Often, we seem to be the recipients of crappy news. Today is no exception, to wit, the Spice Girls have confirmed they will be reuniting. I don't know what for; whether it be a tour, or an album. Perhaps it is their misguided intention to appear on I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here as a group contestant. As an aside, can anybody tell me whether Victoria aka Posh Spice has ever actually smiled? She's the surliest, sulkiest looking creature, and radiates ill-will and gloomy malevolence like a miasma.
I know it is not mandatory for me to listen to their music (hah!), or watch them perform. That's just as well. Here are a list of things I would find more pleasurable than being subjected to their prefab pop putrescence:
1. Clean the wall of a William Street glory hole on any given early Sunday morning.
2. Drip Tabasco sauce into my urethra.
3. Enter a makeshift toilet used by new-chum Western tourists trekking the Himalayas, after a meal of game. (I've been there, done that, and - er - contributed to that; so I know it's putrid).
4. Sit through a performance of the score to The Sound of Music from Bob Dylan, Neil Young, James Reyne, Sid Barrett, James Blunt and Tom Waites. Perhaps for added horror the former Mr Zimmerman can solo on Climb Every Mountain.
5. Hearkening to Point 3 above, negotiate a field just vacated by a herd of diarrhetic elephants, barefoot.
Clearly I was not a child of the Nineties. Even more clearly I have decent taste in music. Well, I like to think my taste is decent. But the guilty pleasure of having enjoyed the Bay City Rollers as a child stays with me as an adult, and I am overjoyed to learn Les McKeon is touring with his own version of the Rollers, and they are playing at a venue near me, in July. Mr Bingells, I know what I want for my birthday, which is next week, but the ticket can be my birthday present! Heh-heh!
No comments:
Post a Comment