Apparently I talk too much about myself. Well, duh! That's what happens when you 're a self absorbed, egomaniacal bastard. If I were anything other, you wouldn't be reading this blog post because I'd be serving tea and cucumber sandwiches to some high brow type (before I skipped into my Superman booth and emerged waving a palm frond in a nappy...).
But enough about me, how about some more me? I am in a reasonable amount of irritating pain and I want the world to know. The rib "blunt force trauma" has decided not to dissipate and is now becoming a thing. I even had to go out and buy those nifty sticky-onny-cold-press bandages after some consultation with a very long suffering pharmacist. The jury is still out on whether or not it is working - I'll keep you posted. If it guarantees at least nominal sympathy. Gifts of booze are most welcome.
Anyway, in the continuing theme of Tarty Farty Tequila Party and I sweeping through the Western Cape on our whirlwind (read: tumbleweed) tour of fun, sun and mayhem, in 2 weeks we're off to Albertinia to re-enact that famous scene from Pygmalion (or My Fair Lady, if you prefer). We're going to some or other stud farm to check out the Arabian stallions or something like that. Included are a potjie braai and some stellar blues music. I think people will start looking at us all funny if we perch ourselves under a shady tree and proceed with the Pimms until one of us is shitfaced enough to yell "Move your bloomin' arse, Dover!"
Interesting fact: Pygmalion is also a mythological sculptor who fell in love with his statue. Imagine the possibilities...
Anyway, let's get onto the very interesting subject of equilibrium. Not many of you may be aware, but equilibrium is the most fundamental state on which our entire physical world is based. Newton was a clever little beggar. And I was sharply reminded of this when I finally found out that I hadn't lost my flash-drive, just sent it off with a friend of mine. One in, one out. I can't find the lyric sheet for a song we're working on. Typically, it's the best work we've ever done, I can't remember anything more than the merest snippets and it's the only copy. Ying can yang my wang! And you just KNOW that if I attempt to re-write it, it won't be the same and I will be permanently disappointed. And then I'll get into fights with the rest of the band when it comes to deciding if we should release it, and every single one of my band members can crinkle me - as is currently so vividly demonstrated by me being a fragile little baby.
And on picking fights with band mates, I think I'll suggest in the strongest terms that we do a Goth cover of Gerry Rafferty's hit 'Baker Street'. Perhaps one of those Faeceboob polls would help to convince them? My distaste for those is well enough documented. What's the point?
Anyway, we'd like to welcome Neal back to the land of the living. He's been quiet of late, but is right back on top form!
NGDG: Did you know (and I bet you didn't) that another name for the exclamation mark is a dog's cock? Use it sparingly.
Spread The Love. Or Wear The Ribbed For Her Pleasure Inside Out. I'm TOLD It Rocks...