I run in turquoise suits

The last gig of the year is in the bag. Two singles have been completed and the album is on its way. We got in a drummer. And there’s still a month left to go in 2011. Probably too soon to start looking back over the year that was and furthermore that’s not the sort of thing we do. That requires the exercising of brain cells that I have taken great pains and spent large sums of money to destroy.

You see, there are some things that I really don’t want to remember. I’ve purged a lot of them, such as why I can’t stand the sight of chives, why I whistle the theme tune to Dad’s Army whenever I see a duck egg and why I have a prosthetic arm. There’s a lot of work still to be done though.

Such as the time I was working for the Kennet and Avon Canal Trust. I had worked as part of the team that had been restoring the turf sided Monkey Marsh Lock, which is just outside Thatcham and is listed as an ancient monument. A ceremony was to be held to celebrate the re-opening of the canal and the Queen was to the guest of honour. It was all very exciting indeed.

The grand day came and I put on my best canal hat, like a river hat but with a wood pigeon feather rather than lark’s foot, and my favourite galoshes and made my way to the place where the Queen would be boarding the Rose of Hungerford to travel between locks 44 and 43.

I arrived quite early, a habit which I have been unable to break to this very day and has seen me get into no end of trouble. “In nunc arcu ite ingrate”, as it says on my coat of arms.

So there I was. My task for the day was to prepare the cucumber sandwiches and make sure that no children were drowned. Varied tasks you might think, but you’re probably not too familiar with that stretch of the Kennet and Avon canal. I set to work on the former, since there were no children there at that time. Not everyone likes cucumber sandwiches, but those people are not the sort of people who would be attending a visit by the Queen to the opening of a stretch of canal. For a bit of variety Mary Sanders Rose, of the Berkshire Sanders Roses, was going to be supplying some tongue sandwiches. A marvellous spread to be sure!

I had finished trimming my 145^th crust when I heard a scream from near the side of the canal. Screaming is not the done thing in that part of the world, especially when the Queen is due to visit. Hurrying in the general direction, I saw a horrible sight; a green faced lizard creature, dressed in a blue, green and pink paisley frock molesting a poor young man who had been attempting to clear a couple of old plastic bags from the bulrushes, its arm shoved up this poor chap’s fundament to the elbow. His screams of torment were horrific and on seeing me he begged for assistance.

Now, I’ve been around a bit and tangled with more than my fair share of green skinned water lizard people. Things to remember:

1. Be polite
2. Offer a sandwich

I waved a cheerful hello to the monster and jogged back to the pile of sandwiches I had prepared, popped a few onto a plate and made my way back. The ordeal was still not over and if you ask me I think that the creature was taking its time just to be cruel. Naturally vicious you see.

I offered it a sandwich, pointing out that they were cucumber. This appeared to please the creature, who withdrew its claw and took one. I tried not to show my disgust at its lack of basic food hygiene, since this was hardly the appropriate time, although I confess to tutting ever so quietly.

It was as it reached for another sandwich that I noticed the indentation on the top its head. This hollow held a pool of water which the creature was careful to not spill. Realising what I was dealing with I snapped out a brisk bow, which it returned promptly, spilling the water and suddenly becoming immobile. I signalled to the creature’s victim to make a run for it, or to at least do the best he could, and we both beat a hasty retreat.

After giving the chap a nice cup of tea and a cushion to sit on I returned to spot where the creature had been, but it was gone. At that moment I heard the band strike up a tune as the royal party arrived.

It was a grand day out. Here's a nice picture of the Queen taken on the day.

That is all. Get out of my house. 

Sub-aqua urine inspector

We rehearsed on a Saturday afternoon this week. We also rehearsed quietly. Still drank beer though. The reason for the change in time was that we hadn’t been able to get together during the week and Andy had to take his offspring to the fireworks in the evening. We couldn’t do Friday because Mike simply had to go out on the tiles and get shitfaced. The reason for the change in volume was that we are due to play a gig in the FACT bar on Thursday at about 8 o’clock and we reasoned that a less cacophonous approach might be appreciated. It was ok. I won’t say it was underwhelming but then it certainly wasn’t overwhelming. I suppose you could say it was “parrawhelming”, or “equiwhelming”. Some people would proffer “whelming” but that isn’t trying hard enough. Try harder.

Also on Saturday Mike presented us with our latest product: Guts the Single. I love it. I think every song on it is exceptional. You might not agree, but I don’t care. If I started caring what you thought my whole edifice of superiority and braggadocio would crumble like the soggy cardboard box it is. A cardboard box that had been pissed on by a horse. And a rabbit. And a goat.

After rehearsal and fireworks Andy and I met up to go drinking and catch some bands.  First we went to the Shipping Forecast and saw Choc Electrique, who were very entertaining. They definitely needed a smoke machine and more spandex. The drummer had a bandana so they might as well go the whole hog. Hog wholer.

Then we bumbled off to the Mojo where something was happening. The sound was really very bad where we were stood so I can’t give a fair assessment of what it was that was happening. But then, I can rarely give a fair assessment of anything. We drank our bloody marys, munched on our celery and pootled off to an old man’s pub to talk about a band whose name currently escapes me and eat peanuts before returning to the Mojo to see someone else and then go home.

Here are the things I learned:

• Andy’s kids really don’t like mushrooms.
• Young people often look like they are having a lot more fun then I have ever had. I was a young person once and as far as I recall I didn’t have half as much sexy looking, pert and fresh faced fun as they do.
• Bloody Marys fill me up like dinner.
• Andy is at least 27% cooler than I am.

Whilst Andy is cooler than I am he isn’t going to be allowed to play with proper drum sticks on Thursday. I on the other hand will be singing with my proper head. He has to use these stick like things that look like small fasces without the axe. As you may or may not know Andy is a big fan of the Roman Republic and dresses up like a magistrate on the weekends. He also does his weekly shopping in a chariot. He doesn’t care for Goths either, neither the Visigoths or the Ostrogoths flavour Goths. They make him sad. 

Do all black and white things taste of mint? In the name of science I ask you to lick.

I have do not have a problem with Goths myself, of whatever flavour. Possibly not liquorice Goths. I do not care for liquorice. I doubt they come in that flavour anyway. With their pale skins and black clothes I imagine they probably taste like humbugs. Since the opportunity to taste a Goth has never presented itself to me I cannot give a definitive answer. Of course if they do taste like humbugs then one won’t be enough since I am rather partial to mint flavoured sweets. Then again, given the size of your average Goth in comparison to your average humbug I imagine one Goth will last quite some time. Look after them properly and one could probably last you for at least a couple of months. And you would have minty fresh breath to boot. This must be the solution to a problem that no one realises we have. I should write into the Reader’s Digest or Fiesta right away. Get out. I have work to do.

Dear Fiesta / Reader’s Digest,

I want to tell you about an encounter I had with a person who liked to wear black and had a pale face. I had read about this kind of thing happening to other people but never thought it would happen to me. I had just finished mending a young lady’s washing machine when I managed to spill whole tub of ice cream on myself……

Your beastly arse.

I have been a shell of a man today. So to perk myself up I helped Mike with the recycling from last night. I am now a shell of a man who smells of stale beer and nastiness.

Last night was epic. Great turnout, superb bands and a wonderful atmosphere. I don’t think I would be wrong in saying that was the best Death Tax Trouble we have put on in a while. Everything came together just right.

Dass Unser were superb, starting off the night with just the right vibrations and drawing people in. They have a great sound and I do believe we will be asking for their services again in the future. I recommend you go and see them the next time you can.

We, of course, were what we are. Reasonably steady on our feet and facing the right way. What more can you expect? Nothing, that’s right, you can expect nothing else.

Das Beat were also a joy. Not only was the music great but they managed to get all their gear in the stage area and not clout each other with their guitars. Musicianship and spatial awareness = gifted. We’ll get them back again as well.

Darren Aston supplied the tunes from his virtual wheels of steel and stayed on station ensuring that there were no nasty sonic gulfs. Well played that man. I do believe we are going to engage his services for our next outing as well. I imagine that equates to brand loyalty doesn't it? Does it? Yes of course it does.

We were also very lucky to have lots of pictures taken by the lovely Heather. I thought she captured our raw masculine sexuality and thunderous loins very well. To that end she will be shooting the Mashemon 2012 nude calendar for us. It will be a torrid collection of sordid, tasteless and in some cases downright unpleasant pictures which will hopefully appeal to perverts of the lowest order and make right minded people vomit into their own, and each other’s, laps.

In other news the new single is 60% complete. Two songs recorded, one well on its way. The covers have come back from the printers and we’ve set a date for mixing. These are pleasing developments. Track listing has changed from what I said previously and now runs thusly:

1. Guts
2. Lost and Found
3. Low Pressure System

Not that it makes much difference, since you’ll likely never hear what was going to go on as B and C sides anyway. They just didn’t get through quality control.

In the car home from rehearsal the other night we were trying to work out how the album’s running order would look. Here’s what we have so far, in various stages of completeness and in no particular order:

1. Lips Limbs Lungs
2. Guts
3. Curtains
4. Frank Bloke
5. Wear and Replace
6. Kompressor
7. Another Man’s Dirt
8. Suburban Regeneration Project

That’s eight songs. We need one or two more and then we’ll have an entire thing.  Not bad at all.

Right. That little lot has taken me an hour to write. So very very very hungover. Send help. Or flowers.

Bogart or Bogarde would have done it better.

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.

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.

Is there an aching in your bacon?

The following will be as topical as it ever gets around here.

1. People throwing bricks through windows and stealing trainers = idiots.

2. MPs bleating on and on and on and on about how unacceptable and mindless and criminal it is = parasites.

3. The Prime Minister making out that he had something to do with easing the situation = utter cunt.

4. Reactionary-middle-class puffed up peacocks and peahens whining on about how they should have their benefits stopped and national service would do them good = short sighted bourgeoisie pricks.

5. Rioting isn’t new.

6. Every time this happens a bunch of bright sparks have a good long look at it, come to the conclusion that, as social animals, the society in which an individual finds itself actually shapes the behaviour of that individual, that there are clear sociological and economic reasons why these things happen and if they were changed then life would actually be better, not just for the people who were suffering but for absolutely everyone involved.

7. Solving the problem gets a bit boring/expensive/difficult.

8. They remake the Invasion of the Body Snatchers again and nothing ever changes.

That would be my 2 pence worth. Let’s just say we’re all right and never speak of this again.

In other news, we will be unleashing our flaming loins on the public on the 20th of August at the Lomax in Liverpool. If the heat emanating from our loins is too much for you, you’ll have to make room for the people at the back who aren’t weak and afraid of the power of our loins. It has the power to heal; it can make people with bad posture stand up straight, discipline the lazy eyes, in some cases it can even cure male pattern baldness. Sometimes it gets so hot you can toast a marshmallow on it, or a nice crumpet.

Ooh, I could do with a nice hot crumpet right now. And then something to eat! Sauce! Shut your face! Phwoaaar!

The other day I learned that sometimes you might want to rock out, but sometimes you want to do more, you want to rock out with you cock out. I can see the plus points in that, but also the downside. If you like your rock, you probably enjoy rocking out. But you might not enjoy rocking out if those around you are also cocking out. The verb cocking is not usually used in this sense, but I know you’ll know what I mean.

Terry - cock in or cock out?
You decide!

Sometimes I like a bit of jazz. I used to play a little in a modest way. Sometimes I would be jazzing so hard I would actually want to put my cock away, jazzing with my cock in as it were.

There you have it. Yin and yang. Cock in and out. Sunrise, sunset. You can have it both ways. OOOOH! SAUCE! PHWOOOOOOAR! SHUT YOUR FACE!

Like hot sexy beast on toast, that's what.

It’s been a few weeks now since our debut as a three piece and the good feeling hasn’t worn off yet. A big thank you goes to everyone who turned up, to Go Heeled and Ade Jackson for making lovely noises and also to Katherine Hartley for taking some great pictures. Furthermore, I think that anyone with a heart and ears would have to agree that Andy was magnificent on his debut.

bang bang bang bang bang boom tish

We’ve been working on the b-sides for our next single, due out sometime in August or early September probably. Track listing runs thusly:

1. Guts
2. More
3. Taxidermy

Went to Manchester Radio online for a nice chat with Paul and Lucy on the Ripman Show on Monday. Drank some drink, slurred our words and they very kindly played Lips Limbs Lungs and the b-sides. Very nice people they were as well.

Whilst we are on the subject of booze and trying to talk about Mashemon, Richard Lewis has included us in his recent roundup of what is going on in Liverpool for http://www.beardedmagazine.com/. We spent a pleasant afternoon in the pub with Richard a couple of weeks ago, holding forth about music, the premier league of glam rock, the sealed knot society and a whole heap of other stuff for an article for Nerve magazine. I don’t remember much about the evening other than going for a drink with Paul Reynolds from A Flock of Seagulls and being told that Brian May is very tall.

This Saturday we are playing for the CND at St. Brides church in Liverpool. We’re on at 4.30pm, so come along and see what we look like in the light.