Neighbourhood threat and safety pins   Leave a comment

Wasted a big hangover today by not writing anything, so I’ll see if I can quickly make amends before the Forces Of Responsibility catch hold of my elbow to direct me once again.

The Kubin/Man From Uranus/Um gig was a stone-cold fucking killer dwarf triumph. I’ve felt good all day and I only had about 4hrs sleep. In fact I feel a bit like Mrs. Thatcher today, sort of important and mad. If there were a Tory male nearby his thoughts would turn to sex, so thank goodness I’m alone in a cold dark room in the ghetto. It’s so hardcore round here in our neighbourhood that the other day a trio of crack-lovers turned up at the door of number 6 and asked to see Dan. When they were asked: “Dan who?” one of them nudged the other and he pulled out a gun. They then demanded cash and organic valuables, smacked one of the Number Sixers, and pushed another to the ground with a gun at his head. I’m kind of going on hearsay but this is roughly what happened I guess. The mateys were so off it they dropped half their loot on the way out. The cops were called and arrived 45 minutes later and surrounded the co-op. It took them so long because they only have one armed-response unit and they were in Newmarket or somewhere at the time. Fair enough but they might as well have been a one-legged response unit for all the help they were. This is the second time in a year that that house has been held up. Just to make matters ever so slightly worse, someone had pushed a big metal refuse container onto the pavement outside No. 6 and set fire to the contents earlier the same day. Someone has tagged the bin with the word “acid”. Aicha told me that she heard some woman walk past and, seeing this symbol of urban degradation, sniffily remark “Acid. Just about sums this place up.” See how the sufferahs is misunderstood?

Anyway, Felix Kubin. Was fucking excellent. I was a bit average, bordering on reasonably good, and Phil had a lonely experience outside the zone. It’s funny how you can’t turn it on and off when you want. I think Phil had had about three really good gigs in a row, which is a perfect recipe for a bummer. I mean, it’s not as though he was crap or anything, but you can tell when he’s enjoying himself. I refer you to the video of the gig in Switzerland where he does the 18 minute krautrock jam with a spliff in his mouth and the drummer played 29 outro rolls and Phil didn’t notice because he was flying his ship through a German bit of SPACE. Now that was a good gig, as I may have mentioned before.

Felix Kubin himself is incredibly talented and wears brilliant green shoes that I coveted more than his ability to play the Korg MS20 faster than the eye can cope with or the ear can deal with in an emotional sense. He has earned this ability because there are photos on “The Tetchy Teenage Tapes” that show him at the age of 13 with the same synth. He plays gloriously fucked up dance music and he wanted us to dance to it, but apart from French Colin’s wasted French mate in the suit and sunglasses no-one really did. I would have done out of solidarity, even if I hadn’t wanted to anyway, but my trousers ripped half the way down the back because they are some 30-odd years old jumbleware and the stitches were rotten, so you would have seen my pants. At the end of the gig I had to wander round holding them up like a confused geriatric on the wander. I was telling Toby from Charlie Don’t Surf (who has a fucked-up wrist that he obtained in a wall-punching incident and exacerbated in a drunken DJ-ing period at the Venetian Snares gig) that me and him should form a pantomime horse. I don’t know why that seemed funny at the time. Ah yes I do, it was the convivial atmosphere and all the drink I’d had. When we all got back to the Bad Timing HQ I asked if there was a safety pin in the house and Felix goes “What size would you like? and pulls out a tin with a small one and a large one, which was rather enigmatic coming from someone who is presumably with any midwifery qualifications.

Right. Got to go and care for someone small. Before I take my leave I will leave you with this fact and then actually leave:

Every time you, or anyone else in the world, eat either a Jammy Dodger or a Jaffa cake, it has been made by the Man From Uranus. This isn’t a joke or a lie. It is a fact.

Posted October 23, 2003 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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