Festival Dad-dom beckons

One last push uphill of the Sisyphean rock that is my day job tomorrow, and then I run away on holiday before it rolls back down on top of me.

Which means, I hope, dear reader, you’re in for a virtual feast of blogging as we approach the trip to Latitude Festival next week. Planned are:

Diary of a Festival Dad Part Deux: what not to eat; and

Diary of a Festival Dad Part the Third: your actual music.

However, this blog reserves the right to be utterly capricious and write something else entirely. I might post a picture of one of the resident goldfish, who has partially changed colour from chocolate brown to black (too much nitrate in the water, apparently – not good) and now sports a Hitler moustache. I might well post about Tribute to Venus Carmichael’s new EP – a thing of beauty. I might write a poem in praise of modern Germany’s mighty footballers: probably feels more like a prose thing, that, though.

Whatever, it’ll be unsponsored, unpasteurised, and under 2,000 words. Keep the dial here.

Right better go for now, and stop that fish trying to invade Poland. I’m convinced he’s got a Panzer Division hidden under that artificial cave thing at the bottom of the tank.




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