My First Hangover In Almost Four Years

Okay, full disclosure; it wasn’t a hangover, but holy freakin’ novelty shitballs did it have all the attributes of one: Brain fog, dehydration, jitters, horrible gurgly stomach, daunting paranoia, cold sweats, yep… the works. Oh and I also had somewhere very important to be where I was expected to be well turned out, sparkly eyed, and ON IT like the, er… Wallace and Gromit.

Continue reading

Advertisements

Guest Blog: The Freedom Junkie

About five years ago, when I was still gigging with my turbo-messy techno punk band Petrol Bastard, we scored a gig at some big freezing-cold warehouse in Liverpool (I think it was Liverpool anyway. Dunno. Was drunk). From hazy memory I recall it being a total washout; maybe ten people in attendance, all rattling around in a room the size of an aircraft hanger. And most of them were probably only there because they were DJs or bar-staff, so in actual fact there were probably only two or three paying punters there, but fuck it – what did I care? We were getting paid, I was wankered on lovely cheap booze and nothing else mattered. Begone, peasants. I’ll make my own fun. It was a standard shit gig for us, which seemed to account for about 70% of all gigs, so nothing exceptional or exciting. Until, that was, I spotted a familiar-looking guy with piercings and a short spiky mohawk, unpacking a load of t-shirts and CDs onto a table by the back wall. Continue reading