Hi! How you doing? Hello…?
I hope that your home-administered haircut has left you still looking as hot as horribly-coiffed Cillian Murphy in 28 Days Later.
Continue reading Under Cover Under Wraps
With thanks and apologies to Long-Suffering-Reader-Of-The-Blog-Paul.
Long-suffering readers of the blog will know I’m a huge fan of nineties British indie music. So, I was thrilled when a hot, skinny boy who looks good in an Adidas tracksuit came onto the stage this week.
PORK PIES
(Dominic Cummings ft. Blur)
You know, I was just going to do one more post about COVID-19 and then move on. Something technical about its link to strokes.
Partly because, Do you want to read another hot take on the Coronavirus? Partly because I’m so angry about what’s going on, I figured if I did yet another one after a few more days had passed, I’d probably bust one of my brain aneurysms.
Then Boris Johnson did his thing on the telly.
[Usually I’d suggest that you check out the Apoplexy Tiny Letter for some light relief, but…]
Continue reading Television/The Strokes
I’ve been seeing folks doing calls for – and offering up – playlists to offer some kind of respite from The Lockdown that’s gone into effect here in the nations of Britain and Northern Ireland. So, what better time to belatedly offer up some of my favourite tracks from the happy days of 2019?
As it happens, the apoplectic.me post of my favourite choons of 2018 began by noting that it was the death of David Bowie that had heralded planet Earth’s one-way trip to hell in a hand basket.
So, join me, won’t you, on a trip down memory lane to when things hadn’t yet gotten entirely out of hand? Or if you don’t like wurdz, just hit up the Spotify playlist.
[The Apoplexy Tiny Letter is coming out of hiatus, too. With a bonus track, no doubt.]
Continue reading Eight Tracks III
Earlier this week, a friend who makes a brief cameo appearance in my survival memoir, Stroke: A 5% chance of survival, sent me a link to this recent article celebrating the original release of Pavement’s album Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain. Here’s the tl;dr take:
I mean, I was there. Not James Murphy. Though he probably was, too. I saw Pavement touring their first album, the epochal Slanted and Enchanted, at Edinburgh’s late and legendary venue, The, er, Venue.
That’s quite enough sub-muso-journo dross from me. Get to the human reflection below.
And in the Apoplectic Tiny Letter.
On Christmas Day, I put up a post that predicted the events of the first three months of 2019. Therein, Theresa May faked her own disappearance on Ben Nevis to run out the clock on a No Deal Brexit.
For Easter 2019, I was going to have David Bowie rise from the dead, having observed that it was his death that had set the world on a single trip to hell in a hand basket. It was gonna be great stuff.
[So we’re doing something else? Find out what below.
But first, check out the Apoplexy Tiny Letter.]
Hi there!
I’m aware that the posting schedule here at apoplectic.me has been a bit erratic recently. Sorry about that.
If you’re of a mind to follow me on the tweetie box or like and follow my writer’s page on Facebook or sign up for the Apoplexy Tiny Letter, the excuse for this will be revealed early on Thursday afternoon, Edinburgh time.
In the meantime, let’s stick to the stroke news, shall we? Continue reading Making Everything Better
So, the last post here on apoplectic.me cast a pretty sneering eye over Public Health England’s Heart Age Calculator. And if you think that an eye can’t sneer, welcome to the stroke blog.
That’s pretty much the modus operandi around here – bitter cynicism leavened with fun. Skip down to the bottom of this post if you just want to hear some of the best Scottish pop ever.
But it turns out that this time, I wasn’t alone in my cynicism.
[Maybe there’s actual upbeat stuff in the Apoplexy Tiny Letter – check it out] Continue reading Modus Operandi
Mrs Stroke Bloke and I have been catching up with the BBC Scotland documentary series Rip It Up: The History Of Scottish Pop.
In a sufficiently leisurely fashion that we haven’t reached this yet:
A deathless classic, I’m sure you’ll agree.
[For the most leisurely stroll through Scottish pop possible, check the Apoplexy Tiny Letter.] Continue reading Young At Heart
We’re at the fag-end of August, almost six years after the moment that set off the series of events that would change Mrs Stroke Bloke’s and my life forever. But no doubt we’ll get to that in due course.
For now, the Edinburgh Festival has just finished and the smell of sulphur from the massive closing fireworks display that rattled our windows last night is fading.
[Check out the Apoplexy Tiny Letter, where the devil always has the best tunes.] Continue reading Where Are We NOW?