Little power, less glory

Dear hearts, hope it's all been lovely. This bloggish equivalent of a note for the milkman is just by way of a confession: I managed to quit London for this present coastal grotto without packing the mains lead for my laptop. This gives me 2 hours (actually, already down to 40 mins) worth of the old electro-juice before my poor pooped computer joins me in the hinterzone of seasonal flatlining. Given that these album reviews and so on have so far taken approximately 4,400,000 working hours, it seems daft even to attempt to finish off the Furtive 50 and announce the Perkinses as promised. I'll do it when I'm back in London next week and plugged in to the grid. Shame, really: no one has any appetite for these absurd exercises at the beginning of the new year. And yet I think I must see this exercise through, for the two or three folks who have been following it closely. So, apologies, and over and out until 2007, and then there'll be a load of stuff, and you'll be so over it darling, and what are we to do anyway. Happy etc.