Dear One and All,

Previous posts would perhaps lend notion and weight to the idea that I am, probably, quite likely, the sort of chap that is always late. You may then be surprised to learn that I am, in truth, by and large, when all is said and done, nearly always on time. Or there abouts. Rarely early I concede, but prompt.
I try my best.
I think some things are best served late though: tea for example. Afternoon tea specifically. That’s nice late – a late afternoon tea. ‘Bout 5:30p.m. Cup of Earl Grey maybe. Beaker of squash more likely… With a pink wafer. Additive smash.
I also like my music served late… CAN YOU SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING YET?… not too late, but later. Later than late afternoon tea, like, at around say, ten. Like at around the same time they screen Later with Jools Holland. Like about the time Mumford & Sons played Later with Jools Holland. Sort of like THIS!
Amazing scenes! Literally, amazing scenes!
 
M&S HQ
x

 
Mumford & Sons are – and this cannot be stressed enough – properly, properly gutted to have to reschedule tonight’s performance in Rome. The Sons’ are always loathe to pull shows but Marcus has been suffering with a sore throat for the last few days which has developed into acute tonsilitis. As a result, and under Doctor’s advice, he is unable to sing tonight. We will be announcing a rescheduled date for later in the year as soon as we can. In the meantime you can get a refund for your ticket(s) at the point of purchase.
All our love and sincerest apologies to you all again,  
M&S HQ
x

Despite increasingly desperate attempts to silence me and my big mouf and save the Mumford HQ family further embarrassment at my literary hand, I am bravely forging ahead with what will be the second in a series of however-many-you-can-reasonably-be-expected-to-stand confessionals.
Today’s takes place some years before the last, but includes similar ingredients: 1 part facetiousness to 2 parts idiocy to all parts me to all points toward disaster…
I remember vividly the assorted object d’ar that decorated the many and any exposed surface around my childhood home. All, realistically, of little-to-no value to even the beadiest-eyed bargain-hunter, with the possible exception of one supremely ugly statuette; some supposedly classical creation, all wanton limbs and bared breasts, passed down through generations under the totally unfounded assumption that, because it was old, was therefore automatically worth at least the cost of a new car. Every family has one of these: a vase, a painting, a clock, a grandparent – anything archaic your parents can dream of one day proudly parading on the Antiques Roadshow, before holding heroically above their heads in hollow victory over The Man as they drive away from the office and into an early-retirement sunset in a magnificent new Mondeo… Flicking fingers at the neighbours as they pass…
Okay, now as I recall, the following events took place on a Thursday, and as such I can only assume I’d somehow stumbled across a little ‘free time’ from school, raising the stakes considerably. Anyway, after some experimentation in the kitchen, and giddy on the thrill of the ‘bunk’, my friends and I decided to heighten our delight by spinning around and around and around and around until we entered deep space. So we did. And I hurtled head first, at warp speed, toward the statuette. Oh Number 1 I made it so. Actual impact. Actually decapitated. Literally shattered my parent’s dreams… And actually hid in the shed for a week.
Moral: Pritt Stick don’t stick marble.
That is one spin I will regret for the rest of my life.
Fortunately, here’s a SPIN you won’t regret: The Sons recently performed a special one-off un-plugged session for the good people at SPIN online music mag, and you can now see the whole damn shizzle show right HERE! Wicked good, check it.
 
M&S HQ
x

I wasn’t able to make it to my graduation ceremony, due in small part to my inability to adhere to my University’s totally unnecessary Don’t Be Late Rule, but I suspect perhaps due in far larger part to my inability to adhere to it’s draconian No Nudity In The Library rule. Pfft, ‘taste and decency’. Whatever.
And so, forced from the grand celebrations and banished from the bosom of academia, I joined the other ne’erdowells in the adjacent room and settled down in front of the ageing box to watch a live stream of the ceremony. We sat alongside relatives and watched as our names were read out by respective Deans and scrolls accepted by respective friends with a collective sense of relief and enormous euphoria. And as I looked at my shamed, sobbing parents I comforted them with the words, "Don’t cry, it’s only a TV programme". The other rejects were moved to their feet and united in applause – it was singularly the greatest moment of my young life; even my Mum was forced to acknowledge the remarks rapier wit with a slight smile… Just before she administered a devastating left-hook. Touche ma Mere, touche.
Moral: Don’t drop your denim for a fiver in the anthropology aisle of a library.
Ahh, another valuable life lesson learnt the hard way. But I did also learn that watching live streams of pretty awesome events that you were unable to attend in person is pretty, well, awesome, and to that end, may I excitedly inform you all now that that is exactly what you can all do tomorrow when the Sons’ show in Brussels will be streamed LIVE at 8:45pm via the massive minds at ABtv! Live and direct! Right HERE!
Watch it! S’gonna be a good’un!
 
M&S HQ
x