The skin you're in

Okay I'm not happy that there's trouble with access to this blog as that was the reason I created it (my Tripod one had just such issues) but I'll persist for the time being..

Talk about needing to know your audience: Linda Ronstadt lost her spot at a casino in the US for stating that Michael Moore was a patriot and everyone should go see Fahrenheit 911. Unobjectionable enough one would think. It only played a very small, between songs, part of her performance and the film is, after all, doing gangbusters at the Box Office, becoming the best performing documentary on its opening weekend. Yet it caused such affront to the larded Bush supporters in attendance that they went on a rampage, throwing their cocktails around and tearing her posters from the wall.
In Sweden, however, Bonnie Rait's dedication of a song along the lines of 'it's about to end' to the Bush administration drew a rousing reception of a different kind; she was cheered and applauded.

So if you're going to make adverse comments about a guy who cheated his way into office, blew the budget out to buggery, invaded a sovereign state under false pretences and got a whole bunch of people killed into the bargain, just don't do it around any unreconstructed Bush pigs, ja.

Where you from

I came into the world as a fringe member of the Church of Christ. The name of the place is hidden in this hyperlink.

I boarded away in high school, there being no senior high schools where I lived. I had a hard time at 'the Hutt' and often wished I was a "townie", although in a different town.

I shared a flat with my best friend in Claremont and also stayed at a couple of boarding houses, which was a treat I can't tell you after already doing that through high school.

I knew I couldn't stay forever at my grandparents'.
Eventually I answered an ad in the paper and lived in my first sharehouse proper but, when one of the members of the house started going crazy and locked himself in the lounge playing MY copy of "London Calling" over and over again, it was fortunate that I had someone in circle of friends to move into a flat with (he also fixed me up with a temporary government job).

After he moved out, I tried getting other people in but, when that wasn't working, I put notice on the place and went desperately searching for somewhere new. Fate intervened and I had my first girlfriend proper and was living in a lovely sharehouse with her and friends of us both, eventually.

Then, in a nefarious sleight-of-hand I'm surprised I had a hand in, I stayed with my girfriend's parents and spent the weekend with her in Nedlands. It was ages before they discovered.

Our subterfuge discovered, it was not long till we decided to make the big move across the country - sit up on the Indian Pacific. We initially stayed at her brother's place in Glebe but soon found a sharehouse in the selfsame suburb.There were a few of us very poor until we started finding jobs and I remember going round the furniture factories and scabbing wood for the fire.
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Well I try to give you a personal history in hyperlinks and all you end up with is crummy real estate copy. Sorry 'bout that.

Robes, Pierre

How strange, since coming to my new home I find it harder to post. It's a bit like moving house and tentatively reaching for where the light switch is or negotiating those back steps.
But doesn't this template look lovely? It's better than I could have imagined and fits the title perfectly.
 
For those of you wondering whether this will be a dig at Jesus worship. Well yes sometimes. But mostly it will the same eclectic muddle of taradiddle and personal observation that characterised Drink It Black

First Light

Hello and welcome to my brand new blog. This one is expected to have universal coverage so let me know if you can't read it.