KID SHIRT

Sunday, March 27, 2005

NO TITLE

If you've never been to Seymour's Family Club, Bristol, then I can guarantee you've never lived: it's like a Working Men's Club run by David Lynch, with a red velour-curtain'd stage and a fairy-light surround. Pop Parker told me that they sometimes film "Teachers" there...

Pop's off touring the Czech Republic, starting today. Good luck, old fellah.

Met some people that I haven't seen for many years (20, in one case, and about 15, in another): how weird's that? Though, after the upteenth person told me "My God, you haven't changed a bit..." I was tempted to snarl, "What, I've always looked old, have I?"

And the Rob Ellis responsible for (yawn) "Music in the Home" or whatever it's called, is not, as we thought, the same Rob Ellis who puts on Dubstep nights in Bristol. I know this because I asked him and his answer was "Uh, what's Dubstep?" No surprises there, then.

I drank a lot and ate sausages.

(And, Loki, Ruari MacTaggart says he'd love to hear from you...you can get in contact with him via his internet radio-station (Charlie Fortune, I think...). But that striped Prisoner-style Mod blazer of yours sounds a complete nightmare.)

Had to flee, though, when the DJ played fucking Goldfrapp.

Bren a total hero as usual, driving us back thru deepest 'n' darkest Arkhamesque Somerset at three in the morning with a sexy Tropicalismo soundtrack and (ulp!) Jeff Beck's spookily intuitive guitar-picking pulse-sync'd w/ the flickering dot-dash rhythm of white-lines and cat's eyes.