearded shop-wizard who is known as Mr Dave Bailey in these parts has brought together many good things by good people in one place and allows people to buy those things which are too many to list here and therefore you must check out the shop and the http portal:

Also known as the White Barry White, Sir Amadou Stevensh is always doing good things and they are usually musical and very often involve an inordinate amount of farting which does not usually detract from how good they are //but does sometimes// Anyway he is putting on on the 13th of February: a good night WIV BANDS AND THAT

His good friend Miss Humphreys also has a night WIV DANCEY RECORDS AND THAT that very same night which promises to be bloody excellent and I would like to recommend it also:

I am trying to do good things but they are taking a long time because I am mostly distracted by other people's good things. They will happen though. Honest!

Over the Wobble and on with Twenty-Ten

Roll

I was on a roll and now I'm off the roll and off the wagon and I'll get back on I'm just struggling a little bit//I thought I wasn't afraid of things any more but it turns out I really still am. That's ok though. I'm not dead yet. Plenty of motherfucking time. I hope. Tomorrow I will sort my life out and ring that lady and do something with that picture and finish that story and make myself be interested in learning French rather than waiting for it to just happen so I can go and live there//do I even really want to go and live there?? Answers on a postcard please. Janice and Maureen are going to sit in their living room and smoke cigs and drink tea and watch Corrie til they die. Frigging off about Adam Rickett and hoping that Edward calls round after his binround are the highlights of their day and I am jealous of them because they are satisfied and it appears I never will be. She gave daisies a funeral because they were once alive too and then she sat in her living room forever more and got diabetes and arthritis and cateracts and a colostomy bag and the shivers and the shakes and a possible case of gangrene//she enjoyed every single minute of it.