Sonata in A major

First rehearsal for two weeks tonight. I had to do without last week because I was otherwise engaged. The hiatus has had a similar effect on me to that which giving up smoking had; I am cranky, unable to concentrate and constipated. I like my weekly fix of noise and bellowing. It makes the world a brighter place and the glow lasts for just about 6 days afterwards.

Someone asked me the other day what my plans were for Mashemon and I failed to explain them in sensible way. What I should have said is:

“Plans?”

That would have sufficed surely. Instead I rambled for a bit and waved my hands about. This chap went on to ask the big question: why do you do it? On reflection and given my current condition the answer is obviously because I am addicted to making music and noise. What purer reason could a man have? Of course, people may misunderstand that statement and come to the conclusion that I have several screws loose and a live eel in my thinking bag. This prospect does not bother me today, but sometimes it does. Sometimes I do get the urge to be normal and without the glow of a recent rehearsal to buoy me up I often give in.

That said I do have a poster for our next gig on the wall of my office. Not many musicians I know do that. My thinking runs thus: if I am next to the poster then if anyone seeing the poster has any questions I will be on hand to deliver the answers in a concise and appealing fashion. However, when this has actually occurred I have been reduced to my standard response ie. rambling on and waving my hands about. What I need is a script and some kind of hand restraint.

An infinite number of monkeys and typewriters should suffice. You notice I say infinite and not roomful, as a recent coffee advert would have you believe. This coffee advert really irritates me. It irritates me so much I can’t think of a decent metaphor, I have no metaphor for the job. It irritates me so much because it is a willful misunderstanding of a very simple concept. It also implies that a roomful of monkeys and typewriters could write the complete works of Shakespeare but could not make a cup of coffee. Given the quality of the coffee I have endured from said establishment in the past they must employ a fair number of monkeys themselves.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Did you see what I did there? What a twat.

I am still digging my fighting pit and it should be ready soon. I will be in there every Tuesday night, stripped naked and oiled ready to fight all comers, no holds barred. You want a piece of me? You want a piece of me?

Oh yes and come to the gig on Saturday. If you intend coming to the fighting pit it will be a good opportunity for some trash talking. You fat turkey necked lard arsed shrew sexer. You heard me and so did your mother.