The things I love.
Inner monologues.
The Big Lebowski, [tBl] and the gang, dude love.
Too much time on my hands, Counter Strike, a Magners and an emotional Grice.
Watching middle aged people get tipsy and do Karaoke.
Irn-Bru.
Cockney dubbing in Kung Fu.
Small-town bedlam.
Nintendo, Shigsy and Reggie.
Letters that never got sent.
Taps that drip and never stop.
The hiss of vinyl and the purr of mix tapes.
Game over - please try again.
Being a geek.
All things animated.
Weegee.
Germany and the east.
Playing Star wars trilogy arcade suffering from bee stings.
Sleeping outside the Foof in Amsterdam naming all the hookers.
Stockholm syndrome.
Rock and Roll hairstyles.
John Peel.
Real friends.
Pins and needles.
Swirling drunken ceilings.
Sticker books.
Walking past corn fields at night.
French electronic music.
Things that come in glass bottles.
The Montster.
Pursuit of the hopeless. Incessant quoting of a geeky proportion.
Welsh Patriotism, our country is all we have, and we love it.
Train journeys.
The Reading Collectors Store.
Being the only man to act nice on cider.
Falling asleep on vibrating bus windows.
Polaroid.
Tacky things your relatives leave you in wills.
Old exercise books and Hb scribbling of innocence.
Trying to look into the back of your head.
Cool side of the pillow.
Pet names.
The power forgiving brings.
Robert Barr.
Calipos and the guilty giggles of public phallic licking.
Hair dye disasters.
Drinking with the sole intention to get drunk.
German Fanta flavours.
Never needing to sleep.
The smell of garages and motor oil.
Service stations at 5am.
Waiting in airports.
Crickets, their chirps and their ability to elude.
Epic Nam films where all the characters are dusty and sweaty looking.
Laziness.
Caffeine rush.
The 7-up dude.
Power ballads.
Soggy trainers.
My obsessive compulsive religion of making tea.
1950s Technicolor.
Long silences and trying to fill them.
Seeing the world as an old school noir film.
Mufti days, that’s no uniform for you middle class types.
Staring at people on the tube, and reading their books.
The clack clack ping of an old typewriter.
Spaghetti westerns.
FAB - Gerry Anderson and all things puppet like.
The smell of new books.
That post office kit I had as a child.
Ice cream vans and the borderline-psychotic-sounding nursery rhymes they pelt out highlighting that green sleeves has nothing to do with ice cream.
Having to dance to green sleeves as a child and hating every second of it.
Fancy dress when everyone tries.
Skittles.
Soundtracks.
Watching people all pilled up when you're not.
Sleep over’s.
Disappearing in the grass.
Red hair.
Fear of technical failure.
Stealing things from bins.
Filthy anime.
Watching Richard and Judy with the sound down.
Spending Saturday night in.
The Adams Family.
Accordions.
Shit old hammer horror movie special effects and bad lighting that's far scarier than anything produced post stop-start animation.
Gay disco.
The snake of lights along motorways at night.
2am drizzle and walking with my eyes on the stars.
Childhood spent in trees.
Neon signs.
Pubby pubs.
Quiet bookish type boys.
The monotony of it all.
Smell of hospitals.
Writing lots of post-it-notes to the people you love.
Being like Johnny.
Dancing to Blondie.
Fleeting moments when you feel all reckless and young.
Camden Town, hating the commercialization of it and playing the “tupown-ne-selection†game.
Gillette adverts.
Arty types who don’t need a qualification to lie to themselves.
Batman related remarks … Batman!
Insta-gib!
The magic lean that Robert Plant does to keep his trousers on and his tackle in.
Let the listing commence for ever more.
To be honest I would never wish to meet my heroes, in fear of disappointment and rejection. Why Peel never wanted to know the bands he loved so much, god I love that man.
A sane person.
Mordechai Anielewicz, one of lifes unsung heroes.
Terry Pratchett.
Robert Barr.
Albert Einstein.
God?
People gone by.
The man who dreamt up that little stick kid on fire on the back of matchboxes.
Every last Soldier to serve in either World War.
Galileo Galilei.
Robert Plant.
A girl who once beat me on Street Fighter II aboard a P&O ferry on the way to Calais in the year 2001. Teach me! You had red hair and wore a skirt, I looked, well, scruffy.
Groucho Marx.
Charlie Brooker, you angry man you.
Herbert George Wells.
Shigeru Miyamoto.
Marylyn Monroe, I like calling her "Norma" Bless her.
Wilhelm Richard Wagner.
John Lennon.
Arthur Fellig, aka "Weegee".
Jimi Hendrix.
Gerry Anderson.
Joe Strummer.
Fritz Lang.
Georges Prosper Remi.
Karl Marx.
All the dead relatives I never knew.
Geoffrey Chaucer.
George Lucas, I shall slap him then embrace his Jabba neck.
Optimus Prime, the classic prime.
Woody Allen.
Batman.
Oscar Wilde.
Ernesto Guevara de la Serna, Che.
Martin Luther King Jr.
Mickey the Head and Shoulders prick in a dark alley, I equipped with two bricks and his testicles exposed.
Myself.