What I‘ve been worried about on the way to this gig: The Saharan sand smog. The papers have been giving reports of such voracity about this spooky Saharan sand dust, I gave serious thought to hiring a camel. Leaving the house I half expected to see travelling nomads, sand dunes, and a vast, sweeping crimson panorama littered with mirages and dried camel shit. The journey was a fair one, Uxbridge to Tottenham, so not unlike Lawrence of Arabia’s 500 mile treks through the Devil’s Cauldron. So, I set out dressed like Lawrence of Arabia, an elegant white Jesus like tunic and a fuck off sword. Tottenham won‘t know whats hit it. Tottenham is a shithole. Much like those you will find in the dessert, when the nomads have had too much goat milk. It’s a whole different life. If you need a shit, dig a hole. Don’t worry, the wind will blow sand over it and it will be gone for ever. Ideal sanitation. They don’t need sewers. I wonder what Nomads make of our ornate porcelain toilet seats and our complex underground sewage system. I bet they crack up talking about it. On the way to the gig, I ran out of water and became dehydrated, so by the time I got to the gig I thought it was a mirage. I crawled onwards, praying for water. And praise be to Allah, it wasn’t a mirage, it was a well. (Some gigs are quite low key). I’ve never done a gig by a well before. This should be interesting. Especially interesting considering the only time Lawrence of Arabia was by a well, Omar Sharif came along and shot his Bedouin. Tafas had a good life.
A couple of weeks ago, I came along to check this venue out and a metal gig was on, so tonight I thought it would be overrun with Goths and dangerous looking metal goons drinking cans of that Brew they call ‘Special’. I wonder what that meeting was like.
“What shall we call this drink?”
“Well, it’s toxic, it’s 80% proof, and 90% of our client base are broken men with no futures. Lets give them hope!”
I saw one Goth with coffin shaped earrings, a coffin signet ring, and a coffin shaped rucksack. Safe to say, she liked coffins. I’ve never understood the appeal of that look. Pasty, deathy white skin, and black lipstick. It looks like they’ve been strangled. Imagine getting pissed and waking up in the morning with her lying prostrate in the bed next to you.
“AHHHHH!! OH MY GO OH MY GOD I’VE KILLED A WOMAN!! SHE’S DEAD, OH MY GOD SHE’S DEAD!!!”
“I’m not dead, I’m a Goth!”
“Oooh! You’re a GOTH!!! I thought you were dead!!”
Anyway, I digress. Alas, there was no metal gig, and just this one. The gig was an interesting experience. A variety night, or shall I say, a ‘mixed ability’ night, with various musicians, singers, poets and comedians all getting up and having a good time. A nice venue, and an enjoyable gig.
Gig No.4 done. Promoter Jason Why, and I, temporarily disrobed from one’s white tunic
well done on keeping your end of the bargain and ggoing back on after you died on your arse. See it was actualy quite good for you wasnt it?
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