I sat in a convivial pub the other night as around me convivial sorts chattered and laughed. I could barely hear a word. Every so often, the sound of what appeared to be a band tuning up threatened to break down even that little of my personal space. I do not need, not REQUIRE an […]
In the Sex Pistols’ day, this was called flogging a dead horse.
But this Fado music! That’s some beautiful sad bastard stuff, yes?
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Collapse Board. We criticise because we care.