Ah man, the weather! Enough already! I feel better than I have in ages yet there's something tugging at my coattails daily. A lot of people probably dismiss it as being weak and poppycock. But this weather can now firmly do one. I hate it. We want shorts and when do we want them... NOW! I can't recall multiple consecutive nice days.
Why am I sad? Good weather brings the opportunity to buy new t-shirts and shorts. New t-shirts means I'm attending gigs and watching bands and buying merch. It was once becoming a serious addiction. I started this trend in my mid teens; I had to come away from a show with something to show for it. I've had to curb my obsession in recent years but if you're in a band, I'd certainly suggest coaxing me to your merch stand for a bit of material flirting. That said, it needs not be a t-shirt. It's difficult in a fledgling band actually affording said t-shirts to flog to afford the beer/bab combo (as Müg so often did. We never went hungry!). It would be awesome to see different merch on the tables. We tried Müg mugs which sold out fairly quickly and i purchased and lost a Darko bobble-hat, much to my dismay. Darko: Think beards, think awesome riffage, think lovely guys, think punk rock hardcore to the max. They have their own beard oil! They wrote one of the best songs I've ever heard; 'timepieces and lock shaped hearts' sings itself to my balls and they love it (My balls... probably not Darko!). From Darko we gain Lockjaw Records with a wealth of clout in the punk rock scene. Seriously, check out their store as they've got some of the top UK acts.
I'm tired today so that is where I leave it for now. Stupid mat hit the pillow at 12.30 and was back up five hours later. I'm not expecting too much from me today; sorry work!
Soooooo... that was an interesting one. Let me tell you a little story. I came off my bike remember? So, upon fucking my groin I decided to abandon my bike by chaining it to a street sign. Well, some skally cint (cunt is not that useful a word at describing villains these days. I'm coining cint, pronounced sint, as it's close and you can still add a lot of venom when cursing little fuckheads like these!) opted to nick said scooty and rag it without my permission. I did all the necessaries: cops, local pound, insurance, etc. The insurance company wanted me to send in all the deets asap, which I proceeded to procrastinate all over. Fast forward to this Saturday just gone,; I receive 2 letters from a nearby constabulary proving my skally theory and issuing me with fines for speeding. I call, i email, i sorted. So, yesterday the procrastination of insurance deets came to a close as I finally posted the damned documents. Upon arrival home I find a letter threatening 7 days left and we close your claim. "Phew! Glad I got that sent of when I did!" Zzz zzz zzz morning. 9.30. Phone call from Bobby on the beat informing me that they've found my bike at a pound somewhere; I can go and pick it up. He furthered the convo with "I would've phoned you yesterday but wanted to check the bike was ok and not chopped to bits." "Fair play", I said. "What do I need to take with me to collect it?", I said, suddenly realising that the documents I had sent just half a day ago was all the required docs for my reunion with Scooty! Typical! Fortunately, I don't think I've gotta pay anything out, so I should get full whack when I sell. I'm selling it. It's now tainted. Time for four wheels...
Anybody want to buy a bike?