Pg. 40
Despite working a dead end job in a business that makes no money and working with such luminaries as Dick of the Liquorice Comfits, Rob is rather frustrated with the stagnation of his life, "Some days I'm afraid I'll go berserk, rip the Elvis Costello mobile down from the ceiling, throw the 'Country Artists (Male) A-K' rack out into the street, go off to work in a Virgin Megastore, and never come back." I don't know what his problem is. I rather like Elvis Costello.
Luckily to take his mind off of things Rob can always make coffee, do the daily crossword puzzle, read American import rock magazines, make some more coffee, and around noon he gets to greet the day's first "customer": an Irish drunk who comes in three times a week to steal records. Rob's part in this little ritual is to tell him to "F
uck off!" and then physically remove him from the premises. For some odd reason this involves the bum singing Dana's "All Kinds of Everything".
The Music
Only one song to do this week. Thank god. I'm f
ucking lazy after all.
Dana "All Kinds of Everything"
Oh god no. I'm not some meathead who describes music as gay, but...
I guess I'd have to call this folk. Or pop. Or something. All I know is that this is one of the single most sappy pieces of crap I have ever heard. I think I just felt one of my testicles turn into an ovary. Her voice makes me cringe, the music is perfectly dull, and Shirley Temple just stole my lunch money for listening to this. Gag.