Bimbos of the Death Sun

Apart from a slight niggling pain in my right knee and my left ankle the weekend's trek doesn't seem to have done any harm although I was still taking it easy on the run in and after the puncture (another pinch flat) there was less enthusiasm, especially when the valve on the new tube suggested that it wasn't altogether solid. At least we got to work before the rain started.

Met some men for lunch in the slightly strange Pulp Fiction on Bread Street. I was almost tempted to buy Bimbos of the Death Sun just to see how pulpy and ridiculous it is. Thankfully, Wikipedia saves you the trouble of reading too much. Still, I might steal the title and resurrect the habit of making compilations and giving them titles stolen from books or newspaper headlines. At the moment, by near coincidence, I'm listening to an old compilation tape (on a crappy little machine borrowed from work) called "Who Killed the Poodle King of Las Vegas?" and trying to track down the original story. Google's turning up zilch although I remember it clearly being in the Independent on Sunday magazine and being about the murder of a guy who was top dog in the Poodle Club of Las Vegas. It's not even that good a compilation but, you know, it's there. At least then I can throw the tape away.