Ire And Ice

Mrs P is watching Dancing on Ice. A couple just took to the rink jauntily dressed as cuddly faux stereo-typical punks, dancing to some effete, soulless, sanitised cut-down of a Buzzcocks number.



A northern band who burst onto the late 70s punk/new wave scene in the wake of the Pistols, with tracks such as Orgasm Addict and Oh Shit, are now background muzak for no-mark celebros, slithering badly around a family friendly white oval, for an audience of studio blue rinsers and domestic sofa-bound comfort zoners.

I think a part of my very being just died tonight.