Not limp, just [B]Biscuit[/B].
In the year 2525, when we are all comatose lifestyle consumers living in [I]Matrix[/I]-style pods, Nigel Blackwell‘s anti-fashion evergreens will finally be hailed as the treasure trove of acid social commentary and minutely observed pop-culture detail they truly are. Meanwhile, the Wirral quartet’s eighth album in 15 years is yet another lucky dip of pop parodies and surreal diatribes about music, football, music, crap Welsh towns and music.
. Correct on both counts.
I’ll wager Blackwell has an unpublished novel or two lurking under his bed, but these sardonic short stories will do just fine for now. Not limp, just Biscuit.