Thursday, 25 August 2011

Caught on the rim of a minty cheese hole.

August is nearly up and that means there’s not a lot of summer left. One more summer, no closer to making nuclear fusion a viable energy alternative. Another summer gone where I have not worn shorts in public.

I have quite nice legs, a little hairy maybe, but they’re alright. If you saw my legs in a line of ten pairs of legs you wouldn’t point at them and say “worst legs”. Of course all the legs would have to be in the same state, you couldn’t have 9 pairs of lovely tanned smooth legs and mine because, and this is assuming you are a fan of the tanned smooth leg, my legs would be disadvantaged, they would not be on a level playing field, the odds would be stacked against my legs, my legs would not be getting a fair crack of the whip, spin of the wheel, smell of the cheese or squeeze of the melon. In fact this is just the sort of lovely legs competition you would organise, just to make my unhappy. Well, it won’t work. You can take you competition and shove it.

Coming round here comparing my legs with other legs. One of these days why I oughta…

We had a good night on Saturday at the CUC with Talk to Frank, Low Winter Sun and Nick Lawless. We made a good old racket and I think I may have thrown one shape. Only one mind you, standards and all that. Hopefully no one noticed the shape I threw. If they did they would probably compare it with other shapes they have seen thrown and then they would ask themselves “which is the best shape?” and since I am, at best, an indifferent thrower of shapes there is a fair chance that I would be ranked poorly. And then they would turn up at the next gig, with their official league table and inform all and sundry that not only did I have the worst legs but threw the worst shapes as well. This is precisely the sort of thing that makes me regret ever leaving the convent. I mean aquarium. I mean sanatorium. I don’t know what I mean.
So that was a good night. We’re doing some recording tonight for out next single, which will run thusly I think:

Side A: Guts - (Redolent of a drunk hod carrier in tights, sling-backs and a sequin gown at a wedding reception.)

Side B: More - (Essence of The Bay City Rollers being murdered by meth addled iguanas.)

Side C: Taxidermy - (A hint of Tony Bennett singing Heroin whilst having his head slammed in a fridge door.)

I can’t guarantee that these songs are anything like what I have described, but I’ve had a go at it. These should be ready to get your grubby little hoofs on in September. If you come along to witness us supporting Vic Goddard and the Subway Sect at the Williamson Tunnels on September 10th I’ll even throw in a free look at my ankles.

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