April 29th, Tuesday. Gigs No. 22 + 23, Big Red, Deptford + Party Piece, Euston

Two gigs! On tube strike day! It's a miracle!! Praise the Lord hallelujah!! Like FUCK it was a miracle. It was pure dogged arse graft. I worked my bollocks off getting to these gigs. It took me three hours to get to the first gig. THREE HOURS. I managed to get into Paddington by train but then thats when the real work starts. I really should have brought the hiking gear, cause I had to trek through central London like a yak man. It was searing hot, the streets were rammed with people and traffic jams, as congested as my colon after a BBQ meat feast. And with all that, I had to herd the goats.

I somehow managed to get to the gig on time. Deptford. For me, the exact opposite end of London. I'm North West, Deptford is South East. The Big Red bus, as I've written about before. Ironic as I had to get there in fucking several of them. This time, the truck (Gigs in a truck, I wrote about it before in my other blog posts. Fucking read it you lazy shit) was full. With women. Lots and lots of women. All having just eaten pizza. (It's a pizza restaurant. Not some strange weird coincidence where 30 different people all happened to have pizza that night). Yes, I could smell the pizza. It's like in the old Roman Colosseum, apparently the vast crowds of poor people all had bad breath and it would all collectively surge onto the main floor like shitty wind. It's a wonder they managed to fight the tigers at all. Maximus Decimus Meridius would have done his speech like a weedy asthmatic.

“My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, COUGH, COUGH, commander of the Armies of the North, COUGH, General of the Felix Legions, COUGH, and loyal servant to the TRUE emperor, Marcus Aurelius. COUGH COUGH. Father to a murdered son, COUGH, husband to a murdered wife, COUGH. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next. COUGH.”

Not quite got the same gravitas eh? I often think about people in the past and their teeth hygeine. Usually when I watch period films and see characters frenching each other. Really?? Robin Hood and Maid Marian lived in the WOODS. In the 12 century or some shit. (I don’t fucking know, I’m not a History teacher. Piss off.) Their teeth must have looked like pigeon roadkill. Strips of leaves and dead squirrel hanging off their yellow teeth. Kiss? FUCK THAT.

Anyway, I got on first in the truck, then dashed off to do the spot in Euston. It was relatively easy to get there, as the Northern line was actually running. I get there, anticipating a room full of eager little beavers. It was full of men. All men. Horrible stinking little pervert men. Not one single female. The first gig was full of women, this one full of men. There’s a metaphor here, but I can’t be assed finding it. OK, I’ll try: Tonight was like...ah, fuck it. CAN’T BE ASSED. I’ve got two more gigs tonight, and one more tube strike hell to battle. I’m off to to milk my goats.

Gigs No 22+23 done. MCs Ruth Bruce and Hjalmar Tjan