Rory has a face. Maybe it’s not the best face in the world, but it’s a face all the same. A body, too – and there’s not many that can say that these days. Why are there so many apparitions around, and why can’t they be spray painted to make them more visible to the naked eye? Seems a pretty simple solution to Rory. Things that don’t seem so simple to him are quandaries like ‘why can’t we have a balanced debate about whether or not The Beatles are actually the best band ever?’ and ‘why do we seem to be so unwilling to admit that plastic is the worst invention in the whole history of, erm, things?’ and stuff like that. He is never flippant and fails to see the attraction of irreverence. OK, he’s actually nearly always flippant and he at least aspires to be irreverent in relation to pretty much anything and everything. He’s a rebel like that. A rebel without a love of chores. It’s great if you’re practical and can fix stuff around the house, but there’s no point trying to do something you’re no good at, is there? Get a man in to do it. Or a donkey. Donkeys are good at drilling and pulling things off walls with their teeth. Though they’re quite noisy, too. Nice noisy. Rory likes donkeys. And horses and dogs too. He used to like cats a lot more than he does these days. He is NOT keen on chimpanzees. Pull your face right off, they would, if you gave them half the chance. So don’t. You see, you’ve learnt something off Rory already. Rory’s going now.
Robert James Peacock is a failed champagne socialist. Penniless and bitter, he sits in his sordid little griefhole in Edinburgh writing, gambling and scheming. He fills his ears with the music of moany old folk blokes, issue ridden harpies and the entire 1970s. He feasts his eyes on bad soap operas, grim kitchen sink dramas and black comedy. He keeps his fading mind active calculating the potential margin on 40/1 outsiders at Kempton. Occasionally he reads a book.
His heroes are Lowry, Dylan and the Lord Jesus Christ. His celebrity crushes are the Bronte Sisters. On this blog he will be letting rip on the state of the nation, good music, bad music, Rugby League, arrogant atheists, drink, horse racing, incompetent marketing, Scottish independence, corporate scaremongering, linguistic snobbery and old fashioned civility.
He vaguely resembles Mr Lightning Seed, Ian Broudie.