Friday, 30 November 2007

Guest Blogger #13: Becky Craven - "The Other Room"

I first went there when I was seven. It always happened at night when I closed my eyes. And suddenly I would be there.

I close my eyes and I’m there, at the bottom of the stairs, in my pyjamas, looking up into the dark. The brick of the stairwell has eroded in places over the years and the moonlight is breaking through, dashes of blue-white collecting in the angles of the wooden spiral staircase. I reach out my hand and touch the wall but I quickly pull away. It’s damp and if the light permitted I’m pretty sure I’d see a violent shade of green smeared on my hand. I wipe my hand on my top and turn to look through the door, back into my bedroom. I can see the light from the landing striping its way along the floor and imagine my parents sleeping in the room below me. I can still feel the warmth radiating from my duvet. A sharp screeching returns my attention to the stairs; nightjars, birds with a call that resembles a woman crying out in fear and pain, fly metres from the roof of the house. Still, I’m not scared. Just excited. I know I shouldn’t be here, on these stairs and I know I shouldn’t climb up to the room either but I do every time.

I take my foot off the carpet and place it onto the first step, the rotten wood gives slightly under my weight, in some ways I’m not seven anymore. I climb higher still, the stairs seemingly endless, until I start to feel the difference. It’s warmer once you get nearer to the room. After a few more steps I put my hand out in front of me it makes contact with something solid. The door. I crouched down to open the door, it’s getting to be a squeeze these days and as I kneel down to crawl through, I know that this will be the last time I will be able to come here. My dismay registers only for a second because now I am inside.

I reach into the darkness for the candle. There isn’t much of it left, I’m not surprised, how many candles last for twelve years? My other hand goes in search of the lighter and seconds later I smile with my mouth and my eyes as I feel the cold metal rectangle. I warm it slightly in my hands before flicking the lid open and breathing in the scent of the petrol, I pull my thumb along the wheel but nothing happens, I try again but still nothing. I shut the lid and open it, then try again, nothing. No spark. I begin to panic. I know this is the last time, I want to see everything before I go. I need one last chance to remember it all. I mustn’t forget. I can’t begin to imagine what would happen if I did. I slump against the door, the eagerness turning quickly into frustration, tears, the thick feeling in my chest and my ragged breath catching on my tears every time. I must try to breath normally, mustn’t let it take over. I stare down at the blackness that is my hands, one still clutching the candle, the other; the lighter. Something snaps inside me and I flick the lid of the lighter once more, a new type of anger grips me and I roll the wheel repeatedly under my thumb, I can feel the skin blistering but I’m rewarded with a spark and then suddenly a flame, which wavers as I take it to meet the stub of wax and wick.

The room. I can see the room. I gaze round, nothing seems different but I know that once I have looked around I will notice new things, recent things that I have put here without my knowledge and things that others have left behind whilst passing through me. A sudden pain taps sharply on my thumb and I look down to see that I have been dripping burning wax onto my skin. I carefully place the candle inside the top one of the brandy bottles on the floor and take another look around. There are shelves filled with cardboard boxes and although I’ve never been able to look inside them, I know what would be there if I did. I walk across the room and look up and down the shelves. I spot an old pack of photographs and fall into the usual trap. I reach for them but they fall through my hands. I can’t pick them up, but I can still see them in my minds eye. This is what I do here. I look at every box and book and bag in this way, I can’t see inside but I almost test myself to see if I can remember what is there. Tonight it’s more important than ever because it is the last time I can come here. After this all these things will not be here anymore, I can’t hold on to them any longer, I’ve never been able to hold them physically but I can try to hold them mentally. There’s no way I can store these things here now. Since I can’t stop disappointing them and him I have to take all this out to make room for something else. Something I don’t want there but it’s already growing inside me, and yet, at the same time it’s shrinking me. Soon, in one way I will be seven again but not in the way that I am seven today or in the way that I was seven when I first came here. I will never be seven years old again and after tonight I can’t think like that anymore. So tonight I must try to commit as much of these things to memory as I can. Then I must find somewhere new to put them where they can’t be forgotten or shrunk. So this is what I am doing.

Singer sewing machine, airfix model plane, car pencil sharpener, Mr Men sing along record, fossils from Lyme, rocks from Yorkshire and the Lakes, shells from all over, brass ashtray and the cowrie shells. Hold them up to your ear and you can hear the sea. The baby things, the soft toys and dolls the boxes of paintings and exercise books and ladybird books. Photographs of parents and grandparents. The time I drew on a hot radiator with wax crayons. The day I pulled all the clothes out of my wardrobe. The week Mummy kept me off school so we could read The Lord of The Rings…..

The candle started to flicker so I got myself ready to leave. I can never come back here. I tested myself quickly, checking I knew what every box contained then I knelt down and opened the door to the stairs. I crawled backwards onto the stairs and watched the last few seconds of wick burn away, as I shut the door I saw the candlelight disappear. Things would be harder now. I have to hold onto all of these things until I find a place big enough to store them all. The problem is that I am shrinking.

Written & e-mailed to the potato farm by Becky Craven. All rights reserved.

Wednesday, 28 November 2007

Guest Blogger #12: Fat Chan - "Lazy Ass Blogger."

Hello all Fat Chan reporting for business after a hefty long leave of absence. I say was long enough to actually get Axl to delete my blog from his links as he feared my bodied had been ravaged by ne'erdowells and left me unable to perform my blogging duties, the truth while similar involved less ravaging and more being a lazy ass blogger who constantly forgets he has a fan base (so he likes to think) to attend to. So this guest blog is an unturndownable opportunity to get a post on the deity like blogspot of the potato farm and hopefully compell some followers to come witness my babblings for laughs or other purposes. And those that have been there before and want some more of the infuriation will be glad as I have much to vent.............been storing up for a good few months now.

So the blog......what the fuck do I write here? Everytime I read the potato farm I laugh hartily at the inward musings of Mr Axl and certainly miss his presence in my vicinity and thus pooing all over his potato farm with my rubbish brain thoughts is not something I wish to do, thus if you are all reading this then I have been found worthy and that gives me freedom to write whatever the bloody wank I want. I shall tell you about the night out in Camden I experienced. Saturday night I was due to meet my girlfriend in Camden with some fellow ex Oxford friends to see Bruises play at the Purple Turtle. I've never seen them yet but definately enjoy them (, however I had work til 5 and despite getting straight on all the trains etc I managed to miss them play but I did get there eventually. Never been to Camden before and was much of what I expected............every person trying to make an individual statement with what they were wearing........but lo and behold they were wearing the same things as all their friends. Still coming out of the station to witness all possible fashion stereotypes in one street was certainly amusing. So upon my wanderings around Camden in hopes of finding the pub.....passing clubs, goth pubs and kebab shops ahoy I finally got there and met up with all. Then proceeded to try and catch up with the others for drink, a feat I found out I was never going to achieve. Dammit am I waffling again? I always do this, ok on to basic bullet points:
-the female lead of the band when I got to the purple turtle had the biggest guns (unfortunately I mean arms not tits) I have ever seen.
-my attractive friend Amy (g/f of Bruises guitarist) kept touching my very attractive girlfriend most of the night and I wasn't the least bit unhappy about the situation (Sorry Ben, but I can't help that lesbianism holds a certain interest for me.....I'm sure you understand).
-Amy fell over holding her friend James nearly knocking him unconcious.
-Playing 'Twat or Legend' is a great game.
-Met my friend Nathan who I haven't seen for too long, which was good because I wasn't drunk enough to finish the night when he turned up.
-Onions in a hot dog bun doesn't really classify as a vegetarian option from a hot dog stand, just say it's onions in a bun, OK!
-A cunt bounder at Koko (supposdly a hip Camden place to be) managed to fail to not let most of us in for free and then was a cunt about it when we decided to leave 'cos it looked shit.
-Snakebite is difficult for me to down.
-Jack Daniels is fucking disgusting, especially to down.
-I love punk rock/pop and I'm proud (i'm the peter pan of the music loving people).
-Wembley Park is a LONG way from Camden and the 'taxi driver' mostly deserved his large fee.
-I love London.

That is all, I feel I should cut things short I get carried away, I need to be more sucsinct and less waffley but then that goes against my belief of writing your thoughts as they come, no editing, it's not real dammit. Look forward to seeing y'all in the near present. Love you. BYES!!

Written & e-mailed to the potato farm by Fat Chan. All rights reserved. Fat Chan is the author of the recently reactivated blog "The Blog Of Ineffable Exasperation" which is now back up in the Axl Approved list or the adress is
Fat Chan may think his style is waffling and overlong, but that's exactly why we at the potato farm like his blog and wish he'd bloody write in it a bit more often. Hopefully he now will.

Monday, 26 November 2007

Something I love.

White middle/upper class male Oxford students rapping along to hip-hop.



The other day I was picking a return at work - i.e. stock to be returned to the suppliers - when I saw in amoungst the music dvd's a live concert by The Complete Stone Roses.
Is it just me, or is this totally baffling?! A live dvd of a tribute band?! What the fuck?! Who's gonna buy that?! Seriously, who in their right mind would want it? Who thought it was a good idea to release it? What went on in the board meeting for that one?

"How can we make a few more bucks then guys?"
"I know, why don't we film that Stone Roses tribute band and put that out?"
"Fucking Hell, that's crazy enough to work!"

Surely the whole point of a tribute band is that it's a chance to see something or someone you wouldn't normally be able to. Did it not occur to anyone that you can by a dvd of the actual fucking Stone Roses in concert? Did they not realise this?
Mind you, maybe they think it's some sort of novel new idea, quirky enough to appeal to fans of the band. They obviously didn't learn the lesson taught to us by No Way Sis.
Remember No Way Sis? Remember them on Live & Kicking? Remember them being signed up for a 5 album deal? Remember their single totally flopping and never hearing from them ever again? I sure as shit do. I remember thinking to myself "This is really rubbish. What a stupid idea.", and I was a kid! How a grown adult mind could think that that's anything approaching a good idea is totally beyond me.
Yes, I'm sure seeing a good tribute band is very enjoyable, The Smiths Indeed played in Oxford at the weekend and from what I hear it was a good night, but really, would you really want to own anything by them? Wouldn't you surely just rather listen to the real thing? Wouldn't that actually be a lot better?
Of course it fucking would.
Leave the tribute bands where they belong. On the stage. Not in your home.

Sunday, 25 November 2007

I Reckon..

Arnold Schwarzenegger and Renee Zellweger should do a film together.

Anyone got any ideas for a title and/or a plot?

All I can think of is Bridget Jones' Terminator.
The tales of an unlucky in love woman in her early 30's being pursued by a futuristic robot whos sole goal is her assassination.

But I'm sure there's better.....

Saturday, 24 November 2007


Today is a very special day, for today marks the first year of the potato farm. A year of ups, downs and sideways glances. We're all gonna eat cake until we're sick. Then Clarence is gonna eat all our sick coz he's already drunk. It's gonna be gross.

Here's some sort of representation of what our party will be like:

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Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket


Sunday, 18 November 2007

Guest Blogger #11: Matt Lewis - "Axl's Moustache."

Written & illustrated by Matt Lewis. All Rights Reserved. Matt Lewis is the author of the blog "Good Natured Slacker" which is in the "Axl Approved" list or can be found here
Matt Lewis is a fucking legend.

Friday, 16 November 2007

Axl's Quick One.

Ok. I have about 5 minutes to write a blog before I go out for a booze with a girl and then other humans too.

I looked up a book on Amazon just now and the amount of people selling it for 1 penny was ridiculous! Seriously 1p + postage & packaging (of about 2.75)! Unbelievable. It got me wondering, in the age of downloading and the everything-all-of-the-time'ness of the internet, is art becoming less valuable as a result? Are we becoming less appreciative of creativity and the effort that goes into producing works? Has the quick-fix generation degraded the idea of creative arts as something to be appreciated, replacing it with the idea that it is something merely to pass the time that we want at our convenience almost no longer even having to think about it at all?

What do you think?

Thursday, 15 November 2007

Guest Blogger #10: Schmemma - "Giantest Wimp."

hello..schmemma here. i too have been asked to write something for the potato farm, and i felt very honoured indeed..but the honour then gave way to unease, and then to downright panic over what exactly i was going to write about that would live up to the good name of the potato farm..

the only thing that i've considered writing about was something that happened on the bus home yesterday..there were 2 little girls (when i say little, i reckon they were about 8) dressed entirely in pink sat at the front on the top deck, playing hideously bad garage music from their mobile phone speaker..this is always very annoying, but happens so much these days that i just sighed and dug my ipod out of my bag..

no sooner had i plugged myself than i saw the man in front of me, who had been fidgeting in a somewhat agitated way for a while, get up and politely ask the girls to turn their music off..and they did! amazing..i half expected the whole top deck to burst into applause..when it didn't, i was tempted to pat the man on the back in a congratulatory fashion when he sat back down. instead i did nothing but smile to myself and turn my ipod back on. then, however, i started to get paranoid that said man, suddenly on a roll, was going to turn round and tell me to turn my own music down..not wanting to be told off by a stranger, i pre-empted him by turning it down myself..which reminded me that i have always been the sort of person who will do anything to avoid getting told off by people who are not members of my close family..why is this? what would have happened if the man had indeed turned round and told me to turn my ipod down? well, dear readers, i will tell you..i would very probably have burst into tears. yes. i am the giantest wimp in the world..

when i told owlhead that i was thinking of submitting this story to the potato farm, he said that it was the rubbishest story he'd ever heard, and that i had to think of something better. but i didn't. maybe i should have told you all about when the young knives came to visit newcastle last week, an evening which ended very late and very drunkenly, and resulted in owlhead being over an hour late for work the next day (for the first time ever, apparently)..or maybe i should have told you about the awesome youthmovies gig we saw the other week..but i thought you'd all prefer to hear the bus story, because it is obviously good and owlhead is obviously wrong. so there.

Written & e-mailed to the potato farm by Schmemma. All rights reserved. Schmemma is the author of the blog "Molly Ringwald Blues" which is in the "Axl Approved" list there, or the address is
Owlhead is some sort of meanie or something, I dunno, he sounds a little like he should get his act together or something. I mean, he's a pretty unsavoury character, I reckon he's got a shady past. I've never seen his body, but I bet it's all scarred up and that from working for t'northern mafia or something. He probably used to sell drugs to kids, and I heard a rumour that his nickname Owlhead, comes from when he was caught giving an owl head in his local aviary. That's why he's barred from there. Apparently, he now spends much of his time trying to attract pigeons so he can have his wicked way with them. Filthy bastard.

Tuesday, 13 November 2007

Guest Blogger #9: Pipsywoo - "Brainsick and Usual Shit at the Potato Farm."

Hello all, Pipsywoo popping by with a triumphant hiya!
Axl, like many others asked myself to do a guest blog, I was overly flattered, with some ego stroking I said yes yes yes and here I am.

I've been thinking about what to write about but I've no real ideas? Serious is probably out, funny is shit when forced, life stories are funny but I have none of those currently, maybe I could give you synopsis' of my favourite films within 5 seconds long but that would be no fun, as my favourite films are either well known block busters or shite bollocks that i should be ridiculed for liking, although no one would bother, it's rubbish. So I popped by The Potato Farm for some inspiration.

Outside of the front of the office, is concrete, concrete and some more concrete, the front door is bright red with the graffiti of a small penis walking down the street about to slip on a banana skin, rather fitting. Ring the buzzer and in I go... I walk up the stairs, the first thing that hits me is the smell of stagnant whisky and the brightness of the office. The office opens out to the right. At the top of the stairs is a waiting area, with brown battered leather couches, a small glass coffee table and a collection of magazines. Currently, Axl appears to be in slumberland, snoring away with a little puddle of dribble accumulating on the cushion, while the hubbub of the office carries on regardless. I believe that his sleep explains the smell of whisky.
To the right of the stairs are two sets of double desks and opposite that and next to the waiting area is another set of double desks.
The walls are the imaginative magnolia, with quite high sloped ceilings, posters of cult films on the walls and press cuttings of the blog and the space is well lit from the skylites.
The bins are over flowing with discarded jokes and stories, from here I can see one that involves an elephant, an English man and a golden carrot, if this is the sort of stuff being discarded, I can not wait to see the new stuff being created. The double desks have personal dividers of posters of the staffs favourite stars or family members and they all have a certain individual flair.

The first desk to come across next to the stairs are Alice and Oscar (Creative Consultants) who sit at the same desk, they are inseparable and it appears that Oscar has a liking for semi-nude actors, not sure if Alice has actually noticed, she seems a little oblivious to say the least. Their chosen actor is Orlando Bloom - loads of him everywhere, no ladies, all him - I would say that maybe Alice is a little more persuasive than Oscar in the poster selection but I doubt it, due to Oscar's slightly flexi wrists, a copy of Queer as Folk running in the corner of his mac and his comment about my scarf and how beautiful Pucci's creations are, also the well thumbed copy of Vogue hidden inside his FHM could be a small give away but I'll try to keep my mind open, after all he does work in a creative field.

Opposite them is Clarence (Alcoholic PR guru?!), I understand that the posters of Orlando blocks out Clarences drunken stupor and general abuse. Clarence doesn't really have any posters, he has a liquor cupboard with a selection of whiskeys on one side and in replacement of his bottom drawer is a small fridge of various tins, his desk is under a skylite which appears to be constantly open and the toilet is right behind him. Also he has a complete lack of papers or computer on his desk, just a copy of Pub Weekly, the yellow pages and a telephone. Regardless of his lack of paperwork, he appears to do his job well enough, no one complains and apparently throws an incredible Christmas party.

Next to this desk at the end of the office you'll find Jenny (Finance) and Garfield (HR), their desk is full of laughter and old photos of each other, you would have thought sitting opposite each other would have been enough but i guess that they like to be surrounded by each other 24/7 or maybe they like reminders of the earlier years, where the sags, bags and wrinkles didn't exist...or maybe they haven't had time to update the photos due to how quickly the Potato Farm's success shot off. Jenny does happen to have one photo of someone else though, it's a signed photo of a chap called Odie, no idea who he is but he seems like a bright looking mutt.

The final desk is on the other side of the office, here you'll find Foxy and Badger (Research), since Clarrisa (still no job title) is new here, there doesn't seem to be a space for her, i assume she uses the coffee table and the sofas as a base but due to Axl's slumber she is currently sat at the top of the stairs with papers strewn around her.
Anyhow, Foxy and Badger' desk is covered in papers, magazines, gadgets, condoms and other crazy objects that appear to have been posted to the office with some hope of making it in to the blog. Badger appears to have a liking for Scarlett Johanssen, or so the 50 pictures of her would lead me to believe...Foxy' desk has one photo of Badger and is covered in beauty products and underwear. Badgers is covered in blokes mags and gadgets.

While here i get offered numerous cups of tea by Clarissa (maybe tea girl would be a fitting title) and a tin of cider by Clarence. I had a lot of fun and was surrounded by laughter and chatter all day long. Axl finally arose to visit the toilet at around 2pm, he waved hello and then went back to complete his slumber, no one mentioned the piss dribble on his trousers but I felt it was better to be mentioned here, I'm not employed or polite enough to not say something. The cleaner popped by to apologise for not having been there for a while. She didn't do any cleaning but did smoke about 10 cigarettes while apologising, which appeared to me to be quite a feat, due to her stay only being about 5 minutes long.

The day also saw some blogs being dropped by, from avid Potato Farm readers and I thoroughly enjoyed my stay, I'll happily pop by some time in the future very soon. Although I've one point to make, it's called a Potato Farm, yet I saw no Potatoes? None what so where, not even outside, as it's allocated on the Cowley Road, there is no vegetable patch in the back garden and the nearest allotment, I believe is on Iffley Road, which is quite a walk away...unless the dying herb box is full of potatoes, I've no idea where the name came from, unless they all turn in to potatoes after midnight?!

Written & e-mailed to the potato farm by Pipsywoo. All rights reserved. Pipsywoo is the author of the blog "Usual Shit & Brain Sick" which can be found via the "Brain Sick" link in the "Axl Approved" list there, or the adress is
She also wrote the "40 Days Without MySpace" blog about her attempts at giving up said social networking site for lent. It is also in the "Axl Approved" list or can be found here

Additional: After a week of clicking and hoping, we have to sadly say goodbye to the blog "Just One More Slice", as it appears to have been deleted by the author. We wish Lardy Big Bot well in her attempt at becoming slender and svelte and we at the farm will miss her blog.

Monday, 12 November 2007

Guest Blogger #8: Grundy - "Blooog"

I'm having a bad day. I got woke up early by Sean Kingston on the radio downstairs. I wouldn't wish this upon anyone, let alone a monday morning before 9 o'clock.
I then got a message from Orange notifying me my phone had been cut off due to a lack of payment,which technically is my fault, but still annoying. I paid the bill and they reconnected my phone within 20 minutes which is unbelievable for them. Then, as its my last day off of my holiday, I decided to walk up to the lake while listening to music again. I got about half a mile from my home when I put my iPod on. Its then I realised that it had no battery power.

So here I am, at home. Writing this while charging the GrundiPod, waiting to walk to the lake. The lake is probably my favourite area of Witney. You can go 2 hours without seeing anyone sometimes, and its only just outside the town centre.

Oh yeah, I have to show you this. I came across it while sorting something out for my guitar. Who'd pay for these?
People do try and sell any old shit these days don't they. A full packet can be bought for the same price or thereabouts.

While on ebay, I tested out the LOOOOOOOOK factor, mentioned previously by Hannah (I think).
14 O's is not a world record, but its a bit over the top for an Action Man annual.

I'm going to leave you with a little game to try out before I go. I'll call it the "Babelfish double translator Challenge".

step 1.
Go here -

step 2.
Type in a phrase and translate it to whatever language you want.

step 3.
Copy and paste the translation, and translate it back into English, and see the results.

Eg.Mr Axls lovely potato farm is the worlds best blog
The farm of the potato whose Axls is beautiful is blog where the world is best

when sent to Japan and back.


Thats about all I'm going to say I think. Apologies if its not that fun to read, but there you go.

I shall leave you with a crap joke that I found funny:

Q.Why can't a Frenchman eat more than one egg?

A. Because to him, one egg is an oeuf

Over & Out

Written & e-mailed to the potato farm by Grundy. All rights reserved.
Grundy is the author of his own self titled blog which can be found listed in the "Axl Approved" list, or just click the link he himself has provided. Grundy plays guitar and does vocals in the band ECHOESechoes ( )
He was also a guitarist/vocalist for the band Vestibule (R.I.P) ( )

Sunday, 11 November 2007

Guest Blogger #7: Cotty - "Home Sweet Home?"

i'm not generally a blogger at all, so becoming a guest blogger for Axl is not something which comes very naturally to me. It looked like fun though, so how could I refuse?

It was only on my journey back to leamington that I thought of something that might half-way approach a blog-worthy topic.

Its slightly sad to say now that leamington is more than just the train stop before coventry, where all the beautiful women in the world hang out, it would seem. (not leamington though, oh no, that would make life FAR too pleasurable.)

to illustrate, here is coventry's effort:
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and an artist's impression of the view from the train in leamington:
Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

I should probably stop here, though, cus blake's mum grew up in leamington and she's not like that. oh no.

But the really strange thing is, as the train stopped, i felt like i was coming home FROM oxford, instead of going away from oxford to study again. i have no great love for leamington at all (as illustrated by the drawings above), whereas i have lived in oxford for 20 years and it is an amazing place. it seems so strange that it has wedged itself in there in such a short amount of time. does the town you grow up in ever stop being your home, or can it change, or what? does this sound like the end to an episode of sex and the city?

what a shit blog, but i did it, and it was my first one, so there. plus i had pictures, didn't i?

Written and e-mailed to the potato farm by Cotty. All rights reserved. Cotty is the guitarist for the band The Walk Off. Check them out here because they're fucking awesome. Cotty may think his blog is shit, but we like it.

Slight Return - Audioscope.

Sorry for the lack of a Guest Blog yesterday, but we at the farm were all out at Audioscope. For those not in the know, Audioscope is an annual all day gig for the charity Shelter, that is held here in Oxford.
Anyway, who did we bump into but Mr Axl himself. We weren't sure if he was gonna turn up, we knew he had a ticket but we haven't been in contact with him for the last week. Anyway, he said he was planning to write a review of what he saw, but as you can see there is no review. We got a text message from him at about 2 this morning that said:

"Can't write review! Shit & Shine are the best band in the world EVER!!!!!"

Basically, to clear things up, after the band Shit & Shine had finished their set, Axl and his friend Lex were seen hugging each other and barely able to speak, just managing to get across that they both thought it was the best thing they had ever seen. Ever.

Now, none of us here at the farm are particularly good at writing reviews and pieces, that's what we have Axl for. All we can do is tell you what he told us later on in the evening.

About The Sea & Cake: "I thought they were really good. Really good, nice songs. A bit kinda Beach Boysey in places almost. Maybe. I dunno, it's just a shame they were on after Shit & Shine. I couldn't quite take it in properly, but I thought they were real good."

About Clark: "I really enjoyed Clark, I thought he was wicked. The only problem was it was about half-eight. If it had been like, half-eleven or something it would've been awesome. Better for dancing times and all that. But no, I thought he was really good."

About Michael Rother & Dieter Mobius: "I was really worried about them at first coz I really didn't like the first three songs they did, but then they just got awesome! There was another one I didn't like later on, but no, after those first three, they were totally awesome."

And one last Axl thought on Shit & Shine?: "I still can't even speak about it properly. It was just the most incredible thing I've ever seen in my whole life. The drums, the drones, the hypnotic rhythm, just fucking incredible. I can't get over it!"

Axl missed the bands that played before them because he was working. For our money the best band he missed were Einstellung who we thought were really good. The band of the whole night would have to be Shit & Shine who were just phenomenal.

Sorry this isn't a proper review, but like I said, none of us are really that good at this writing thing, and Axl was just to dumbfounded to do it himself.

We'll see if we can get another guest blog up today, it may have to wait though. We're not entirely sure when Axl will be back yet I'm afraid.

This blog was written by Clarence, the potato farm PR alligator and Corrine boob toucher.

Additional: Due to a number of concerned messages, we would like to point out that "Anya Moss" is not Axl under a pseudonym. It is a friend of his and the farm's under a pseudonym, and no, we're not telling who, so don't ask. We hope that by publishing this we can help "Anya" to bring some closure to a matter that is on their mind.

Friday, 9 November 2007

Guest Blogger #6: Anya Moss - "To Whom It May Concern"

Axl asked me to write this blog, so I took time out to write a personal message to someone who once touched my life and helped partially shape me to be the person who I am today, in good and bad ways. I'm sorry it's a little heavy but it's something I needed to remove from my head. Written by Anya Moss.

I'm not in love with you, I was, don't get me wrong and that's why I'm writing this. I don't like you but that doesn't mean I don't care for you.I hate seeing how lost you are and how people have lost respect for you. You wander around lost in a complex maze without a map, without regard for anyone else. You hurt and use, for your own gain and the only person loosing out, is you.
When I see you now, it's similar to seeing a stranger, someone who looks like an old acquaintance but that's where the familiarity ends. You're a shadow of your former self.
It kills me to see you this way, only because I'm aware of how incredible you once were. I pray you become this person again, in fact I hope you become a more amazing person, someone who'd blow all of my expectations out of the water, out of the skies.
You have the ability to be phenomenal but you've no idea this is the case. You've always relied on others for your self belief and now there's no one backing you up, so you doubt everything you think, feel, know.
So until that day, when I won't even be around to know how incredible you are, good luck and good luck only.
I wish you all the best in the world.
Stand on the stage of life and knock everyone dead.
I'll never forget you for good and bad reasons and I hope in time that the good memories destroy the bad, as how can true fairy-tales have both.
I'm grateful in some aspects that you were in my life but I'm also grateful you won't be in my future.

Love someone you once shared your life with. x

Written and e-mailed to the potato farm by Anya Moss. All rights reserved.

Additional: Due to a number of concerned messages, we would like to point out that "Anya Moss" is not Axl under a pseudonym. It is a friend of his and the farm's under a pseudonym, and no, we're not telling who, so don't ask. We hope that by publishing this we can help "Anya" to bring some closure to a matter that is on their mind.

Extra Additional: Anya Moss has set up their own blog. It is on the Axl Approved list as "Anya Moss' City" and the adress is

Thursday, 8 November 2007


Hey Fuckos!

I, Han from cakeyvoice, am delighted to have been bestowed with the great honour of writing a guest post for the Potato Farm. Of course I jumped at the chance; I can’t swear on my own blog because my Mum reads it, but over at Axl’s, anything goes SO LISTEN UP YOU FUCKS BECAUSE THIS ONE’S GONNA BANG IN YOUR FACE.

I can’t tell you how excited I am to be inside of Axl’s blog. Wow, it smells funny in here. I’m just gonna make this one real quick & then get back to my own blog, which has a cleaning lady come in once a week.
Today I want to talk about STATCOUNTER. Now, Axl took a bit of convincing to install this on his blog. In fact, he flat-out refused when I first suggested it. But I, Han from cakeyvoice, KNEW that he would actually LOVE it, so in order to convince him, I sent him a list of keywords that Statcounter had recorded, detailing search terms that had somehow pulled my site into people’s search results. Do you have a blog? If you do, install Statcounter. It’s worth it just for this.

Before we start, I would like to take this opportunity to point out that if you Google COOLEST HANNAH IN THE UNIVERSE, I currently come up at NUMBER ONE, bitches. Yeah. I didn’t find that out on Statcounter though, it was via my own independent research. Because I wanted to know who the coolest Hannah in the Universe was, what of it?. Don’t act like you’re not impressed.
Aaaaaaany wayyyyy……..What follows is a list of my Top 10 Favourite Statcounter Keyword Hits Of All Time. Let’s just dive right in.

1. BUMHOLE [note the capital letters. This is no polite request for bumhole. This is a VIGOROUS DEMAND, make no mistake]
2. Do elephants eat buns [you BET they do! You know when you see them elephants on the news, rampaging through Asian street markets, that's BUN RAGE that is. Caused by either too much buns or not enough buns, it varies.]
3. photos of people dead at christmas time ["...and here's Frank after that champagne cork punctured his eye socket in 2004...ooh, my hair looks terrible in that one..."etc.]
4. electro sex gloves [funnier in my imagination than in real life]
5. man burps to death [you wish]
6. bare buttock beatings of young males [YOU WISH]
7. dead pepole pics [Pepole. Hehe. I SEE DEAD PEPOLE]
8. what do giraffes do for fun [Dunno the answer to this. You don't see many giraffes at Alton Towers, do you?]
9. ginger biscuits with ugly faces [hey, woah - don't discriminate against the gingers, man]
10. round japan sneaking up on girls and pulling there pants down [errrrrr...]

Sadly, time constraints are compelling me to draw this special moment to a close. But if you're bored at work, why not try out my new hobby? It's like this, right, you go to eBay and type in the word ‘look’ into the search bar, but with loads of ‘o’s like LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK and then just when you think that that’s TOO MANY Os, you do the search, and then you have to look at whatever comes up. Like, they obviously want you to LOOOOOOK the most because they put all those Os in, right? So the least you can do is LOOOOOK. Today I found this STUNNING BURBERRY TIE – EX CONDITION – LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK (you should read out the title with the appropriate amount of emphasis, depending on how much they want you to LOOOOOOK)
which is 14 Os good, but is beaten by this 101 gearbox, Land Rover gearbox Looooooooooooooooook
featuring an astonishing 18 Os! Exactly the same amount of time in minutes that it will take you to locate said gearbox in the photo they have provided. Which scores me an extra 5 Os for irony. So there you go. The LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK game. If you can beat 18 Os (plus my 5 bonus Os), let me know.

Otherwise, cock off you knobbers.

Written and e-mailed to the potato farm by Hannah Simpson. All rights reserved. Hannah Simpson is the author of the blog "Cakeyvoice", which is one of the links in the "Axl Approved" list to the side just there. Or the adress is

Wednesday, 7 November 2007

Guest Blogger #4: Erik Spurrier-Samuelsson - "Untitled."

I am happy to have been asked to write a blog post for Mr Axl while he is away. I enjoy his blog very much and hope I can write something that his readers shall enjoy.

I remember one of my favourite of his was when he took a song lyric about the mockingbird and told of the practicalities of what was being said. I also very much enjoyed when Mr John Ice-Cream did this two days ago with love phrases on his guest blog post. It made me wonder about some myself.
For example, when people want to be aggresive with you, they are often saying "Do you want a piece of me?". It puzzles me because, if someone dislikes you, or you are confrontational to someone, why would they want to have a piece of you to keep as their very own? Also, I am not sure what part you would be willing to let them have. If you are not liking someone, I suppose it would be a part of you they would not want to have, so I do not understand where this question has come from. I certainly don't think I would ever give a part of myself to another, even if I like them. Imagine that. "Hello, you are my friend and I like you. Would you like me to give you my stomach? Or a foot maybe?". That would be very strange, would it not?
"A nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse." is another one I am confused by. Surely if the horse is blind then this would apply to any visual action as the horse would not know what it is you are doing anyway. You could say "A wave is as good as the putting up of the middle finger to a blind horse." or "A smile is as good as a porn film on mute to a blind horse.". "A UFO sighting is as good as an audience with Marcel Marceau to a blind horse.". It all applies. I do not understand the point of such a phrase.

I also notice on the internet a lot of the time when people are writing on the forums they are critisising other people for errors of spelling and grammer. I think this is silly. It reminds me of the schoolchildren who are saying that their father is bigger than mine. I do not understand why when a discussion is in place that a simple mistake must be made fun of or insulted like this. It seems to me a little pathetic.

I have no more to say right now, so I suppose this is goodbye. I hope you enjoyed.

Written and e-mailed to the potato farm by Erik Spurrier-Samuelsson. All rights reserved.

Tuesday, 6 November 2007

Guest Blogger #3: Louis Freeehmannh - "News, Blues & Foods."

Axl's still on his sabbatical/time off/holiday/break/whatever it is he's doing with himself, so I've been asked to write today's blog post.

Did any of you see the news on BBC1 this morning? It was pretty weird. There was a discussion/debate about women's underwear that hides and conceals fat and makes your body look more trim than it is. Then some guy from M&S was flirting with the woman doing the financial news buy talking to her about underwear. They followed that with a clip from Pakistan where a bunch of lawyers are rioting. I can't remember why but it was a weird clip. The general riot scene fodder, you know, police crouched behind shields, things being thrown at them, people running away, then you see whose actually rioting and it's a bunch of guys in suits throwing bricks and bottles. It was one of the most surreal things I've ever seen.

The thing was though I was eating some carrot cake, healthy breakfast I know, and I started wondering, who the hell came up with the idea for carrot cake? It's a pretty weird idea. I mean, you don't ever find yourself in a situation where you're at someones house and you say:
"Mm, this trifle's very nice. Might I ask what's in it?"
"Certainly. It's a pretty standard recipe really, but I added a couple of things to kind of spice it up a bit."
"It's really good."
"Oh, thank you."
"Very distinctive."
"Well, like I say, it's mostly just a standard recipe. You know, you've got your sponge, your ice-cream, jelly, custard, cream, a bit of brandy, hundreds and thousands to make it look nice, I do think presentation is important, and then I added a couple of things like a little cinnamon, some nutmeg, there's some dried apricot in there..."
"What's the green stuff?"
"Oh, that'll be the broccoli."
"Yeah. I find it gives it a little more bite. A bit of body, you know?"
"It actually works really well. I'd never have expected it."
"I know, pretty weird huh?"

I wonder if anyone else has tried this vegetable/pudding combination? I wonder if across the world there are failed or secret recipes for things like Parsnip Gateaux, Potato Profiteroles, Brussels Sprout Meringue & Runner Bean Blancmange? Culinary bizarreness the world over that will never see the light of day because it's just too damn odd or revolting.

I just read this joke and it made me piss myself laughing:
Man 1: "Boy is my wife fat!"
Man 2: "How fat is she?"
Man 1: "She's so fat... The doctors pulled a 9oz 14lb human being out of her last Friday at 2pm."
I don't know why I find that quite so funny.

Anyway, I was djing at the Wounded Bat in Cirencester the other day when this guy came up to me with a record in his hand and said to me "Oi mate, play this tune, yeah? It's my new one! It's phat!"
"Who are you?" I said.
"Name's Jetison, yeah? Just puttin' this out, yeah, an' I want it promo'd and shit, yeah?"
"Jetison? Never heard of you."
"You wouldn't have mate, this is my first tune I'm puttin' out, yeah?"
I would normally have told him where to go, but suddenly I had this flash in my head. What if this guy's the next Burial or something? I could say I played him first! I had visions of being able to say I was the dj who launched this amazing artist.
"Yeah, alright mate, hand it over."
"Safe mate, yeah?"
I lined up the track, got the beats in time, and waited for the moment to drop it. I could see it now. The crowd would go ape over this new tune, everyone would want to know where I got it from, who's it by etc etc. I would make a name for myself and for Jetison right here, right now.


Cleared the dancefloor. I'm not kidding. It was dreadful. I gave it a chance, and it was terrible. I looked out to the floor and could see this guy who'd handed me the record with a couple of his mates laughing their heads off. I couldn't believe it. I had been set up. Someone had gone to the trouble of recording and pressing a deliberatly awful track just to try and get me to play it. And I totally fell for it.
I did the only thing I could do to get any respect back. I took it off, smashed that record up and dropped "Ghost Hardware." A bit of an obvious move, but I was left with no choice. People back on the dancefloor, my credibility regained. I am never playing a record by someone I haven't heard before. I may actually make sure I have a third deck with me from now on so I can test any tunes that are handed to me. Hey, I don't want to totally write off finding the next big thing do I?
I should've known though. Jetison. Who would call themselves that?

Well, I had more things to write, but I've got to go now. There's a meeting at our Village Hall tonight, and I said I'd make a Casserole. I hope you've enjoyed what I've written.

Written and e-mailed to the potato farm by Louis Freeehmannh. All rights reserved.

Monday, 5 November 2007

Guest Blogger #2: John Ice-Cream - "Stolen Hearts."

So I bin asked to rite this blog fer axl cuz he's away or whatever. I bin tolda rite about whatever I want.

Today I heard some real whack limeys called Westlife singin some song or other bout if I ever had my heart stolen. Yo, you guys think if I had I would still be fuckin standin here? Stupid motherfuckers.
So's it got me thinkin, why is there all this heart bisniss in love anyways?
"You broke my heart." No they fuckin didnt you mook, they jus hurt you real bad. If they broke yer heart you wouldn be fuckin standin there all cryin an shit, youd be on the fuckin floor not breathin you dumb fuck.
"When I see them, my heart beats faster." Thats cuz yer excited cuz you like someone, not cuz a some heart-love connection in yer body, jeez.
"Do what yer heart tells you." Yer heart dont tell you to do shit, jerkoff. It's yer fuckin brain. Yer emotions are all in yer head, nowhere else.

Jeez, love sure does turn people into dumb shit fer brains. An yo, who da fuck is buyin this fuckin Westlife shit? I was in a record store today, and they played a whole loada there songs while I was there. These guys don have a pair a balls between em! Fuckin pathetic little fuckin pansies, singin like the most fuckin awful thing I ever fuckin heard in my whole life! Jeez man, these guys sound like a fuckin old peoples home or somethin. They got songs even fuckin Boyz II Men wouldn fuckin touch. These guys need a fuckin lesson if yer no what I mean.

I like England. Its nice. You got some old shit here that looks real good.

Ah shit, I can't think a what else ta rite about now. Will that do?

Written and e-mailed to the potato farm by John Ice-Cream. All rights reserved.

Sunday, 4 November 2007

Guest Blogger: Steve French - "My Holiday In Oxford."

Hello there. Axl's gone away for a bit, the team say they don't know how long for or anything like that, but while he's away they're hiring guest writers to fill in for him.

I was thinking about going away recently. Canada had kind of lost it's thrill for me, I mean surely there's more to life than skulkin' around forests looking for ladies and eating people's dope plants, right? Well that may sound pretty awesome, but after a while it gets pretty boring, so I sneaked my ass on a plane and went to London. London is kinda big and I couldn't find any woodland. I'm told there are some gardens, but last time I broke into someone's garden to take a shit, some freak started fuckin' shooting at me. Now, I know guns aren't legal over there and all, but I sure as shit wasn't takin any chances.
London didn't appeal to me, so I saw this bus that was going to a place called Oxford. "Oxford." I thought. "Just like my favouite shade of blue polo shirts."
Then and there I decided I would get on, in the luggage compartment of course, and go to this Oxford place. I got out in a place called Gloucester Green, and was puzzled by the lack of any Green, or any park at all. It's a good job I'd taken a shit in that plane's luggage compartment on the way over, or I'd be fucking bustin' for one by now. Anyway after prowling around for a while I found a place called University Parks, and went in. It was a bit too open for my liking initially, but after eating a few birds & finding some nice trees to rest under, I thought things were pretty sweet there and I had a good nap.
Suddenly I was woken up by some douchebag goin' round telling everyone to leave. I thought I'd better get gone before a scene was caused.
I hate walking down streets. People always fuckin' staring going "What the fuck?" or "Oh my God!" or "What's that fuckin' cougar doin' on the street?" I'M NOT A FUCKIN' COUGAR, OK?! I'M A FUCKIN' MOUNTAIN LION, GOT THAT?! Jeez, humans are such fuckin' retards sometimes.
Anyways, I came to a place called South Park. Again, a bit too open for my prefered tastes, but heck, it's land and there isn't some dick patrolling it. I found a nice group of trees and slept for the night.
Anyway, after a couple of days of nice mooching around and relaxing, I started wanting a bit more than tiny English birds to eat. Seriously, what the fuck is up with English birds? They fuckin' tiny! How the fuck's a Mountain Lion like me supposed to keep going on them? "You know what?" I thought to myself, "I'm on a fuckin' trip here. I'm gonna fuckin' treat myself. I'm gonna eat a kid."
I hadn't eaten a kid for years. I'd forgotten how difficult it is. You gotta be real careful, you can't just rush into a group of kids, pick one out and run off, coz some hysterical bitch'll call animal control and you'll get put the fuck down. So I had to wait and pick my moment.

Apologies to Steve French, but we simply could not print the next segment of his blog. We hope he understands and is not offended. Alice & Oscar - Creative Consultants and Caretaker Editors.

I didn't have to eat for about 3 days after that.
Anyway, after a few more days, I kinda started missing home. I mean, Oxford was alright, beautiful lookin place and all, but it is full of assholes, man. I mean, I went around the place a bit to scope it out and that, and seriously, asshole central. Old rich folks bein' assholes, young college kids bein' assholes, poor people bein' assholes, regular people bein' assholes probably coz their surounded by assholes all the time. Oxford's quite a small place, too small for the amount of people they got there. Maybe that's why almost all of them are assholes. I dunno, it's just a theory n' all.
Anyways, I came back home and everything was still the same as when I left it, but I kinda liked that y'know? It was nice to get away for a bit, but home is where the heart is an' all that crap, so I'm back here now, skulkin' around forests, looking for ladies and eating people's dope. It feels like a pretty fuckin' sweet life again, y'know?

Written and e-mailed to the potato farm by Steve French. All rights reserved.

Additional: Steve French is aware that Mountain Lions and Cougars are the same thing. However, Mountain Lions do not appreciate the term Cougar, as they find it has derogitory connotations.

Friday, 2 November 2007