I dreamt last night that I was at my friend Charlie's birthday party. Charlie looking absentminded.
In the background was this strange music; sounding like a shambling folk-oi group. "Part-time Punks" meets singalong down an East-end pub. I asked Charlie what the band's name was:
"The Stamps," he said.
I was thrust into their pop video, which for some reason I can tell you was on a DVD. Sitting in the concrete garden of a four-story council-estate block, the band seemed quite small arranged around a large round table, all wearing various ethnic garb, with faces artificially blackened or yellowed in accordance with the continent they were representing.
Posted by Woebot at November 13, 2003 08:43 PM