Hello Dear Reader ('Reader' singular, 'cos I know it's just the one.)
You are currently reading the last post on the blog for the year — actually, I'll go further than that — you are currently skim-reading the last post on the blog for the decade. I thought I'd end on a round number, and this is post number 2,500 for 2019. That many posts in 12 months is not to be sniffed at. I doubt I'll reach such heady numbers again in a calendar year but I'll give it a shot. (Just maybe not in 2020, if that's okay with you.)
I could have reserved the final post of the year with a scanned in article by John A. Dawson - one of my favourite Socialist Standard writers from the pre-1914 period - or finally got round to scanning in that long arse essay by Maximilien Rubel that's been 'resting' in drafts for about two years now but I'm feeling lazy: There are films to be watched, family to annoy, and Grandma pizza to be eaten.
So, instead, I will leave you with this pop classic from 2006. One of those songs that never ages. Should have been a smash (getting to number 48 doesn't cut it), pisses all over John Lennon's 'Imagine' and will be my song of choice if I ever audition for The Voice.
See you next year: