I was sitting in the graveyard looking out, enjoying the warmth and basking in my absurd lack of empathy for those lying dead around me; after all, it was sunny.
Once there, it was only natural that I should text
After some time there,
After parental units had returned from wage-earning endeavours, it was established that, after all, Catriona would not be allowed to attend the evening's entertainment and so I concentrated my efforts on getting
When we were finally allowed into the giggage area, we were amazed by how wonderfully small it was. Sitting on the floor at the side with our beers, we watched band-people wander around and I even managed to persuade Seymour to sing Happy Birthday for dear old
The first band were called P45* but, apparently, they were changing their name soon - supposedly already finding themselves with a terrible reputation. They truly were the wrost bnad evar, though you could tell they were trying and they were rather humorous. They were entirely comprised of a man identical to Richie Nye but with Kappo's brain poncing about on bass and gurning whilst trying to do elaborate solos which emulated that guy from OPM (I only just got the magical pun!). The lead vocalist was some complete wannabe chick about four feet tall who was trying to play guitar like Avril, but failing in the same way you'd expect a girl wearing Punkyfish trousers to fail. And as for the drummer (oh boy, the drummer), she was more poo than a aging heap of fetid pony turd. She was some blonde Sugarcoma reject who was pretending she was all hardcore and everything but ended up looking like she had less strength than Charlemagne. She banged out her beats with her mouth open in some orgasmic pose and struck the drums with all her might. Still, none of this covered up the fact she had so, so much less talent than someone's sister and not even a fitness value to make up for it like Meg White does. Oh yes, there was also some other guy just thrown in on stage right. Presumably because he had cool hair and could smoke and strum at the same time. So that was P45* - a gallimaufry of assorted fools who actually sounded quite fun and could be good if The Offspring would ever be good (if that makes sense). I noticed that there were a couple of suited men in the crowd trying not to look like idiots and subtly taking photographs of the band as they played. And meanwhile,
And that is how I found myself dancing like crazy to Miss Black America. It was so good to let it all out and a bit of an abreaction after my wary head bobbing and lyrics whispering back at the acoustic gig. We were there at the front going crazy and giving it our all just inches beneath godly Mat. Seymour was a lord, they played the best songs evar and Cooper was ace. Quiggers even remembered to play Happy Birthday for
On another note, the whole time we'd been there, I'd been carefully eyeing
After all of that exertion, we were incredibly tired and sat down for the whole of the rubbishy The Keys' set. Nobody else liked them either for they had an identical consistency to excrement. We just rested at the side and I eyed some cute girl with dreads (I never find dreads cute) while the inebriated
After we'd replenished our liquids in the urination station, Seymour caught up with us, promptly enrolled us as groupies, and made us hand out shit for him (where shit is equated to gig flyers). It was joyous, especially as I won by successfully handing out about three times as many flyers as
And so, on that high, we went home after purchasing cheap crisps for immediate consumption.
The next day I was sitting at home and felt that I wanted some nice loud music. Everyone was out, so I went into the front room to our über sonic system. After being tempted by the wonders of Winnebago Deal, I settled on Mogwai and listened to the awe-inspiringly perfect Rock Action through some good speakers at a horrendously high decibel level.