Well! Second pile of nonsense tonight - aren't you lucky?
I always thought Clapton was a bit of a wet lettuce, but I have to say that I have changed my mind. I am listening to the best of Cream, and although Jack Bruce is clearly barking, and not going to make my Top Ten Poets, Eric is bloody fantastic and Ginger Baker is one heck of a drummer.
I am comparing them to LedZep, whom I have been chilling to whilst writing: not much between them, I'd say. Why, oh why, did the Sixties have to end? The music was so much fresher, better, and inspirational. I'd like to be in a series like Life on Mars, only it would need to be entitled as above.
I'm a political man, sang Jack, and I am going for it...
...I am also going to inculcate you in the ways of Northern Soul, as everyone should understand what it's all about. Mr Weller knows, and so should you all.
And 'The English Patient' was really good: Ondaatje is about as clever as de Bernieres, which worries me. How the bloody hell am I going to win the Booker with people like this about?
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