Spider-Plant, Spider-Plant, Does Whatever A Spider Can't

Friday night was Spidey (Spiday?) night. Yes, a rare trip to the cinema to enjoy the smell of chicken bones, the brightly coloured, moving pictures & the laugh-out-loud funniest film I've seen in an age. It was a revelation. Spider-man dances like John Travolta (sort of)! I don't remember Peter Parker getting piggly with it, Daddio, in my old weekly Super Spider-man TV Comics, but maybe my memories betray me and he really was boogieing on down with Sinitta and her greasy words all those years ago, Tiger.

Inspired by the evening's superheroic antics we thwipped our way back to the skips of Sue Ryder. Our spidey-sense was piqued by Shirley Bassey's gleaming helmet, so using all our superweedy strength & substandard spider wits, we hauled away a most glorious booty of unnervingly sticky records & stained furniture in our webbed hands. Dig it.


Currently listening: American Doll Posse by Tori Amos