Friday Has Got the Doilies Out
Yes, the whole family is currently here at Toad Hall, inspecting the place and making sure that we are running our relationship in a satisfactory manner. I have had advice on everything from which chores to do in order to make Mrs. Toad happy when she gets back from God Bless America (about an hour ago) to how to order my working day now I am a gentleman of leisure. Oh what jolly fun it’s been.
Mrs. Toad got back to a demand from a debt collection agency for the sum of forty pounds, which included the statement “this amount includes an adminisration fee of forty pounds”. What a great business to be in! You send people letters claiming that the very act of sending them a letter obliges them to reimburse you for sending it. I am in the wrong fucking business.
I sat and played my folks some old Smithsonian Folkways stuff the other night actually, which was rather fun. I played them some Sam Amidon as well, and some Alela Diane and some Jackson C. Frank and some stuff from the gorgeous FOUND Toad Session. I am not sure that being sat down and told to listen to a series of songs I am convinced they Must Like is quite what they came here for, but hey. If they’re going to lecture me about domestic duties, I am going to force them to listen to music all night.
And once again it is Friday, de-lurking day and King’s Wark for our tea day, so all is well with the universe. Oh, and Mrs. Toad is home as well, which is very good news. I do miss the bad tempered old bag when she goes away. So please come out of hiding and answer five silly questions before wasting the rest of your Friday afternoon talking shit, when you really should be at work being productive.
1. Biggest pretence about your life you still maintain in front of your folks.
2. Most unreasonable thing you make them tolerate when they visit you.
3. Time before the novelty wears off.
4. Most preposterous debt collection conversation you’ve had.
5. Who do you write like?
Five songs from when I lived at home:
Kim Carnes – Mistaken Identity
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Alison Moyet – Love Resurrection
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Cyndi Lauper – Time After Time
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I know I hammer on about guilty pleasure on this blog a lot mostly, I would imagine, because I am an incredible snob and so some of the things I used to listen to horrify me. If you think I judge you by the shit you listen to, just think how twisted and confused that mockery must become when turned inward upon the giant Hydra of Hypocrisy which dwells inside me.

