Apologies for being late, I spent three hours attempting to write a review last night but got no further than this:
Its getting very late on a Friday night in Blighty and I’ve been sat cross legged up in my attic randomising a digital list of music for 90 minutes or so, trying to think of a fitting description of that brown firework that goes off in your nose when you collapse on your coccyx and hoping desperately for inspiration to visit until an inflated bladder necessitates a descent. My autistic daughter is politely asking to go swimming in her sleep as some repetitive House-music-piano oscillates interminably through the wall from next door, forced into an arranged marriage with the vague leakage of some clarinet and crooning from the front room downstairs.