The heating’s on. It’s getting darker. Hot chocolate is more than appropriate to binge drink on a nightly basis and we’re on the verge of the country’s clocks being simultaneously altered. Yes, it’s the downhill slope towards the eternal darkness of Yuletide.
That’s why I’m using seasonal shift as an excuse for being shit on the writing front. I know there’s very little here, and I know that’s probably not going to improve over the next, say, four or five months now. But I don’t care. This is the hibernation period. Time to put the words back into storage and ration them out carefully, at least until the sun bothers to shine again.
And even then, I wouldn’t get my hopes up for this personal writing to get any better.
That drawling tone of voice speaking words like “I’m the sausage man” and “Mr. Maserati” was enough for this to warrant a spot in the list for novelty value, but it was the catchy refrain, woozy bass line and sweeping string section that cemented it here for its musical worth.
Did that make any sense? I’m really beyond caring at this point. All I’m doing is keeping this ticking over right now. Maybe I’ll cut back a bit next year. For the meantime, here’s a bit of video.
Baxter Dury – Miami
Jamie Walsh 
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