Bad Blogger

When I look at the blog posts, well... anywhere... people are traveling, doing interesting things, and I wish I could write about groovy adventures myself-- but I can't... so I don't post. So far, 2007 has been really trying, and I've been horribly depressed.

So, so as not to leave a big crater in my log, I'll post some videos I've been listening to lately, mostly boozers & Celts (and, of course, boozy Celts) singing sad sad songs. Here are a couple by The Pogues.


Dirty Old Town


addendum: turns out that "Dirty Old Town was written by Kirsty MacColl's father, Ewan MacColl. And the line, "Smelled the spring on the smoky wind," was originally "smelled a Spring on the Salford wind" (referring to Salford in Scotland).




I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
Kissed a girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Clouds a drifting across the moon
Cats a prowling on their beat
Spring's a girl in the street at night
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Heard a siren from the docks
Saw a train set the night on fire
Smelled the spring on the smoky wind
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I'm going to make me a good sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fire
Will chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town
Dirty old town


Fairytale Of New York (with Kirsty McColl)




It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won't see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
And I turned my face away
And dreamed about you

Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I've got a feeling
This year's for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true

They've got cars
Big as bars
They've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It's no place for the old

When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on the corner
Then danced through the night

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing 'Galway Bay'
And the bells were ringing
Out for Christmas day

You're a bum
You're a punk
You're an old slut on junk
Living there almost dead on a drip
In that bed

You scum bag
You maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God
It's our last

I could have been someone
So could anyone
You took my dreams
From me when I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you