One of the greatest instances of nominative determinism til Amy Winehouse.

The Magic Flute. Not the best production, but a lovely setting

Here are a couple of pictures of the George Inn, as it stands today. Rebuilt a number of times since it was first drank in around Chaucer's day. Before purpose built theaters, actors would stage plays in courtyard areas in inns like these. Look at those balconies - they'd end up influencing stalls.

I like to compare how Bryan Johnson looks vs Ed Byrne, a man who is six years older than the billionaire and has subsisted on pints, laughs, and service station food for the last thirty years.

Friday afternoon work mechanical enough for an audiobook. Smartphones are battlefields.

I came home and busked this out on the guitar

Do you know why 'albums' of music are called that? In the early 20th century, record companies used to release bound books of 78 rpm records that you could flick through to find the track you wanted:

The Old Salutation Inn claims an date of 1280. This, the only room that doesn't feel like a flat roofed estate biker pub, with its real Tudor structure and slouching at the ceiling, is good because if they see the spot's empty, bar a man with a pint and a book, they find another place to sit.

Today I learnt the creators of spam unsuccessfully sued The Muppets Treasure Island production team. Resulting in this bitchy response from a gourmand Judge.

Oh, and, once again: the best pun I'll ever write.

Logged in to X The Everything App to do some more deletin' and decided these were worth pulling from the ruins. Just.

Heat rises. If only someone would invent an easy way to get your bedroom downstairs in the summer and upstairs in the winter. Good news. Someone did. Invest now, before everyone else. Get in on the ground floor (shortly to become the top floor.)

Snapped up a planter at the community growing space round the corner. Stripped all the weeds out, got my raspberries, peppers, kale, and tomatoes in. Nice to get dirt back under my fingers and in a place so much more manageable than my old allotment.

Rivalling Lauren Bacall's last credit being a Family Guy cameo, it does seem the final work of Shane MacGowan (so far released) was the lyrics, though not the music, to a song in How to Train Your Dragon 2.

(Failing to fit in on social media) Every Guy is one of these four lads!!! 🤣🤣🤣 which are you??

Now, I've worked on building sites and both my brothers are manual lads, so know that there's no snobbery involved when I say the vibes here will be uniquely atrocious. They'll start decent, but once the coke kicks in, probably during Hundred Mile High City, this will be a wasteland

"Namaste." "Namaste." "What did the Jamaican hindu say when she was asked to leave?"

Always love a pre-20th century mickey metaphor. From the namesake of gerrymandering:

"Buddha's on the Delorean..." somehow isn't a Warren Zevon lyric.

This little Starbug has taken some knocks over the years, but it's still the desk ornament that reassures me the most.

Laughed imagining a note from Matt Groening after season 1, episode 3 like: The show has too many black characters. Please eliminate at least one.

Lisa Nandy always has the expression of someone who just let off a terrible fart in an empty room, only to have the room then fill with people who could advance her career.

Dan Castellenetta: this was so off that I thought the character was a South African. I didn't click that it was supposed to be Michael Caine for decades.

"Hey, girl, look. Just realised. I grabbed beer, bread and cake from the shop. You see? Some of the oldest words in the English language, babe!" "Will you let me sleep?!"

In terms of things that you could afford as a little luxury on payday, the little slow cooker is just behind the thirty quid I spent on the projector.

The album itself is almost wilfully mediocre but I've always, always had an outsized love for Paul Simonon's painting for the cover of Tighten Up Vol. 88 by Big Audio Dynamite.

I don't rap for spread Presidents I'd rather see the President spread!

Beyond inflicting his fetish on us - which foot guys seem uniquely inclined to do - this still says a hell of a lot about the artist Quentin Tarantino is. He such a great eye for composition and the soul of an artist and the brain of a puerile litte twerp.