Finally emerging from the doldrums of winter hibernation. I say hibernation but actually mean lazing around on my fat arse for three months eating food round mine and others people’s houses, which always tastes better in the winter doesn't it?
Watching TV and DVD’s, going to bed early, sleeping late, staying indoors, spending more time on the internet than I reasonably should, smoking and drinking more, waking up every day and thanking Jah that I don’t have to do any gardening; ooh and turning the heating up full blast and closing the curtains early and having the biggest, fattest duvet you can find on your bed. Oh, and more cuddles definitely and early nights and big, thick, fat clothes with loads of layers and hats and gloves when you go to play out in the snow. And snow men and red faces and icy breath and big waterproof boots that slip on the ice. Snowballs, snow. And feeding carrots to the horses. And jumpers for goalposts.
Anyway, I digress. April began with Clare’s birthday with me being the only fool. I bought her a sat nav for her car as she is always getting lost and taking ages to get anywhere. At least I used to think that. Although that's an exaggeration and not true as C has just pointed out to me as I read wot I wrote back to her. It doesn't make you look stupid I said. I have a very good inbuilt sense of direction she replied. You’d have thought I’d bought her a puppy. Who says tech and girls don’t mix?
Drinking round Jenny and Rob’s is never for the faint hearted and after the Banco de Gaia gig in Canterbury we ended up drunk and playing 7” records till the wee small hours. They were scattered all over the floor out of their covers. Jenny was insisting that she played Peaches by The Stranglers whilst I was insisting on the other side of this double A side and wanted Go Buddy Go. Alas Jenny got her way and I ended up smoking outside on my own cursing her whilst shaking my fist at the sky.
Went to see the film Kick Ass with a few chums, well Brummy Jon and his teenage son Joel, later that week. C was supposed to meet us in the White Horse, where we would have a quick beer before joining the masses at the local Odeon and enjoying an 11 year girl say the C-word. Although I don't think any of the reviwers seemed to have seen Fish Tank.
This didn’t happen as C rang me up saying that her car had broken down on the motorway as she was approaching Canterbury. Some Eastern European gentleman had helped her to push the car off the road. I’ll come along and pick you up straight away I offered, hand firmly entrenched in a massive box of pop corn whilst Pearl and Dean played adverts on the big screen before the main show began. Oh, it’s ok, she said I’ll go to the nearest pub and wait till your film has finished. I ended up texting her every 10 minutes or so to see how she was getting on. Replies like, It’s raining very heavily now and the pub is miles away came bouncing across the ether. What’s the film like she asked on one occasion? Oh, I said, it’s ok. It was actually quite good in a popcorn kinda way but I didn’t want to make her feel like she was missing something. After I picked her up she was cool. If a little wet.
By the time tVC at the Smack swung round the place was heaving and James Vinyl was dropping his pre-Pacha set on the deep masses. He was coming fresh on the decks from his shift at Budgen’s the supermarket and we said as such on the flyer. I don’t know if it was ok or not as I spent most of his set smoking cigarettes with the reprobates outside in the street discussing the finer points of political manouverings currently being practiced by the mainstream parties at the moment. And people say tVC are clueless?
An eye check up at St Thomas’ in London early the next week confirmed my best fears as the specialist, fresh back from a month’s holiday informed me that the eye was looking good. Another 8 weeks filled with oil and they’d consider replacing it with jelly. I may then be able to see.
Saw a cracking documentary ‘Oil City Confidential’ which had its first showing on British television on BBC 4. Doctor Feelgood were simply the best pub rock band in the country in the 70’s and were often quoted as influences by the punkerati. Wilko Johnson was a mad speed freak and Canvey Island was a shithole.
The Zedheads played the Smack on the 14 April 2010. Jackie is so funny. Her humour is like Joe Brand’s. The boys did a sterling job but the spectre of my promise to do the band a serious review is still to materialise and still very much on the back burner. For now.
Dental hygienist nearly fainted when she looked into my mouth. It’s £35 pound for a 20 minute session. On the way out she goes; “Book a double session for next time...”
Tom Sharp’s birthday party proved a mellifluous affair with me and Si waiting all night as usual to get on the decks in the wee small hours only to be badgered constantly by drunk DJ’s we don’t know trying to get on the decks themselves. Oh the tedium. Saw said DJ, John, who gate crashed the party anyway, at The Muddy Shovels gig later in the month. He waved at me but things were still too raw and I blanked him. Si ‘lost’ the band off his headphones; well I did as he’d gone home and I was left to look after them. £47 for a replacement. Not a good night for me.
Weekend just gone I’d deliberately kept free so C and I could crack on with the garden. It will probably be my last free weekend of the summer but alas it was not to be. C’s chums D&J came DFL via Canada and she spent it all with them. Never mind. There's always next weekend.