Again the wretched horses   1 comment

Of course last week’s triumphs in the not-getting-pissed stakes were replaced over the weekend by comic levels of abuse on Friday with members of Ascoltare, The Palmtop Orchestra, Eggboy and Elias Bland, and then even more hilarious amounts of joke-drinking on Sunday with an unnamed member of Rob Jesus. Thus it was that I woke up this morning at 5:20 with a hangover of laughably grotesque proportions, a Texas-sized sense of shame, and the odd phenomenon that I seem to suffer with in these situations where I get two lines of a song repeating over and over and over in my head. This morning it was: “Sex and drugs and rock and roll/are all my brain and body needs” but I have had the theme from The Tweenies before, as sung by Mark E Smith. It’s the way that physical discomfort goes with mental anguish that really gets me with African Horse Sickness (BTW, I got a cool T-Shirt with a horse on it for Christmas, so if you see me in it you know I’m hungover). I really did feel unbearably wretched, and really genuinely horror-struck by the fact that I was to be in charge of a very demanding two-year old for the entire day. My mind spun with visualizations of possible scenarios involving me bent over toilet bowls with a confused infant repeating “lorry lorry lorry” in my ear. However it was not to be, thank fuck. Sam informed me as she left (an hour and a half of fear and sweating later) that nursery times had changed and he was in for the morning. After she had shut the door, I can honestly say I gave God a black power salute in the darkness. Suddenly, everything was possible, and the sickness was dissolved in joyous relief. I didn’t even go back to bed when I’d got Syd to school, and although I didn’t do anything useful, I did make a crap song with a spoken word bit that I’d come up with at the apex of my sorryness earlier on:

Woke up in hell
But it was my real life
Woke up in hell
With my wife
What’s that smell?
I think a piece of me died.
Oh well,
Let’s get buried alive.

I should perhaps point out that lyrics like these refer in the main to an ongoing in-joke concept between me and my brother and should be spoken in an exaggerated Mancunian accent.

Got some records the other day at Resale:

And Her Blues – Victoria Spivey
Dirty Mind – Prince (I left behind “1999” because it was three notes and a bit fucked but I’m regretting it now, because although I have DMSR on both vinyl and CD and are justifiably proud, plus of course “Little Red Corvette” in various formats, one should always be at liberty to rock “Delirious” if the fancy should take you, or indeed if necessity should call for it. Still, “Dirty Mind” though, eh?)
Snap, Crackle and Bop – John Cooper Clarke.

Five quid. Also left another John Cooper Clarke which may or may not be in the book for 12 quid and a Sir Douglas Quintet one that I felt sure to be overcharged (by Resale standards) for and probably wouldn’t even enjoy listening to, which after all has got to have something to do with it.

My vinyl pony-spunking continued later in the day when I learned that Darren Caroline (he and she are off to Australia in the spring. What is it with fucking Australia?) is flogging some stuff. I get:

Greatest Hits – Sly and The Family Stone
Yo! Bum Rush The Show – Public Enemy
Le Pere Du Rai – Bellamou Messoud
Amerikkka’s Most Wanted – Ice Cube

Another fiver well spent, I sort of feel. I don’t know what the Cube outing is all about but surely it has to be worth something, to someone, someday? Maybe?

Posted January 14, 2003 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

One response to “Again the wretched horses

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  1. Just sold that Spivey record for £5.50 on the ‘bay!

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