Hey Droogies,

How I wish I hadn’t jumped with joy and told you all about finishing the book. Sure, the intellectually brain-mashing was out tha way at last, but incoming fast across the horizon was the proof-reading and the Europe-wide spelling inconsistencies that only a book like THE MEGALITHIC EUROPEAN would need to address. So my editor rings me and asks: ‘skibbssaetning? You’ve spelled that four different ways. What’s the correct way?’ As these boat shaped monuments are all across Scandinavia, you gots to wonder why they couldna come up with somethink a lickle bit more catchy and brief… Whatever!

Still, at least it’s given me a breathing space in which to punish my turntable with some dislocated rock’n’roll, brothers and sisters. Despite the recent brace of surprising musical disappointments such as the dreadful albums by Mars Volta (overblown LAMB LIES DOWN sub-sub-sub-Kafkaesque who-gives-a-damnisms), Witchcraft (demos from a youthclub ghetto blaster) and a bunch of neo-Kraut opportunists on the rock bandwagon (You know who you are!), there’s still some amazing shit tinitising my lobes as we speak. Also, those of you who dug the Pentagram Album of the Month should search out SUB-BASEMENT, too, as the re-recordings of old Pentagram stuff is actually highly laudable.

Now I don’t mean to smoke my own pole, but you gots to admit that my percipient decision to place a bet against the Athens Olympics actually happening (see October Drudion 2003CE) is beginning to look pretty damned forward-thinking… Every day there’s a bit more news about this ain’t happening, that’s been postponed, and Athens in the August heat will kill (I’m sure of it) several participants from sheer heatstroke. Also, I got the bet in so early on I’m up for winning over 12 Euros (or evros as the Greeks spell it), so my problems are over…

Unlike the GM corporations, who’ve finally lost their chance to spread death across Britain. Despite this government’s willingness to ignore public fears by allowing Bayer in, that company has realised it’s currently pointless to continue and are off the lick their wounds somewhere else. 

Hey, and the arrogance of David Blunkett is another fucking thing. If ever there was proof of this being a Man;s World, it’s those ugly sightless eyes of David Blunkett staring out at the world telling us old Bev ain’t gonna resign. Can you imagine what the Daily Mail would have to say about that if this were a woman MP foisting these sightless sockets upon us? When Gwyneth Dunwoody and Claire Short are mercilessly attacked for their physical size and appearance (and they ain’t fat, either) our letting Blunkett out without shades just about seems the perfect Patriarchal metaphor to me. How is it that when even masters of cool like Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder know enough to hide their sightless eyes behind sunglasses, this arrogant clod feels strong enough to stymie orthodoxy by appearing again and again in front of the cameras undermining his stories of what control he’s got of the nation when his own two eyes seem to be perpetually off stargazing. Also, what’s all this ‘Bev’ kack? Her name is Beverly Hughes not Bev. We ain’t her friend and we ain’t yours, luvvie! Man, what’s the crack with all this pally shortening of public figure’s names? I recently read a Guardian article about Samuel Beckett and the writer was referring to him as ‘Sam Beckett’! What? You his bezzie mate or something, you coat-tail rider? How they feel this dubious over-familiarity could aggrandise their position I’ll never know, especially when Marianne Faithfull still has the dignity to refer to the main Stones as ‘Mick Jagger’ and ‘Keith Richards’.

Meanwhile, closer to home, some knobhounds just attacked the Rollright Stones with yellow paint! Wha? It’s screwed the ancient lichen and coming just pre-Easter, too! Sickness or watt? I suppose it could be so many different factions of our fractured community I ain’t even gonna make a guess. Needless to say, though, it was a pretty damned thing to do as the Rollrights serve refuseniks of all non-Monotheistic persuasions throughout the south Midlands.

A final comment should really be made about Blair’s desert mission to the tent of Gaddafi Duck, who says from now on he’ll play fair and British and U.S. airlines can start dumping Libyan airfuel over Scottish hillsides instead of Pan Am travellers. Unfortunately, I can’t think of a thing to say about this, except that my next image may have to integrate some of the colonel’s dress sense along with his two most obvious inspirations, Ken Dodd and Tommy Cooper.

Just like that!

JULIAN (Goalkeeper of the Sacred Portals and Arch Drude)