NOT A SINGLE SLINKY IN SIGHT!

Me - yesterday.

One for the record books, folk. Not one single person at an 'industrial music' gathering with those wonderfully colourful and exotic 'hairfalls' festooned all over their crania.

Other things missing:

1. Specific people who confirmed in the affirmative that they would be in attendance. Why bother if you're not going to be there?


2. Scott's gigging cherry. Bravo, sir!


3. Projectile panties. Diss-A-Motherfucking-Pointed!


4. Mine and a few other peoples' names. If found, please return to owners. It's pretty simple. they're our names...

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Start at the beginning. Friday night we celebrated the birthday of the great and gregarious Frankie Riester at the Rock Hard Cafe. We rocked. Hard. The lads n ladies form the equally radically "rock-out-with-your-cock-out" Sabretooth were also in attendance to show us how it's supposed to be done. I braaied enough to feed the whole of South America, and that was just the small braai. Braai salt and hedonism - a heady mixture!



Saturday was a loooong day. I'll spare you all the technical details of what goes into the preparation of a gig, but I will point out that there is an inordinate amount of "hurry up and wait".

So we arranged a braai. As you do. On National Braai Day. Or in our case, "What An Enormous Sausage - National Braam Day". Yes, it was TDB's birthday. We braaied. Can't really embellish on that too much. There was meat, beer and babies.

Fast forward to where I once more bestride the stage, deep into the late hours of Saturday night (in my spiffy, shiny pants - thanks to Wolf Clothing). Pretty terrified for a moment there. Then I remembered where I'd left my beer and I was ok again.

The show went by in a blur of hair, bouncing souls and swirling stabbing lights. The packed dancefloor in front of me was, well, packed. And people were going fucking mental! Looking over to my left I could see the f(r)iends that compromise the miraculous Axxon stomping and snarling along and having a great time, zoned in - delivering one of the most enjoyable shows I've had the privilege of playing. Even TDB made a cameo appearance. Happy birthday, you old fart! Onwards and upwards, I say!



Thanks to Reanimator, the beautiful and talented Yvette, Mercury Live, Wolf Clothing, Lux, Ian from Hellfire, Kevin on lighting, the kind folk at Paul Bothners, the crew and especially everyone that came out to enjoy this spectacular evening with us.

Cue mass relief and a burning desire to put all alcohol in immediate vicinity in my face, the rest of the evening picked up speed rather rapidly. The Dean of Univer City was, as usual, especially helpful in this regard. Tarty Farty Tequila Party (in a Cleopatra wig no less) was also on hand to apply some "oomph" to the proceedings.



Yesterday was expectedly less pleasant. I only made it out of bed because the bedroom TV is on the fritz. So we spent the day on the couch. More than that, I could not muster. I may have dozed off during a movie or two...



And tonight the maniacal circus continues. Band practice with TDB and the lovely Ms Rose Thorn. Perhaps a glass of wine? Wonder whose turn it is to make din-dins...

I promised myself I'd get back to some running (madness) after this gig, so I will have to follow through with my threats to join Commander Conker on Wednesday. Let's all hold hands and pray that he is sufficiently impressed with my reinstated status as rockstar to be suitably gentle...

Anyway. Today Saint Smith has very little to say about (the everloving) it all. So we'll dive straight into the gospel according to Saint Goldwyer:

NGDG: "A Smith and Wesson beeats four aces."

So tonight TDB cooks up a storm for Rose Thorn, Tarty Farty Tequila Party (who is gracing us with her presence at "band" practice) and myself. Tonight I hand over the Martha Mantle. After I clean the house...

Spread The Love. Love Is The Drug.