Bulbous Salutations, everyone. McGibblets soothed your broken heart with our last music post, but it’s a new day, so let’s start the week with some chair dancing. What are you listening to and enjoying today? I’m going to go with Yes’ “Owner Of A Lonely Heart” because, while I couldn’t think of any musicians who had broken my heart, I do like upbeat songs about misery.

Speaking of which, I’ll just assume you have been following the saga of Morrissey’s first fiction novel, List of the Lost. Possibly the best thing about it is that The Guardian proposed a boycott of the novel:

Not that you need to know that, really. All you need to know is not to buy it. Please don’t encourage Morrissey to write any more novels. While Autobiography was fascinating, at times beautiful, and with enough charm to balance out the bitterness, List of the Lost offers nothing but the astonishing feat, in a book so brief, of being boring.

Morrissey was notoriously coy about his sex life in his autobiography, but clearly he was saving it up for this scorcher. List has also got some of the best/worst written sex scenes, which are too voluminous for a post so I’ll put them in the comments.