Honey-Badger Me

Thrush?

No.

Well, how about anticipating a relaxing evening's moss gathering and feet settling in front of a nice, roaring telly. But nay! I hear the call of Cathy Dennis & Hockbo badgering me into flying the nest, towards the hungry, waiting face-on-a-t-shirt belonging to the Pure Reason Revolutionaries.

The time: last night. The place: The Joiner's Arms, Southampton. John Stappleton was nowhere to be found. It all began with an exhausting dash down the rain messed streets of St. Mary's, like wading through a nine year old's recently soiled nappy, to obtain cash & pills. Then, a sip of substandard beer and a chat with the badge lady before Joey Nightmare appeared on stage. Despite possessing the stage presence of a tramp fighting off a plague of lotion resistant mind-nits and the collection of dance moves from the 'if Debbie Harry was your mum' school of performing arts, I gradually warmed to the front woman's flailing and the band's spiky disco stylings. Enough to drop some money in their metaphorical hat later in the evening, in exchange for a shiny disc of nice.

The next gaggle of guitar wielding gentlemen sounded like a less relevant (do you see?) and less fit (in the third sense) Red Hot Chili Peppers, and looked like a mutant, trainee biker gang. They owned a much less successful front woman, and not just because he wasn't a woman. Echobeat (they were neither) was their unfortunate name, in case you are misguided enough to be interested. Next!

Hear me now! The atmosphere was hotting up, resulting in increasingly manic & embarrassing behaviour. OOh, look, she's walking through the audience. I have your face on a t shirt! Shhh, I... must... dance! I was rather disappointed by the appearance of last year's hair. I would like to put in a request for a new hairdo for each new gig, please. I was now getting so excited my undandy scarf became entangled in my dandy watch strap and could only be freed by a rip-roaring session of urban girl nudging. The rapture was complete once our idols began teasing a pleasing string of noise from their equipment as we stamped our thighs in appreciation and then finally exploded with a burst of bright, wet light.


Currently listening: Jim Moray by Jim Moray