Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronn
tuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!
Voila. I am writing this a few hundred yards from Kipling's East Sussex manse. I dare be no more specific than that. Although I live in ******* (imagine London is a goal, now imagine you have struck your penalty at my flat, and finally imagine what every commentator is mandated to say at this point over the replay: "too straight, really...and that's a nice height for the 'keeper, Clive"). In *******, I am "a nice height for the 'keeper, Clive". Since I do not want to be saved (or rather, to chase the joke (away), salvation is the very LAST thing I want) I will only write this 'blog from East Sussex (low and to the 'keeper's left) or in Croydon (low and straight down the middle). Good. Ready? Now, that sign says "apple sauce"...

Hello, yes, hmmm. The Footage here. I’d just like to take this opportunity to thank… No? Oh, OK then. Well, can I at least...?... Yes, yes, very quickly. Well, welcome to the site, lovers of music, words and Footage band members. Medium- to long-term followers will have noticed a dearth of gigs, commentary and general back-slapping camaraderie of late. For this I’ve conceived many excuses, all of which are linked, in some fashion or another, to the much maligned sloth. The clingy, black-eyed tree dweller is quite the talker, I’ll have you know.