Are you happy with your dancing partner?   Leave a comment

Still at this bleeding self-description malarkey, and I fucking hate it. It’s no wonder I sing songs about goats and tigers and stuff. Perhaps I should begin the blurb by describing this skinny tiger who lives in Cambridge and works in a wholefood shop, but then obviously that wouldn’t do me any favours. Talking of which, last night I dreamt I was my dad and I’d come home to a really depressing bachelor flat and I sensed there was someone hiding in the house and I opened a cupboard and there was Sylvie, all mad with eyes flashing, and refusing to leave. You have to know me and the co-op senselessly well to get a smirk for this, but I think it has something to do with my family’s housing inadequacies. I love the way my dreams are always ripe for straightforward interpretation, at least by me anyway.

Christ, this fucking lady having a go at Ed in the shop yesterday, just because we didn’t have 2kg bags of meusli and she was a professional anger merchant. She shook with rage like a shrew when he said we’d run out, and then as he reasonably explained that the shop couldn’t sell her two 1kg bags at the price of a 2kg, for economic reasons (such as do you want a healthfood shop or not?) She freaked like some kind of fish filled with poison, and started TELLING HIM EXACTLY WHAT HE AND ARJUNA SHOULD BE DOING in a really, really angry and nasty way. I lurked behind an aisle and tried to think of ways to hurt her without being noticed. I tried to memorise her face so that I could spit at her if I saw her in the street, and then funnily enough I saw here again this morning (looking pretty tetchy, it must be said) but I didn’t do anything. Ed told her that the difference in price was 19p, and she told him that that was a lot of money. Like she’s on a fiver an hour!

The Ossory Road squat gig in London was deeply amusing. Audience largely punk, drunk and rowdy as fuck. End result is I have footage of me and this incoherent drunk lost-the-plot-years-ago fat punk with a green mohican rocking the mic in tandem all the way through my set. The MC comes onstage after my first tune and asked “Are you happy with your dancing partner?” I was like, leave him be, he’s a fucking godsend.

Posted February 6, 2003 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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