A week or two ago, BBC 24 Hour non-News had a Saturday entertainment segment on drag racing. Oh god, the thrill that went through me. I know it’s the wrong time for this. I know all this is over. I do know that. But before I die I want to sit in one of those 2-seat tourist models & smell exotic substances burning & be squirted down the quarter mile, 0-100 in two seconds from a standing start. 0-100 miles an hour in two seconds is, by competitive standards, slow. I’d like to go that slow just once before I do the right thing. That’s the size of it. Mr Toad would make any number of insincere & balding speeches to return to 13 years old & achieve levels of slowness like that. He would wring his hands all right. Promise to behave better.
& you can’t better this on a bad Friday morning. I like especially–
I confess that I like the early songs as well. But it’s too late, they’re gone, disowned like bad relations. “I’m embarrassed by them,” he admits. “It was a time when I was trying to find my place within the business. I was figuring out who I was and where that person intersected with the world of commerce. It was like I was sitting there with a ventriloquist’s dummy on my knee. And the dummy is made out of wood. And after a while you start to hate each other.”