pboconnor: They say music should be fun. Like reading a story of love. But I wanna read a horror story.
pboconnor: Look pal, Elvis was the king, right? To me, Elvis were king.
pboconnor: ... the stooping Lord of scabrous spleen-rock ...
pboconnor: The boy is like a tape loop.
pboconnor: British people are spoilt - they don't know how lucky they are.
pboconnor: No booze, no trees, no telly, no cigarettes, and blokes walking round with toilet rolls sticking out of their ears - what kind of a place is this?
pboconnor: I hate the likes of Echo And the Bunnymen who pander to bedsit kids who are going through their 19-year-old crises.
pboconnor: I'm a Mummy. I scare people.
pboconnor: I think singing about Nazi Germany and flying monks from Tibet is a lot more interesting than love songs.
pboconnor: The Dutch are weeping in 4 languages at least.
pboconnor: Don't eat, it's disallowed. Suck on marrowbones and energy from the mainland.
pboconnor: Call yourselves bloody professionals?
pboconnor: In the marble halls of the charm school, how flair is punished.
pboconnor: Like your psychotic big brother, who left home for jobs in Holland, Munich, Rome.
pboconnor: Eyes extending invisible tendrils of contempt, the bastard offspring of Natassia Kinski and an irate squid.
pboconnor: The rabbit killer left his home for the club and said goodbye to his infertile spouse.
pboconnor: Indiscriminate take out.
pboconnor: It's dark but your legs are dead. Your pen is entombed in mattress.
pboconnor: I'm eternally grateful to my past influences.
pboconnor: I used to be a psychic but I drank my way out of it.
pboconnor: The only reason you know this is that it was well documented.
pboconnor: Branch out into complete disorder. You gotta be cheerful hearted.
pboconnor: Winter is here, I've got a witch on my left shoulder.
pboconnor: Oh dear friends I can't go on, Arthur Askey's just been shot. We must do a tribute!
pboconnor: Baghdad! Space Cog! Analyst!
pboconnor: The streets of Soho did reverberate with drunken Highland men.
pboconnor: According to the postman, it's like the bleeding Bank of England.
pboconnor: A bizarre mesh of paranoid psychobabble and Victorian sermonising.
pboconnor: I feel trapped by mutual affection, and I don't know how to use freedom.
pboconnor: The cracker factory: a place where you get into the working routine again.