…to Old Punks Never Die.

At a time when a new generation are putting down their punk rock roots, I feel a need to remind them that the old geezer stood at the back still has something to shout about too, even if the body isn't quite up to a full session in the pit anymore (unless, of course, it happens to be Conflict playing).

So I've put this blog up to give an old punk a voice. It's just a space for me to chew over and rant about anything vaguely punkish (or not punkish at all but which tickles my fancy / raises my ire / soothes my troubled mind depending on the time of day and tea intake) and to give you a chance to take pity on the aged. Expect biased reviews about all and sundry, poor humour, polemic, diatribe, invective and copious amounts of Anglo-Saxon vernacular. There may also be bits about football, netball, cricket and other sports on the verge of being returned to their anarcho-communist working-class roots.

Your opinions and insults are appreciated, so please feel free to comment (although be very aware that I won't tolerate intolerance in the form of fascism, sexism, religion, homophobia or any other hate-mongering bollocks - if I do allow such comments to be posted, it'll only be so we can all join in the fun of ridiculing the author publicly. Think of it as an electronic version of the medieval stocks).

And if you really want to get your hands dirty under the bonnet, check out 'Who's The Old Punk?'. Enter at your own risk.

See you on the barricades (after a lovely cuppa tea).