I would have gone with shape, but as I previewed the likely content of the post in my spacious head, I realised that would be rather too specific for what is likely to spew forth into the internets over the course of the next minutes.
Work and a newly wonkified turntable have brushed against the hull of my bloggernaught like one of those spiky mine things, threatening to send it to the bottom of the sea of metaphors stretched to (and possibly beyond) breaking point. But fear not, those of you foolish and simplebrained enough to be made afraid by a slight slowing in a random weirdo's technoramblings - once things are once more shipshape and fashioned like breasts, there will be more sharings of the most tantalising and titillating kind.
There will be the happy continuation of the Medway Compilations (very possibly even in order, who knows), another secret compilationy treat, the continued exploration of the mustier and seedier pathways of the Psychotrashabilly Garage world (with a nice miniature slice of X-Men edging its way to the top of the pile), some Purple Things (and maybe some Vibes), some other stuff and either a) some Cannibals or b) a continued dodging of the Cannibals issue because I still don't know where to stuff them in my mental hierarchy of aural pleasures, not even after all these long and frankly tedious years.
The future is bright, the future comes in a variety of pleasing colours and will be stuffed to hernia inducing proportions with gizzard tickling music in a variety of pleasing lengths.
In the meantime, here's some Cramps. One half hillbilly and one half punk, they do what the Cramps do best.
Send...more...paramedics...
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