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Bile!

Otherwise bored, so, Richard Ashcroft. Richard fucking Ashcroft. The Ashley Cole of dreary lumpen dad rock. Patron Saint of people who find Paul Weller slightly too edgy. The man who gives messiah complexes a bad name. Heard any of the new stuff? No? You lucky fucker. It makes Oasis sound like Sufjan Stevens, Shed Seven sound like Phillip Glass; or someone having a painful shit, you know, one of those somewhat rocky ones when you've been bunged up for a couple of days because, dammit, you've been eating too much meat, and who can blame you? It's so tasty, so here you are in the toilet of a multi-storey car park, possibly in Bletchley, there's an unpleasant echo effect hammering off the low-grade steel cladding and you're looking at the magic markered assignations for some really joyless anal scrawled on the inside of the door, you're giving birth from your arse slowly and agonisingly and all the distraction afforded you is the details of transient, urine-drenched coupling..well it makes that sound like George Clinton. Awful, awful stuff. Anyhoo, he's been behaving like a dick. Who'd have thought? Well, me. And I realised that I've been away from coastalblog for a shade longer than I'd like (busy, work, other things somewhat too important to talk to the internet about) and along comes Dickie with a gift, ta Richard!

(I think the bit about him lobbing his tambourine is my favourite part. Arse)

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