There's nothing cool about being the first person to arrive at a party. At least that's what I assume. Given that I haven't actually been invited to a party (nor, now I come to think of it, any other form of social gathering where actual interaction with fellow humans is required) for at least 10 years, perhaps I'm not best placed to judge. My point is that you wouldn't have found Jim Morrison turning up at some Bacchanalian LA booze orgy whilst the mini-kievs were still lining the baking tray and the number of people ingesting their own vomit remained in single figures. He'd have been far too busy carousing with beardy beat poets or sharing a jacuzzi with a dozen nubile space cadets or howling along with Hendrix at an after-hours blues den or suchlike. The fact that he'd probably have ended up face down in a bowl of half-chewed catfood is neither here nor there. Why ruin a good analogy?
It is the spirit of Jim that I invoke in hesitantly making the leap into the 21st century, a mere 9 years late, as I lovingly embrace the lonely world of the online blogger. Considering my previous reluctance to actively engage with any sort of technology more complex than the snake-belt, it's a minor miracle that I've got this far. But seeing as I have, it'd be churlish in the extreme to back out now, although in truth churlishness has long been seen as one of my more attractive character traits.
So join me in a whimsical, far-fetched, unreliable and frequently half-cocked journey deep into the heart of a troubled and terrifying landscape. A place where Vernon Kay is celebrated as a latter-day Monkhouse instead of being spat at in the street by tiny children, where a song is worthless until it's been mangled by fame-besotted, plastic-souled, dead-eyed Cowell doom-merchants, and where Kelvin MacKenzie is allowed to breath the same air as Kenny Dalglish. A world, in other words, gone badly wrong.
I'm not necessarily saying that I have all the answers. Even though I do. I'm just not saying it.
I'm not saying that I'll update this on anything like a regular basis. Chances are I'll be too busy, too lazy or just too asleep. But then, that's the life of an award-winning breakdancer for you.
Suffice to say, the party's dying on its arse, someone's spewed on the curtains, I'm with Jimbo in the kitchen and I'm all over the Twiglets.
Be seeing you...
