2005-01-04

Round at my manager�s place again, after closing up the bar, fairly pissed after five (six?) post-last-call beers and then some. He rummages through his CD collection. �My flatmate has some weird stuff,� he says, holding aloft �Bossanova� by the Pixies.

�Dude!� I exclaim. �That�s the Pixies!�

Blank silence.

�The Pixies!� I continue, undeterred. �If it wasn�t for the Pixies, the whole nineties alternative scene might arguably never have happened.�

More silence, most pointedly from the eighteen-year-old who has recently been enthusing about the latest Good Charlotte video.

I try the anecdotal approach. �When I broke up with my ex, the only time I cried was when we had to split the CD collection and he took all the Pixies albums.�

Still nothing. Fucking Philistines.

A Phil Collins video comes on the telly. �Great song!� says my manager.

These are truly the End Times.