John Daly: Keeping the Jimmy White flame of smoking in sport alive.
My friend tells me it's terrible bad weather for 'golfer's hole'. This unsubtle euphemism describes an otherwise unspoken rash that will be familiar to any man who has spent a hot day doing repetitive physical activity in Penney's underwear. The aformentioned friend and his golfing chums periodically suffer from this embarrassing scourge. They've a lot of extra nylon to deal with, y'see. Indeed, it's so common in the golfing community that they talk openly about it in the pub and compare treatments. The slathering on of Vaseline at 7am, the sly dock-leaf dropped down your jocks behind the fifteenth tee. It's all part of a hot day's golf.
I'm going to post a techno-y MP3 because I haven't done that in a while.
MP3: Deepchord presents echospaceelysian
This track is a cut from the monolithic dub techno album 'the coldest season', which is produced by Stephen Hitchell and Rod Modell. I associate dub techno with two wildly different types of situation. The first normally occurs on a bank holiday Sunday afternoon. You find yourself wobbling through the blasted wreckage of a house-party to open a window, any window, as long as it lets out the mong. Invariably, a few survivors are splayed on couches, staring at lampshades and muttering about heading down to others of their ilk in the Bernard Shaw. An impossibly cheery techno-wonk's ipod, running on the barest shred of battery, will be burbling through the speakers. What's playing? Why, dub techno of course.
My second experience normally occurs at home, late at night when I am feeling a little down in the dumps. I put my headphones on and surrender to this music. It's a security blanket. So deep, dark, cavernous and luxurious. All those soft undulating effects following the sparse bass, echoing, hissing, drawing the mind further and further into space or perhaps more aptly 'a space' where everything melts away except form and texture. Often dub techno music is barely representative of anything (one of the tracks from the deepchord album I mentioned is called "ocean of emptiness"). Such a meandering, repetitive journey through texture maddens those who criticise the genre. But, to me anyway, it is the very abstraction they criticise which provides the ultimate means of escapism.
7/1/09
No one can succeed like Doctor Robert
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Ah lads, I can't handle this humid weather. It's suffocating. Earlier, a trip to the shop for a cooling lolly nearly left me collapsed in a wheezing heap. Night time is worse. I ended up rooting around the freezer for bags of frozen veg to put under my sheets last night. They sort of worked too, like reverse hot water bottles with broccoli florets in them. In case you're wondering, I didn't share my bed with the foodstuffs. I patiently watched a bit of BBC News 24 as they worked their magic. I can be a bit gross at times, but even I wouldn't sneak a bag of veg back in the fridge after it was semi-defrosted by the radiant heat from my crotch.
John Daly: Keeping the Jimmy White flame of smoking in sport alive.
My friend tells me it's terrible bad weather for 'golfer's hole'. This unsubtle euphemism describes an otherwise unspoken rash that will be familiar to any man who has spent a hot day doing repetitive physical activity in Penney's underwear. The aformentioned friend and his golfing chums periodically suffer from this embarrassing scourge. They've a lot of extra nylon to deal with, y'see. Indeed, it's so common in the golfing community that they talk openly about it in the pub and compare treatments. The slathering on of Vaseline at 7am, the sly dock-leaf dropped down your jocks behind the fifteenth tee. It's all part of a hot day's golf.
I'm going to post a techno-y MP3 because I haven't done that in a while.
MP3: Deepchord presents echospaceelysian
This track is a cut from the monolithic dub techno album 'the coldest season', which is produced by Stephen Hitchell and Rod Modell. I associate dub techno with two wildly different types of situation. The first normally occurs on a bank holiday Sunday afternoon. You find yourself wobbling through the blasted wreckage of a house-party to open a window, any window, as long as it lets out the mong. Invariably, a few survivors are splayed on couches, staring at lampshades and muttering about heading down to others of their ilk in the Bernard Shaw. An impossibly cheery techno-wonk's ipod, running on the barest shred of battery, will be burbling through the speakers. What's playing? Why, dub techno of course.
My second experience normally occurs at home, late at night when I am feeling a little down in the dumps. I put my headphones on and surrender to this music. It's a security blanket. So deep, dark, cavernous and luxurious. All those soft undulating effects following the sparse bass, echoing, hissing, drawing the mind further and further into space or perhaps more aptly 'a space' where everything melts away except form and texture. Often dub techno music is barely representative of anything (one of the tracks from the deepchord album I mentioned is called "ocean of emptiness"). Such a meandering, repetitive journey through texture maddens those who criticise the genre. But, to me anyway, it is the very abstraction they criticise which provides the ultimate means of escapism.
John Daly: Keeping the Jimmy White flame of smoking in sport alive.
My friend tells me it's terrible bad weather for 'golfer's hole'. This unsubtle euphemism describes an otherwise unspoken rash that will be familiar to any man who has spent a hot day doing repetitive physical activity in Penney's underwear. The aformentioned friend and his golfing chums periodically suffer from this embarrassing scourge. They've a lot of extra nylon to deal with, y'see. Indeed, it's so common in the golfing community that they talk openly about it in the pub and compare treatments. The slathering on of Vaseline at 7am, the sly dock-leaf dropped down your jocks behind the fifteenth tee. It's all part of a hot day's golf.
I'm going to post a techno-y MP3 because I haven't done that in a while.
MP3: Deepchord presents echospaceelysian
This track is a cut from the monolithic dub techno album 'the coldest season', which is produced by Stephen Hitchell and Rod Modell. I associate dub techno with two wildly different types of situation. The first normally occurs on a bank holiday Sunday afternoon. You find yourself wobbling through the blasted wreckage of a house-party to open a window, any window, as long as it lets out the mong. Invariably, a few survivors are splayed on couches, staring at lampshades and muttering about heading down to others of their ilk in the Bernard Shaw. An impossibly cheery techno-wonk's ipod, running on the barest shred of battery, will be burbling through the speakers. What's playing? Why, dub techno of course.
My second experience normally occurs at home, late at night when I am feeling a little down in the dumps. I put my headphones on and surrender to this music. It's a security blanket. So deep, dark, cavernous and luxurious. All those soft undulating effects following the sparse bass, echoing, hissing, drawing the mind further and further into space or perhaps more aptly 'a space' where everything melts away except form and texture. Often dub techno music is barely representative of anything (one of the tracks from the deepchord album I mentioned is called "ocean of emptiness"). Such a meandering, repetitive journey through texture maddens those who criticise the genre. But, to me anyway, it is the very abstraction they criticise which provides the ultimate means of escapism.
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12 comments:
John Daly! he's a ledgebag.
Must remember the term golfer's hole next time.
Ive been moving house over last couple of days, and carrying useless junk up and down 4 flights of stairs in this heat has killed me. Unbearable heat
You lose a couple of more posts Darragh?
Great piece!
I don't know ronan...I can't remember what's supposed to be here. Do you notice some gone?
There was a Built to Spill Post right?
I wrote a couple of Built to Spill posts way back. I put 'else' on my last compost mix. But that is still here and intact. Not sure about anything else.
Must have been it, my bad
Also known as Chef's Ass I believe
I spent a summer working in a cavity wall insulation factory called hytherm. As you can imagine the place was fairly well insulated. We were all wrecked with it and called it 'Hytherm Hole'
It's the way ya end up walking like a cowboy that's the worst. You wait til you reckon no-one is looking, then cowboy walk for a bit and then realise you are being watched by a gang of guffawing teenage girls. Bad times.
Adam, Penney's jocks are at the heart of this problem. But a snug fitting pair of jockeys from M&S and yer laughing.
What the Malones do in hot weather is freeze two litre bottles of water and use them as cold water bottles, as it were. Less mushy than the veg...
Great idea Ailbhe...a handy household hint for next run of hot weather
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