Have you joined the Cult of GASP?
And if not, why not?
The Cult of GASP brings you new music juxtaposed with classic tracks from all eras. The Cult of GASP brings you the stately figure of the NightPork as figurehead for your worship.
The Cult of GASP requires you to regularly sacrifice cheese and raise your cup in celebration.

And now... the Cult of GASP moves back to its former Thursday slot, 8-11pmUK time. Once more you can join this most complete of cults, meet with fellow celebrants and howl in the coming of the weekend. The GASP radio show will see you through those darkest Thursday hours, ready to face the coming sun.

Join #GASP host Steven C. Davis. Join the Dread NightPork. Join me, #GASP co-host. And join your fellow listeners who will be describing their ritual cheese sacrifices on our regular Thursday facebook event. That's right, you no longer have to face this Thursday - nor any Thursday - alone. 

Join us on Midlands Metalheads for the radio show broadcast. Join us on facebook to chat. Join us for cheese, wine and music, for what else is life about?
Join the NightPork.
Join us.
Join....

Monday is normally blogging day because I don't have to work at a 'proper job' on a Monday (before anyone accuses me of being a jammy git, I do work full time at a 'proper job' - I just squash five days into four to give me an extra day for writing/ music etc).
Today I have had to go into work. It was horribly frosty on the way in. It was horribly rainy on the way home. It was basically horrible. Here is a short and silly poem to illustrate how bad a working Monday really is....

If Monday had an occupation,
A ninja would be the job.
Hear it giggle with elation
As a shuriken it lobs

A master of disguise
When it creeps up behind you.
Though you'll soon find out its there
When you feel its nunchaku...

...Bash you in the ear
And you'll soon call for your mama
When Monday shows its teeth
And draws its steel katana

Yes, Monday is a killer
Merciless and cruel
I ain't goin' to no work next Monday,
You can't make me, crazy fool!

 With apologies to Mr T and any actual poets out there. Move over, Pam Ayres!