If This Was An mp3 Blog, Today's Haul Would Be Plangent

It was, as far as Ian Svenonius was concerned, a natural thing to sing about if you had a yen for yeh-yeh. Make-Up's retro-futurism was easily buried underr the wails and chocolate references, but it crops up here on Destination: Love, with International Airport. Can you tell where we're going with this, children? We're about to have a falling out with the preacher.

Airports are no longer pleasant places of civilised commerce and unlimited possibilities. To pretend otherwise constitutes Lies and Delusions, and are thus Barriers to Revelation. In fact, if Ian Svenonius had been exposed to as many rotten experiences as yours truly, the frustrations, the yomps, the chewings out, and the wasted hours, he would almost certainly walk out of the offices of K Records out into the hills above Olympia, and join Kurt Cobain's relatives in thee logging industry. With luck, he'd never go near a Hammond again.

Oh, and the flight attendants no longer have hair like Michelle Mae. Not even in the wood paneled departure lounge bit, which is where we're plonked right now venting. Feh. Bring us sleep.


Alain Delon won't pour you champers now, child.