Onwards onwards onwards onwards. Got my hair cut. Think I look like a Luftwaffe pilot. I don’t understand what is on my head. I don’t know how I’m supposed to push it around up there. It doesn’t want to tell me either. I’ve put so much hair product in it today that every time I touch it my hand comes away slightly sticky, like I have just playfully batted away a glazed bun that was tossed at me by a baker. I presume we are playing some kind of game.
When you think of a baker, what do you think of? Depending on my mood I have two bakers; if I am happy and full of fun then my baker is a lady with a light dusting of flour, smells of raisins and cinnamon and has a nice white apron. If it is a bad day and I am full of vinegar and spiders then it is a pale faced man with a thin black moustache and well oiled hair, who probably has a pistol hidden in a loaf.
So now, when I think about the baker and the sticky bun, which baker do I think of? Lady baker. That means I must be having a good day. It is important to know these things.
I’ve actually had a quite a fun few days when I consider it. I have done some fun stuff. Went to the Shipping Forecast on Thursday and got really very drunk whilst watching Low Winter Sun, Mystery Box and the Doo Dahs. I enjoyed myself. I got a chance to talk to the nice people from Low Winter Sun, who supported us back in the CUC. I say talk to them but it was probably closer to me talking at them whilst they checked the exits. Nice people. Nice, patient people and a promising band.
I didn’t talk to Mystery Box. By the time they came on I was having a bit of a slump and beetled off to sit down somewhere, I think. But I do remember the singer was wearing a bowler hat. Since this is in no way an assessment of their abilities, more a critique of my dissolute behaviour, I’m sure no one will hold it against me when I say I can’t remember a thing.
By the time the Doo Dahs arrived I had got my second wind. I enjoyed them as well. I probably spent more time admiring their singer than was probably civilised, but then what can I say. I’m a bad dog. I did mange to talk her afterwards but she disappeared and never came back. It was just like one of those films. If I was wearing a trilby it would have been even more like one of those films, except I would probably have had to go and have a shoot-out with an evil baker in a warehouse downtown immediately afterwards.
After that I wandered off to find a place that made a good whiskey sour. And I found it, oh mamma yes. Can’t remember where it was but I do know it had a lot of blue lighting in it.
Saturday was the day of the big Harvest Sun gig in the Williamson Tunnels supporting Vic Goddard and the Subway Sect. I wore new shoes. I think we played very well, although Margaret, Mike’s exceptionally astute good lady wife and keen Mashemon observer, thought I wasn’t drunk enough. No one has ever said that to me ever. I admire Margaret and hope to never let her down in this way again.
The Beatnik Hurricane and the Ladykillers followed. I was in a much more reserved mood at the time so I left them well alone. Vic Goddard and the Subway Sect rounded things off and everyone had a good time. Andy and I went off in search of the place I had that whiskey sour on Thursday but couldn’t find it. By then it was home time for us, since we were neither in the mood for dancing or fighting.
So there, that’s a bit of something to read.