We were on holiday in Sicily for my 40th birthday. As a token present, Lucy gave me this CD in the morning. We put it on in the hire car as we left Siracusa. It was not a great day. I drove 800 km (500 miles) to Trapani via Agrigento (photo below) and other tourist stop-offs on the way, including getting lost at one point. Somehow we missed getting any lunch. Shortly after we finally arrived I lost my temper over something silly. Then the evening meal at the place we were staying was unacceptably communal when I needed peace and solitude, so we got back in the car and I drove the multiple hairpin bends to Erice in the dark, finally getting a poor meal about 14 hours after breakfast.
When we first put this on, Lucy said it sounded like The Magnetic Fields. Not enough, I think. It's probably my least favourite Ballboy album. I saw Gordon from Ballboy play There are only inches between us, but there might as well be mountains and trees at a solo acoustic gig in Wimbledon library, and I preferred it then. The sound of this record is too much the traditional dirge of indie rock.
Ballboy are, however, one of the masters of the song title, along with Simon Jeffes of the Penguin Cafe Orchestra, and possibly Robyn Hitchcock. As well as …Inches…, this album also boasts I don't have time to stand here with you fighting about the size of my dick.
 MusicBrainz entry for this album
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