Its like loosing your mind but gaining some teeth.
Yer so we were back where we belong Friday nite.
Me and Our Lass enjoyed a tipple and sessioned some Cds for the birds at Bungalows and Bears. Overall it was a pretty good nite, despite the fact that I started it with a massive tantrum (kicking sharp objects in bare feet does hurt no matter how annoyed you are) over a beehive (the type you wear on your head, not the endangered countryside variety).
There weren’t much to report back, unless you count the fact that someone (finally, finally) requested Pat Benatar. Yep that’s rite. For the first time in ASBO history. Someone approached the decks and actually said the words:
Love.is.a.Battlefield.
Its an understatement to say he was put about by our reaction. He didn’t seem that hot on our tattoos, or our high pitched screams, or the shower of rose wine that got dashed everywhere when I busted out some high kicks to celebrate... I think he just wanted to hear his song, manz.
Cheers to the lasses who attempted to turn it off…because they wanted to 'hear summert good’. If there’s one thing you don’t wanna do- its try and press stop on Pat Benatar at an ASBO nite. Its kinda like trying to take a Special Brew outta Our Lass’ grubby mitts. No matter how much you wanna do it, don’t bother.
Despite the wine-hangover and four hours of bridal-wear browsing that I experienced on Saturday morning, I still managed to make it down to Pride in the Park for a bit. The weather was beaut, making up for the dingy atmosphere that hung over Peace int Teeth the other weekend. Hanging out in the Dance Tent of an afternoon was a bit hot and sweaty, but after a few glasses of Somerfield Value Dry Cider (£1.57 for 2 litres mate) the day-glo tutus and Mexican wave dancing went down a bit easier. Especially when Kelly Rowland got busted out (Ive got a lotta time for Ugly Beyonce).
One useful thing I did learn at Pride was, queuing for a stinking porta potty is a better option than risking a bush. And that apparently even when offered it, all women don’t wanna use loo roll. They like their lettuce shaken not wiped. I left before Scooch (Scootch? Tooth?) hit the stage, but I’m not worried, Im sure they’ll be doing a turn at Queens Road working manz club sometime in the twelfth of never.
Cheers to the lasses who attempted to turn it off…because they wanted to 'hear summert good’. If there’s one thing you don’t wanna do- its try and press stop on Pat Benatar at an ASBO nite. Its kinda like trying to take a Special Brew outta Our Lass’ grubby mitts. No matter how much you wanna do it, don’t bother.
Despite the wine-hangover and four hours of bridal-wear browsing that I experienced on Saturday morning, I still managed to make it down to Pride in the Park for a bit. The weather was beaut, making up for the dingy atmosphere that hung over Peace int Teeth the other weekend. Hanging out in the Dance Tent of an afternoon was a bit hot and sweaty, but after a few glasses of Somerfield Value Dry Cider (£1.57 for 2 litres mate) the day-glo tutus and Mexican wave dancing went down a bit easier. Especially when Kelly Rowland got busted out (Ive got a lotta time for Ugly Beyonce).
One useful thing I did learn at Pride was, queuing for a stinking porta potty is a better option than risking a bush. And that apparently even when offered it, all women don’t wanna use loo roll. They like their lettuce shaken not wiped. I left before Scooch (Scootch? Tooth?) hit the stage, but I’m not worried, Im sure they’ll be doing a turn at Queens Road working manz club sometime in the twelfth of never.
In a bit.
