Tuesday, September 4, 2012


Nothing like the electric train set I had as a kid, which was admittedly somewhat lacking in the variety of tracks department, but more an observation on myself. When thinking of what to write (you know, sometimes simply reporting the events of a often mundane life just doesn't cut it) I have often come up blank. When pressed to find something of interest on which to make comment, most times the only thing that pops up is "Boobs". Or "Music". I think we've just covered - with some finality - the sum of my interests.

Ok, so I'll report on the last few days if you insist. On Friday I went to watch a couple of metal bands tear shit up at ROAR. Hellucifix were lucky enough to be on while I wasn't altogether black out drunk and so they get a mention. My old friend, the Tubthumping Trance DJ, pounded the skins like the old pro he is, having been involved in the metal scene since before most of you had pubes. Good to see him on the throne again doing his thing! Also, their cover of Sabbath's Warpigs was a thing to behold and experience. And was missed by the real Warpig... Wonderful!

Through the evening I had the good fortune to be in the company of some great people. I distinctly remember Oom Ben, another drumming demon getting firmly behind the gathering momentum that was my leglessness. Thanks for the shots, my good man, we'll do it again soon. Only this time I think I should get in a few rounds...

I waltzed in the street. Waltzed!

Saturday night was the trip out to Brass Bell for a birthday party. But not before I had the pleasure of yet another run in with the growing ineptitude so pervasive in our society. After hanging around on the forecourt of my local petrol station for 5 minutes (when I was younger and there were no locks on the pumps it was a lot more fun) before being served by the most vacant soul this side of Paris Hilton. I left almost half an hour later after watching in astonishment and growing disbelief as the cashier attempted to get my card to "work". My outrage was met with the bovine gaze of one with no interest in helping, much less what the fuck is going on. After an irate call (finally) to an absentee manager, I left without paying. They still haven't contacted me to arrange payment. Business today, eh...
Moving on to the main event. As usual the birthday girl's boyfriend was delightfully drunk by the time we got there and provided many happy hours of entertainment. He was ably assisted by a barely coherent local kreef fisherman and later an ungracefully aging trannie. Sorry, she was technically a woman, but only by a whisker. Not counting her libido, which was the human equivalent of a Maltese Poodle on Viagra but, I imagine, had some Tim Burtonesque cobwebs on display. Urgh. Mental picture...

Then Sunday arrived, and with it an apocalyptic hangover courtesy of Black Label Draft. The Hot Girlfriend mentioned, not once, not twice, but ALL DAY, that she was never drinking again. She did qualify the statement by adding the words "Black", "Label" and "Draft" every time she uttered the sentence, thank goodness. We braaied. A lot. I stood outside and drank beer while she stayed inside and kept the bed warm. Fire. It has a certain mesmerising charm.

Anyway, yesterday was thankfully uneventful, so here we are. Hope you have a fantastic day, all. Go and listen to Shannon Hope's single 'Being Brave'. It's the best way to become one of the cool kids. The ones in the know. Hurry. Also, go and order the Anathema album 'Weather Systems'. You will then own the best collection of music known to man. And by man I obviously mean me. And I am a total dick about music, so you have to trust that I know more than you. Or that my taste is superior. Hehehe.

When I'm not motherless. Then it's all Green Jelly and daft eighties classics. Ever Rick-Rolled yourself?!

NGDG: Favourite new find. Janis Ian. I only listen to aggressive evil stuff in my car. At home, I demand chilledness. With a modicum of sadness.

Spread The Love. Don't Be Scared.

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