Hurrah, the Royal Baby etc. etc.

Well, so the world – or at least a subset of the world that enjoys both 21st century amenities and 19th century sentiments about entitlement, social order and the way things should be, the lucky bastards – has been abuzz over the royal baby.

Except he’s no longer the royal baby, he’s George! Nice choice of name there given the rather colourful Georges that Britain’s had. (Incidentally, the character of George in Blackadder is real. There was a Prince Regent, whose father the King was indeed bonkers in his later years, and who was quite well known for being a party-goer. He did commission the Royal Pavilion in Brighton though, and that is a very nice building, so I guess it all balances out if you’re a prince, eh?)

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A bit of Jazz!

She’s been a long time coming, and many of us thought she wouldn’t be coming at all. But I think it’s safe to say Lady Summer’s finally upon us, in a spray of vaguely floral scents, lots of gorgeous flowers and adorably clumsy bees, and flies. Clouds and clouds of the damn things.

In short, FUCK YEAH. So here’s a bit of noise for that.