FREE KISSES

What have you all been getting up to in my absence? Should I make those nice signs folk are so fond of hanging on their dogs for you? "I'm a naughty bugger and I drank water from the toilet without checking for pooh first" or "I accidentally got my nose lodged in a Great Dane's rectum"...

Anyone?

No?

Ok, I'll tell you what I got up to. If you insist. On Friday I went to play football. It was murder and I sucked. I did NOT enjoy myself. One rarely does when one is in the throes of baking a "useless" pie. The beers afterwards were a most welcome refreshment AND distraction. I was a right misery. Bless The Hot Girlfriend for her patience. Especially since I decided to cook when we got home and when we got around to eating it was virtually Saturday already.

Saturday was started at Rose Thorn's abode for breakfast. Which was more of a bribe to get me over there to supervise some musical endeavour. Not complaining. Thereafter it was all reversed as Rose Thorn and Commander Conker came to my place for a nice leisurely afternoon braai. I had a catastrophically low intake of beer as I was the designated driver for the evening, but all was well.

So. I had to go to a backpackers. A fucking back fucking packers! And pay for the privilege! The occasion was another Th'DamnedCrows show and the birthday of one of our close mates, The Lodge Owner. Luckily the bloody place was devoid of stinking hippies and any form of Euro-trash, but I still couldn't drink. I am no fun without a beer in my hand. I don't know what to do with myself. Thank goodness I wasn't the only person apparently not having a good time, but I think that probably didn't have as much to do with the lack of gentle alcoholic persuasion.

The Pits started proceedings and rocked out to a bouncing dancefloor. Apparently dressing like Flo from Andy Capp is now the look de joure. And something resembling a self conscious twist that looks more like you're attempting to turn around on your barstool without using your hands to get to the beer behind you on the counter.
My clear lack of fashion sensibility - whilst crippling my credentials on the catwalks of Milan and New York - will probably never understand why the youth of today all look like either the cast of 8 Mile or like they're about to board a sailing vessel as a cleaning lady.

I would say that next "on strode" Th'DamnedCrows, but the stage is possibly a little cosy to use such hyperbole. Luckily for all of us this lot doesn't need me to over elaborate their exploits, as they FUCKING OWN everything and everyone every time they blast though another blistering set of belligerent and degenerate good old fashioned wreck 'n' roll. It's high octane stuff! And L.I.Am is every bit the consummate front man with his engaging banter between songs and flying fingers whilst he dry humps the big red double bass. The rest of them aren't too kak either...
I have a confession. When I first started with the pantie collecting back in Revellus (a previous band) I assumed they had been flung at me. I'm that self centred. Clearly they were meant for JDP as he is the common link between that band and this. There rained down a parachute squadron of inappropriately large knickers - and much fun was had between the crowd and the band as panties were flung back and forth and worn on heads. I hope that the current tragedy affecting dress sense hasn't penetrated that deep...

Anyway, if you remember the Psycho Reptiles fondly, go and check these lads out - a quite authentic island in a sea of otherwise drivelly dross. With Th'DamnedCrows, the music is boss, not the accompanying scene's prerequisite physical baubles.

Sunday was funday. Cheese and Wine (or Drinkies n Stinkies) with the little sister and consummately more pleasant member of the DSW. I took along a bottle of expensive wine with which to impress everyone. I was so excited until my friend Jean Pant told me it had been compromised in some way. I was crestfallen and decided to imbibe as much as possible to sooth my injured ego and dented enthusiasm. Luckily it returned with every gulp of beer/wine/whiskey...
The spread was out of this world. As it usually is. Mater and Pater sat primly on the couch while everyone attempted civilised small talk while getting shitfaced. As soon as they left, the Brother In Awe leapt for the remote and the party began. By that time I was pretty much stuck inside the chair I had been occupying and it was virtually impossible to pry my narrow ass from it to go home. But alas, eventually, home we had to go. Apparently there was a lot of loud giggling involved again. Tarty Farty Tequila Party was also in attendance. You can imagine...

Which brings us to Mondays. I don't like Mondays. Geldoff was right. I have to relinquish the Hot Girlfriend to real life for 5 days every Monday. At least I have band practice to look forward to. Last night went pretty well. Keyboard parts are now finalised until they change again.

And now we're here. After a tortuous morning spent fixing the entire network of computers in the office, I am ready to go home. I have fuck all more interest in being here. Later!

NGDG: The only thing more dangerous than a junkie with a gun, or a woman scorned with incriminating photos, is an afternoon nap when you've had a few drinks in you.

Spread The Love. If You Know Where It Is.