lovely Eamonn.

I have a very early start in the morning, so I thought I'd just update the iPod with the latest "Archers" podcast for the train journey and, blow me down, another Word podcast has been slipped in. Even with my new 10 Mbps connection (thanks Mr Branson) that's still another 11 minutes delay to my bedtime. Curse you word!

Eamonn is always great, his insights are extremely interesting.

I suggest that Fraser look to the deep for his next batch of exotic meats. Perhaps a poached coelacanth or a giant isopod steak. May I be the first to vote for a Lewry column in Word trumpeting his latest and greatest dinners.

Another belter, many thanks.
A few high lights - please tell me I wasn't the only filthbucket listening who thought the answer to the question regarding Fraser's cooking was going to be 'hare pie' - so sorry.
Secondly Mr Hepworth's description of the pub being like a sock pulled inside out was superb.
Thirdly - I know the Eamonn's excellent accent has been discussed at length, but I love the notion that the Mercury shorlist isn't solely beast on seals - a genre I haven't fully explored - where should I begin?
Finally - as I was listening in T*sco - as is becoming the norm - and Mr H recommended the Madness album I bought it there and then ... and you know what? It's bloody good :-)

... last night, I couldn't settle - so I reached for the iPod to listen to the podcast to see if that would rest my brain.

A very enjoyable listen, but when hearing what Fraser made out of the hare in his freezer I was having so much trouble keeping my giggles under control, I had to make a dash to the spare room (not easy in the dark, without my glasses & trying to avoid the cat who I know was somewhere on the landing) so I could regain my composure.

I still have one. 22 years old and still performing well, though after posting this no doubt it will probably give up the ghost. We still tape TV programmes in time honoured fashion. None of that new fangled Sky Plus nonsense. People always used to say you should clean the heads regularly with a head cleaning tape, but I never did. Still works fine. Originally rented from Radio Rentals who then became some other company and later let me buy it off them for about £50 many years ago. It seems you can no longer rent appliances as used to be commonplace.

they must be the most over-hyped, fake-weird release for years. No surprise they're nominated though as british rock's gradual slide has coincided with the arrival of the Mercury Music prize. By definition music doesn't need 'prizes', music-marketing does.

Talking about the Alma reminded me about the pub in Southwark Market which was always open before 9am for benefit of the stall holders who had been there since the wee hours!

I would like to defend The Horrors from charges that they owe their modest early success to an assortment of props on loan from the NME costume library. There seems to be a disproportionate amount of cynicism directed towards bands who work to cultivate an image - a suspicion that this tendency towards dressing-up extends into their music and makes them less sincere than a band that takes to the stage in torn jeans and faded Shellac t-shirts.

I live in Southend and so before I am accused of blind loyalty towards the town that previously brought you Jake Shillingford from My Life Story and one of the blokes from Menswe@r, I should mention that I purchased The Horror’s debut - Strange House - without knowing the first thing about the band. I am completely ignorant of the local music scene and wouldn’t know a mover or a shaker from The Junk Club if I bumped into them stacking shelves in Sainsbury’s.

Strange House is an album where you can hear the potential crystallizing. A good half of it is brilliant: The way that the chorus of Sheena is a Parasite repeatedly screeches to a jarring halt; the arbitrary point in their treacley cover of Screaming Lord Sutch’s Jack the Ripper where the song accelerates to a predatory sprint. There is also a lot of material on the album that is underdeveloped, where the band seem to know what they want to say, but don’t know how to say it.

Primary Colours has earned favourable reviews, many of which mention Geoff Barrow’s role as producer; the subtext being The Horrors used to be crap and are only good now that someone from Portishead has their hand on the tiller. This paints a distorted picture: A couple of years ago The Horrors were good, but erratic. Their second album is a progression rather than a stylistic about-face, or a daring leap between speeding bandwagons. The band were always heading in this general direction. It was a question of whether they had the motivation and the talent to match their ideas.

The thing that impresses me most about Primary Colours is the macro scale upon which the songs have been constructed. The ten tracks are the musical equivalent of sheer, 500 foot cliffs, towering over some inhospitable sub-arctic landscape. It’s an album that sounds like it was assembled in an aircraft hanger; where the end result is so huge that it exerts its own gravity. A lot of bands require that you consciously buy into their world view if you really want to enjoy their music. Primary Colours projects such confidence and unstated self-belief that it sucks you in before you realise what’s going on.

I am 35, the owner of a jaded aural palette, and at an age where I lack the energy to confront romantic disappointments with anything other than a nice cup of tea and a lie down. I have to admit that Faris Rotter’s barked instruction to: “Draw strength, walk on into the night” when confronted by an ex-girlfriend, possesses an irresistible adolescent allure.

Another song (New Ice Age) begins with him bellowing “THE AGONY!”, which on paper looks ridiculous; the kind of thing that no one over the age of 14 could listen to without a knowing smirk. And yet in practice it works.

Primary Colours could well be the album that catalyses my long overdue midlife crisis, which it now seems will manifest as a new wardrobe incorporating heavy purple eye shadow, fishnet stockings and some manner of codpiece. I really can’t think of a higher personal compliment to pay a band.

Regarding one of the other Mercury Prize nominees, I recently heard the new Florence and the Machine album without being aware of what I was listening to. Music has the power to move people in many strange and unpredictable ways. In this instance I felt compelled to ask: “What in the name of c**ting Christ is this s***?”

I have since come to the conclusion ‘The Machine’ is like the ATMOS satellite navigation system that appeared in a recent episode of Doctor Who. Ostensibly it was designed for the benefit of humanity, but later turned out to be a Trojan horse for a planetary invasion by The Sontarons. To my ears this is not music but a weapon designed to subjugate large crowds.

That said, the album’s current chart position suggests that there are a lot of people out there who really like the band and would happily mount an impassioned defence of Florence and her Machine, in the same way that I will continue to defend The Horrors.

Bearing in mind that teenage girls were probably their biggest demographic in the first place..The height of "The Horrors" ,"pre-musicality" hype,was surely their appearance and incorperation into an entire episode of the "Mighty Boosh" (3rd series).."Vince" ( Noel Fielding) was in love with the haircuts and coveted legs skinny enough to be their lead singer. This self deprecating and therefore endearing appearance did not make it onto Eamonn's radar i guess. I didnt give their music a second thought,but,in the same way that an appearance on "TisWas" in the early eighties,was a big boost to the "laddish" cred of our favourites "back then",being part of the "Mighty Boosh" must have counted well in their favour.
As Eamonn says ,the latest incarnation is totally different. The one track i heard sounded like Joy Division,with Andy Gill on guitar.
Re energy drinks:I had a bit of a fad (semi-addiction) to them going on this spring.The high caffiene shot certainly takes on the alcohol."Rockstar" is still around,but very much a "second division" motorcycle racing team sponsor,(along with "Relentless"),Superbikes, NorthWest 200, Isle of Man TT ,those sort of teams..
"Monster" has been heavily pushed this year, and is currently challenging "Red Bull" for number one.The green "scratch-marks" are all over MotoGp and Formula One. A welcoming environment for the twitch-inducing caffiene,carnitine and ginseng infused concoction. Incredibly sweet,taking the "cough mixture" initial bite of Red Bull,adding some sort of "juice",possibly Orange or Pineapple,with a marzipan-like after-taste...crack open a can as perfect accompaniment to the latest from Basement Jaxx...

some moment of 'almost 51' madness engulfed me today and I went to Comet (other retailers are available and they're all the same) and bought an 8G iPd tOuch! I can't work it properly of course but first thing it sync'd to was Wordcasts. They sound an awful lot different on them cheap Apple "in the lug-o'phones", were they designed that way.

and sorry I'm late to this, the dog ate my Walkman™

also
FATM means Faith and the Muse to me, but I'm a proper old Goth not like you pretenders "Tsk!"

In days gone by, when I used to cycle to work in Wandsworth from Crouch End, which was roughly a 25 mile round trip, I had the misfortune one evening to bonk.
This doesn't mean I had a lewd experience on the bike, but it's what cyclists call it, when your blood sugar drops to zero. It's a really strange sensation, one second you're cycling perfectly normally then you feel as though somehow the power has been switched off. You just have no energy. You also get this sugar craving.
Unfortunately I was on Exhibition Road in Kensington, (where the Science, Natural History and V&A museums are) near to the south side of Hyde Park. This is an area with no shops at all.
I got myself across Hyde Park, to a newsagent I knew on the north side. Got off my bike, went in and saw exactly what I needed: a king size Mars Bar.
It's hard to describe the ecstasy of the taste of that first mouthful. It was simply one of the best things I've ever eaten in my life. Forget your Kudu steaks, this was simply oral heaven. I ate about 2/3 and let my body recharge. With another 6 miles to go, I reserved the final bit until I got to Kentish Town when I wolfed down that gorgeous chocolate and mallow confection.
That was at least 10 years ago and I've never touched another one since because I know how disappointing it will taste, unless I bonk again.

available in the Apps section Brer Carl?

as a Type 2, I do know how low blood sugar can effect a bod