Four days lingering, but the joy keeps coming! Today, akirathedoncom is proud to present Son Of King Rebel's brand new festive classic, A Vintage Year for Women. Produced by Akira The Don (yo!) and recorded at Don Studios IV in the fragrant Wick of Hackney, this was written and performed by Penzance's own Son of King Rebel, with musical assistance from Bangor's James "Harassing" Harrison, Blonde Jeremy Deacon, and the aforementioned Don.
There is a video that need to find time to edit, so let's all keep our fingers crossed for that one...
Here in Wales, I feel like I've done a full day of manual labour, after dragging my diseased carcass around Llandudno all day, saving the economy. Llandudno has expanded rather dramatically since I last visited, but the meat of the town is still the half-mile high street that snakes down hill, like a dirty stream. If there's one thing they love in that lovely little place, it's Golliwogs. I haven't seen so many Golliwogs since Enid Blyton's Noddy got a PC face lift. FYI, the men in Llangefni do not favour the Dappy Hat - they are refreshingly creative with their headgear, displaying a technicolour smorgasbord of cosy looking noggin-apparati. The females of the species, however, showed a brazen disregard for personal warmth, opting for ass-tickling "skirts" in this wholly inclement weather. I would wonder what their mothers are thinking, but on the evidence, it is The Same Thing. God help us if there is a War, as ever.
I did have fun however - I spoke to everybody that I met in confident, well accented Welsh, and hung out with Debenhams' very own Store Santa Claus. I know his secret identity, but I'm not telling you because that would leave his family open to great dangers, and I am really not that kind of asshole. However, I will say I am not very impressed with Debenhams attitude toward their Store Santa, or their customers. He was parked unceremoniously at the back of the children's clothes section, garbed in a dressing gown more befitting on a man twice his pleasing stature, on a sprayed-gold chair, with a sprayed-gold Reindeer's head hung on the wall behind him (he's been telling distraught children it's Rudolph's great Grandfather). No grotto, no elves, no Christmassy music, no presents - just a small selection of unsellable-books to choose from. Its a good job Santa is such a dear, jolly fellow, else many Christmases might have been ruined already this year. If the high street is dying, I suspect a lot of the blame to lie with the High Street itself, which has become intolerably mean an anti-human-being these past ten years or so.
Anyway. Five hours of shopping, and I still have far too much left to accomplish, on that front anyway, so it'll be more of the same tomorrow. I shall have to try another town. Two year old girls are remarkably easy, and fun, to shop for. Their aged older wiser counterparts? Not so much.