Edinburgh Fucking Rocks, Bitches
When I first moved up here, just about three and a half years ago, I was moaning about the lifelessness of the Edinburgh music scene and the fact that the long lost T on the Fringe was the only time anything interesting at all actually happened.
These days that is bollocks, of course, so it was with some pride that I read this little something in the NME letters page this morning. Actually, Bart scanned it and emailed it to me because I don’t buy the NME, but you know what I mean. I don’t know who you are, Scott the Thief, but I will buy you a pint if you ever reveal your secret identity!
And now, to celebrate, some “snobby art school jazz pish”. Life is sweet!
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