by my reckoning the 19th and 25th of november will be big nights for london's babysitters what with every creaking old soak heading out to celebrate dear edwyn's return to the stage so book em in now sweethearts before it's too late. i know he's playing in that camden first but camden smells and we'll all be needing a little sit down in a nice theatre not a sticky dancefloor with nowhere to put your coat. and we get vic godard.
for those of you who can't get there that nice mr collins is doing a live webcast (how modern...) tonight at 7 o'clock
edwyn collins live webcast tonight at 7 way way way back long ago we pretended to interview edwyn for the first horrific go at a rubbish fanzine. sat upstairs in the cambridge in soho with a whopping great radio/cassette with a comedy built in microphone we forgot everything we were going to ask him and tried to keep up with his trips to the bar. on the way home i had to get off the tube to be sick. being the considerate kind soul what i am i tried to be sick in a bin (there used to be bins on platforms children where could put rubbish - imagine that) but it cleverly had no bottom so i was sick on my shoes. a night to treasure all round then. somehow from the tinny garbled noise left on the tape we managed to cobble together this mess.
and to get you in the mood how about the b side of don't shilly shally
edwyn collins - if ever you're ready
if you don't cry almost all the way through spartacus you're a heartless bastard. i start if i see it in the telly listings. it used to be at the bit when jean simmons is sent to his cell and he's all heroic and whatnot and the first quiet swoon of the love theme creeps in but now i know that's coming i just can't stop myself. i daren't even think about the rest or i'll be ruined all day.
okay okay so i forgot trouble man. i know. i'm even stupider than i look. and shaft and shaft in africa and across 110th street. but all that's filling my tiny brain are songs out of films that i don't know the rest of the soundtrack of. theme tunes. big numbers. the magnificent seven. robert vaughn was my favourite. 
apparently purple rain is the best film soundtrack ever. i didn't get as far as finding out who decided this what with all the seething and cursing and general unreasonableness. everyone knows it's superfly. everyone. then there's a great big pile of one from the hearts and morricones and the harder they comes and even grosse point blanks for gawds sake. and up the junctions.
this weeks nuts magazine is a 69 girls kissing special. you can't move these days for girl on girl action. they all have boyfriends who don't mind them fondling some other glamourpuss you know. what's happened to all the evil predatory lesbians vic godard warned us about? and if i'm to believe all that nuts tells me why isn't he encouraging his girl to get together with the little vixen who's after her so he can watch? lesbians are always desperate for a man to join in apparently. poor old vic. imagine the fun he could've had.
i've been shouting along to ambition for nearly 30 years now and i still only know a handfull of the words. i won't be tempted by vile evils cos vile evils are vile evils is sometimes all you need to know. 
by my reckoning the 19th and 25th of november will be big nights for london's babysitters what with every creaking old soak heading out to celebrate dear edwyn's return to the stage so book em in now sweethearts before it's too late. i know he's playing in that camden first but camden smells and we'll all be needing a little sit down in a nice theatre not a sticky dancefloor with nowhere to put your coat. and we get vic godard.
and to get you in the mood how about the b side of don't shilly shally
when the promised call from saturday's savior never comes the ronettes know how you feel
