<feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:foaf="http://xmlns.com/foaf/0.1/"><title>norman.walsh.name: Comments on /2005/07/12/maccoll</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://norman.walsh.name/2005/07/12/maccoll"/><id>http://norman.walsh.name/2005/07/12/maccoll/comments.atom</id><updated>2012-05-23T10:26:51.919963Z</updated><entry><title>Comment 1 on /2005/07/12/maccoll</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://norman.walsh.name/2005/07/12/maccoll#comment0001"/><id>http://norman.walsh.name/2010/09/25/oauth#comment0001</id><published>2005-07-12T20:08:32Z</published><updated>2005-07-12T20:08:32Z</updated><author><name>Geoff Arnold</name><foaf:mbox_sha1sum>da39a3ee5e6b4b0d3255bfef95601890afd80709</foaf:mbox_sha1sum></author><content type="xhtml"><div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
    <p>Disc 3, track 11: her duet with Evan Dando of Lou Reed's <i>"Perfect Day"</i>. It's the first track on the mix-CD I made of my absolutely favourite songs. I also melt when I hear her singing the Kinks' <i>"Days"</i>. What a wonderful singer, such a great loss.</p>
  </div></content></entry><entry><title>Comment 2 on /2005/07/12/maccoll</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://norman.walsh.name/2005/07/12/maccoll#comment0002"/><id>http://norman.walsh.name/2010/09/25/oauth#comment0002</id><published>2005-07-12T23:45:18Z</published><updated>2005-07-12T23:45:18Z</updated><author><name>James Kew</name><foaf:mbox_sha1sum>da39a3ee5e6b4b0d3255bfef95601890afd80709</foaf:mbox_sha1sum></author><content type="xhtml"><div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
    <p>Or pretty much anything from <i>Kite</i>; a fantastic album full of fantastic songwriting. ("He looked into my eyes just as an airplane roared above / said something about football, but he never mentioned love" was always one of my favourite couplets, as was "the boots just go back on / the socks that had stayed on / the next time they see you they treat you like dirt".)
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And <i>Fairytale of New York</i> is worth it just for the vitriol alone: "Merry Christmas, you arse, I pray God it's our last".</p>
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