How does someone go from checking out this photo on the blog to wondering about John Peel, his festive fifty and one of the best singles of all time? And all from a keyboard in New Delhi to boot.
Mmm, "to boot" . . . makes sense: search for photo of fascist nutjob who just happened to be a fine footie player - that goal against Wimbledon, sigh - on the net brings thoughts of footie hoolies which sparks off memories of bootboys, which makes one think of teenage kicks. It rubs off one me 'cos I head straight to iTunes to check out some classic Auteurs.
The tea should have masked by now.
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