I’m trying to watch a Julie Christie movie somewhere the ads come thick and fast. I’m fond of Arvo Part. So someone thinks I’ll like Ludovico Einaudi, a religious minimalist Richard Clayderman. Four times in half an hour I have heard him wittering on about how music ‘elevates the spirit, how we can all become better.’
Look Einaudi, you spaghetti-slurping shithouse, I’m trying to fixate on the divine beauty of Julie Christie. Take your bland meanderings, your cutesy wootsy nursery rhymes and your baffling ability to crossover into every possible market and shove the lot up your no doubt perfumed and oft-rimmed Elephant and Castle.
(six hours sleep since Saturday. Fortunately this isn’t affecting me. And thank Christ for my daily dose of Bill Evans, a real piano genius.)