After the pub at No.2   Leave a comment

Heavy rain. Strong tea. Room-bound and faffing. Critical-mass stage again in my living-quarters. The level of junk is such that it requires constant tidying to be able to cross the room at all. I have to take long but careful strides from one clear patch of carpet to the next. When people come in they invariably end up standing on a record sleeve or a magazine or a guitar lead, and although I get exasperated have no right to blame them. It is a madman’s room, and it’s doing my head in.

Christ, Friday night after the pub. Tom doing New Model Army tunes on the acoustic while this self-confessed “metaller” girl embellishes his lyrics after him with extra female soul. I’m getting more and more of The Fear with every passing joint, as is the stranger to my right, whose interjections are becoming increasingly off-the-wall and defensive. Of course I remain trapped for ages, enduring a thousand psychical bludgeonings (like Richard Rippin trying get me to sing along, like the embarrassment level in the room wasn’t high enough anyway) before a chance to escape appears when Richard and Hamish leave. The three of us stand up, as does schizz-boy, who explains that he’d rather stand than be in our shadow. After some twenty minutes in this pointless position I stumble awkwardly out the back door, bidding farewell to every single person through the clenched teeth of barely-held-in madness. Back at mine it takes about an hour of Audiomulch before my heart-rate is slow enough to contemplate sleep at Sam’s, above which, predictably enough, Frank is watching some Hollywood shoot-em-up through his fuckingly effective studio speakers. Another brilliant night out.

Posted October 21, 2001 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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