Thursday, April 22, 2010


Thursday 22 April 2010

Yet again I wake up early before the alarm clock wails.  This is beginning to become a regular thing now.

The drive to the station is another chilly but bright one this morning, thoroughly pleasant through and through.  Things are trending upwards.  As I enter the car park I almost accidentally run over one of the Kym Marsh lookalikes.  Serves her right but endeavouring to be so stunning.

Once on the train all things are eventless until we reach London, which is the point where the daily party begins.  Sometimes.

The tube to Baker Street is a crush today consisting of pretty much every commuter hell, lacking only a pregnant women.

When I finally get to the restaurant things are relatively calm considering the current climate.  Today I’ll surf with precaution.  Early the Filipino follows up her text with a phonecall to update us on her broken down car which is currently sat in her drive.  I have been in that situation before myself and I genuinely feel for her, happy for her to take as much time as she needs in order to get it resolved.

With this in mind though I approach the morning with caution knowing that at any moment an abusive phonecall chasing money is likely to arrive.

From here the first part of the morning is spent listening in at the posh boss shouting down the phone at his wife.  It turns out that she recently run up three parking tickets that she didn’t bother to pay and now back home their car has been clamped with a bill of £1500 attached.  He can afford it but for a lot of people this is more than a month’s salary.  Indeed the other half.

Eventually the Filipino turns up and with it a sense of relief.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Facebook is slowly driving me insane.  First I pay too much mind to my deletion by Chris Summerlin last week and now with the event of two birthday events happening and my not being invited to either I can’t help but feel bad/sad and thus every time I now see a remark in relation there is a natural sense of resentment.  Am I really 33?  I really thought I would have put such childish things away by now.

Soon it is lunchtime and today I go for chargrilled salmon, Hollandaise sauce and new potatoes.  This plate usually ends to represent my giving being good/healthy an effort.

Once again the afternoon flies by which marks the return of the Tuesday Thursday Blur.  Thank god these things aren’t getting dragged out these days.

Tonight I am very happy to be on a train heading home.  As I ride across town from Baker Street to Liverpool Street I listen to the latest Answer Me This (episode 132) where they ask Andy Zaltzman one of my questions but sadly it falls flat.

Typically the tubes fuck up (the Jubilee Line faltering) and I wind up on the 6.30PM Norwich train which means I don’t get home until 7.45PM.

When I finally get home I pick up my post, have some soup and yoghurt before settling into watching the second election debate.  In anticipation I glare with relish at the build up complete with brief appearance from Alastair Malcolm Tucker Campbell before the thing kicks of properly with much pomp and ceremony.

In the end I last only a couple of minutes before I get bored of the whole dog and pony show and decide “fuck it”, heading to the Colchester Arts Centre where the TIGER LILLIES are playing tonight.

As I park up and head over to the venue I receive a text from Lee to say that he has bothered to head along too.  We have a scene.

From here I pay my £15 to get in, which is something I never thought I would do for an Arts Centre gig.  Soon I spot Lee and just as quickly I find myself launching into my sleeping with a TIGER LILLIES cello player anecdote.  It is very gauche.

The TIGER LILLIES turn out to be a lot of fun.  Unsurprisingly when they take to the stage they look immediately weird, like some kind of circus freak show where they seduce you with their songs before proceeding to disembowel you afterwards.

Early on they do a song called “Shit Terrorist” which gets enhanced as the drummer helps by demonstrating what occurs during such invasions.  He then does that age-old trick with a chocolate bar.  I hope it was a chocolate bar.  Later as smoke begins to fill the stage as Martyn Jacques coughs in acknowledgment much to the amusement of most.  These evidently are musicians that suffer for their art.

Sadly early into the set Lee fucks off home saying that he “isn’t feeling it.”  What’s to feel?  I have to say I am surprised by this considering his usual wide palette of tastes.

The TIGER LILLIES is a very solid act/show, truly unique and full of flavours from other genres.  As expected there are songs about love, death and suicide which the already shit eating drummer is happy to re-enact for the audience if their imaginations happen to be failing them.  Later he attempts to smoke a joint and commit suicide while pretending to be a lady.  This is truly multitasking of the highest order.

After the interval the theme/tone of the evening resumes as the song “Baby Killer” gets wheeled out and sees said drummer eventually using a doll as a substitute for a drumstick.  Later the clown thumper stands on his stool consuming rare pharmaceuticals as he spits them out onto his kit and actually accomplishes some kind of rhythm and tune.  This man is a true professional.

In as many weeks I find myself witnessing my third theremin player as Adrian Stout remains solid and stoic the whole set through, even managing to remain composed enough to play a saw at one point.

The second set of the night feels somewhat blighted by the people around me.  Firstly there is the crazy girl to my left who appears to be off her tits and force laughing at every joke while later doing weird interpretative dancing at better times.  Elsewhere right in front of me I have a couple cuddling up and blocking my view.  What kind of sick person brings a date to such an event?

Towards the end of a very lengthy night the band call out for requests before calling the set to a close with all in attendance entertained.  As we file out of the building the band stand by the door doing the hard sell on their ample selection of CDs.  Their hard sell act is just horrible, it appears caked in desperation and lets light in on magic.  Perhaps if the CDs weren’t £15 they might sell a few.

I get home around 11PM and from here I watch You Have Been Watching on C4+1, which suggests a great end to a great night.

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