So, Italy, then.
In an attempt to broaden the discussion, allow me to commend Liq's most recent blog post, which features this exquisite opening paragraph.
"Picture the scene: a chiselled hard-bodied specimen of a man takes the stage. The lights are low, enhancing his high cheekbones and pearly white pearly whites, while his rippling shimmering torso is peeking through his skin tight, open to the belly button shirt. The low throb of a funky house record rumbles underneath, while our hero is crouched in his pose like a well-groomed funk panther. Before you know it the lights have gone strobe on your ass, six girls in boots and skin tight PVC shorts have bounded onto the stage legs-a-kicking, while the main man himself leaps into the air and gets his freak on - never before have the studio audience seen a pair of leather trousers and a haircut work a crowd like this, and they’re loving it, clapping along to the plodding, pedestrian beat of a tune that is the signature sound of the suburban All Bar One. They bring their perfomance to a (teenage fumble in the back of a Ford Orion) climax, grinning and panting heavily into the camera, taking every second of the barely-deserved applause, before the floor manager cuts back to Camera One and Jeff Stelling says; ‘thanks guys, now over to Oakwell, where Chris Kamara has news of a dramatic twist in Barnsley’s favour!’
In an attempt to broaden the discussion, allow me to commend Liq's most recent blog post, which features this exquisite opening paragraph.
"Picture the scene: a chiselled hard-bodied specimen of a man takes the stage. The lights are low, enhancing his high cheekbones and pearly white pearly whites, while his rippling shimmering torso is peeking through his skin tight, open to the belly button shirt. The low throb of a funky house record rumbles underneath, while our hero is crouched in his pose like a well-groomed funk panther. Before you know it the lights have gone strobe on your ass, six girls in boots and skin tight PVC shorts have bounded onto the stage legs-a-kicking, while the main man himself leaps into the air and gets his freak on - never before have the studio audience seen a pair of leather trousers and a haircut work a crowd like this, and they’re loving it, clapping along to the plodding, pedestrian beat of a tune that is the signature sound of the suburban All Bar One. They bring their perfomance to a (teenage fumble in the back of a Ford Orion) climax, grinning and panting heavily into the camera, taking every second of the barely-deserved applause, before the floor manager cuts back to Camera One and Jeff Stelling says; ‘thanks guys, now over to Oakwell, where Chris Kamara has news of a dramatic twist in Barnsley’s favour!’
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