its own … um .. metaphorical hands

Continuing my startling run of gym visits (you saw what I did there). Forty-five minutes again, lest the machine decides to take my exercise programme into its own … um .. metaphorical hands. It’s less an attempt at fitness than a bizarre desire to make my body reveal what ailment it has decided I should suffer next. Scurvy, probably.

I gather tracks together for a massive retrospective of the Cocteau Twins. This affords me great pleasure, since I haven’t listened to them for a while, or at least not properly. I think the Fontana albums are, if anything, even more fabulous than the 4AD ones, but I realise that that’s an unusual point of view re the Cocteaux. I don’t have two very important albums – Heaven or Las Vegas and Victorialand on CD. This is a tremendous gap, which I should try to find ways to plug.