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Wed 18th July, 2012 Crazybusy week; Airwalk Outlaws haven't touched the ground. Tried to write when time allowed though, so here's some words I managed to sculpt out of the madness, however I highly recommend you give up reading after a sentence or two. I gave up writing towards the end anyway. Currently at the Dublin ferry port, failing to eat this shit-crumbling croissant by attempting to move it towards my face faster than it sheds it's flaky excuse for bodymass all over my keyboard & shoes. Nary a boson in this sorry french pastry. Where to start. Missed my cunthole of a flight from Berlin to London on Wed morning due to a drink too many at the Russian bar, which was, financially speaking, a right axe in the ass prior to this underfunded weekend in Ireland. Good ole' EasyJet got me on the next flight for 60 Euro though, which is fuckin' cheaper than checking in on the Ryan air flight to Stockholm the other week. Squeezed off a quick rehearsal that evening before the mad rush to get equipment together & see young Miss Hammersley on her only night in England, which developed into bare chaos fo' shizzle including a chance collision with Amy Studt who I have some decade old history with (not like that, Susan), a warehouse party with Elena Dana & the Joe Gardner gang, Eddie doing her trick of running in front of flying cars (don even do that, like) and fuck knows what else, slept an hour or something with my lenses in & ran to barely catch the train to Wales for the ferry to Dublin.. deep breath.. and I'll continue. (Highly recommend that you don't, however). Some arsebadger fell over on the train or something, delaying our journey Westward, resulting in a missed connection in Holyhead (Wales) where it was cunting it down like, so we did the decent thing & hit up the pub scene, passing a dejected 8 foot red dragon along the way, hanging his head while dragging his giant feet through the puddles. Stumbled into a kindof castle which had a church on it's grounds & found ourselves, dripping wet, watching a choir of old men singing the Welsh national anthem & apologising for the weather. Liquid sunshine they called it. Missed the next ferry also, finally found our way aboard whilst realising that we had barely rehearsed & would arrive only in time to perform, so we went down into the belly of the craft & set up down there on the deck where the cars & coaches slumber & worked on a set. Got rumbled but the security guy turned a blind eye, they're kindly folk out West. Got to Ireland, got lost, then bumped into the Manley himself on his bike on route to the venue, he directed us to his home where I didn't have time for a shower so we ran through a quick tune & then headed out to the venue for the show. Was amazed to see Neil Kelly from New York band Huggabroomstick, who happened to be on a family holiday to Dublin when he saw that Myles had a show there. The show went really well, Myles Manley & The Little People were superb live, and then I DJ'd until the end of the night playing Albert Goold & Bigott tunes to excess. Afterparty at the Cal & Myles ranch evolved into a giant singalong with many musical peeps from that 'hood, and we finally conked out on the sofa at some ungodly hour of the morning only to be woken with nary enough time for a shower to go for the Nessymon interview, looking & feeling like a rat dragged from a vat of shat. Which is why I'm not gonna post it here 'cos I sound like utter shit in it. On the way home we stopped of in the local Lidl, to stock up on bananas which Myles wanted nothing to do with & in the queue a fairly standard looking middle aged woman put her hand on my arm & told me I will be very successful, but that I need to stop drinking.. which is pretty much spot on with regard to what was on my mind at that point given the state of the video we'd just made (alcohol fucks my voice right up). Her gaze was then lowered & she said that I have problems with my feet, which is very true since that disco dancing accident a few years ago that I refused to seek medical help for & still hurts to this day. Tentatively, she then asked about my parents, are they still alive? I told her that my dad had died at the start of the year & she nodded, she already knew for sure, and she said that he also wants me to stop drinking. We were both in a kindof trance, and the poor girl at the checkout was trying to get our attention to finish the transaction & I had to muster some energy to put the bananas in a bag as the security guard edged over to make sure everything was ok, with a smile. I left that store like it was a parting from dearly beloveds, the unassuming middle aged woman said she was from Kazakhstan & also walked away with some lingering unidentifiable sense, my mind quite blown. Upon arriving home Myles announced that, in exchange for a haircut, he'd promised to record a Take That song of the contributors choice.. which had turned out to be the tune Patience, and he asked if Cal, Eddie & I would provide backing vocals for this purpose - a proposal we proceeded to get bang into with an overambitious 4-part arrangement that took an hour to perfect, while Myles' brother Ronan made plans for an equally ridiculous music video to accompany the live performance on a lock across the canal. Light was fading, so with no time for a shower we hit the streets. I'll post the finished product when it's edited, won't be long. Oh dear oh dear. So. Got home, portable recorder hadn't captured the audio, so we re-recorded the song at home which made us late for a dinner appointment with Myles & Ronans' parents, meaning - you guessed it - no time for a shower so I dragged my skanky ass halfway across Dublin for what turned out to be a truly delightful evening amongst a unique modern family dynamic where Myles' dad announced his engagement to his boyfriend & we looked at wedding photographs from Myles' mothers recent wedding to her man, and much fine food & finer joy was had by all. Then home - sofaconk - morning dash to barely catch coach to ferry to Hollyhead (Wales), where there was a 40min wait for train so we did the decent thing & hit up the pub scene with fellow ferryfaring Irish guy who was so pleased with the round of drinks we got in that he bought 9 further beers for the trainride, immediately jeopardising my intention to follow the wholesome advice from Kazakhstan. SO.. still only Sunday (give up on this blog now please), we took over a corner of the packed train back to London & began many a debate with the Irish guy & a bunch of dull-as-dishwater Texan students who spent the 3 hour journey looking dumb, wide eyed & mildly shocked, we even stopped off someplace for a drink or two in a pub in the midlands if memory serves, in any case was well on it by then. Got home around midnight. Had shows on Mon, Tue & Wed that got progressively worse as we were losing bananas daily (had left the ones purchased in Lidl at Myles' apartment, foolishly) and each show had it's own share of stories which I can't even begin to go into now (ran into J.J reading poetry on the other stage at 93 Feet East, for exampe!) and now that it's Wed again I simply can't believe it's only been a week since I left Berlin. Fuck. Me. |