Well, not lazy. Not really. I’ve been preoccupied with other things. As the regular reader will know, I maintain a long-term relationship with this blog and occasionally cheat on it by writing poetry behind its back. Poetry’s a strange thing: I can go weeks without producing anything, to the point where I begin to doubt if I can even do it anymore, then poems spring to mind unbidden in a chaotic cluster, all demanding to be written. In the last week, I’ve written six new pieces and had a big push on submitting work.
But now I’m back and tomorrow will see the Christina Lindberg mini-season reach a belated conclusion with a certain pinkie violence classic, after which I’ll be counting down to the Christmas break with some of the most iconic appearances of blaxploitation’s most kick-ass heroine, then seeing out the year with a bruisingly cynical offering from Lucio Fulci.
There were more grubby, grimy, lewd and lecherous titles I had in mind for the Winter of Discontent, but – hey! – there’s always next year, right?