by Enormous on April 21, 2008
Five blueberry smoothies – that’s the best way of curing a hangover; the best one I have so far discovered, anyway. Add a little vodka to each one and within twenty minutes you’ll be feeling marvellous.
I tried working in the studio, playing guitar on some of the new Nelson Galaxy stuff, but I could not properly coordinate any of my appendages. I caught sight of myself in the mirror behind the mixing desk and I looked like a sweaty octopus trying to unhook a bra.
We used to have a fellow in the band that played guitar with his knees, so I tried adopting this method for a while but couldn’t manage it at all. The augmented-fifth chords are the trickiest to pull off when playing this way.
In the end, I decided to simply get drunk again. The decision was a kick in the knickers to my previous resolve to remain sober for six months but who cares? I’m a punk rocker, me.
Tagged as:
Alcohol,
Drinking,
Music,
Musicians,
Nelson Galaxy,
Recording Studio
by Enormous on April 20, 2008
No post today, I am trying not to think.
Hamilton Bentley, my actor friend, paid me a visit last night in his new car – a twenty-year-old Lada that had so many rattles, it sounded like he was delivering a drum kit – and made me get drunk with him.
‘You should see your face,’ he told me as he entered the house.
‘Why?’
‘It’s lovely.’
I think it is marvellous that a man can pay another such a compliment without there being even the slightest suggestion of attempted homosexual seduction. Hamilton is a very liberated individual, and coming from him, such a statement is nothing more than a very accurate observation. He wouldn’t have said the same thing if he had seen me at 7am this morning, however.
Tagged as:
Actors,
Alcohol,
Blogging,
Hamilton Bentley
by Enormous on March 17, 2008
I came across another marvellous find this morning. Scattered on the pavement outside the gates of St Michael’s Church were half a dozen enormous votive candles. The church doors were wide open and the unctuous strains of Mantovani were drifting across the rain-soaked graveyard.
I picked up a couple of the expensive looking waxy objects. ‘These will come in handy when we are entertaining sexy ladyfriends,’ I told Audrey.
I suspected the vicar and his rector of breaking into the supplies of communion wine last night and of holding some kind of chaotic pagan celebration. I fancy they were nursing terrible hangovers – or were perhaps still drunk – and were listening to the sickly-sweet Mantovani music while they were cleaning up the mess in the vestry.
On a purely objective basis, I can see no reason why men and women of the cloth shouldn’t kick back and party hard whenever the inclination takes them. In fact, I imagine they would easily be able to control their alcohol intake, using the substance to alleviate divine tension, thus allowing them to progress in their careers unhindered by stress and anxiety; unlike many artists and musicians I know who use it as a springboard to oblivion.
Tagged as:
Alcohol,
English Village Life,
Musicians
by Enormous on March 15, 2008
It’s amazing what you can find on the damp streets of an ex-mining village in the Kingdom of Derbyshire at seven-thirty on a Saturday morning. Revealed amongst the litter and detritus of the previous evening’s drunken bumping and brawling can be found many an unexpected item that surprises even a seasoned beachcomber like me.
Hiding in the midst of all the spilled chips, discarded pizzas, kebabs, empty beer cans, piles of colourful vomit, arterial spray and pools of sticky blood can be found valuable and often quite remarkable objects. One has to be constantly conscious and watchful, however, because something precious can be easily missed.
Today, for instance, I nearly walked straight past a small, golden bell balanced precariously on the edge of the kerb; a heavy and beautifully ornate little artefact that I fancy had perhaps fallen from some staggering female’s charm bracelet out celebrating on a riotous hen night. Further along the same road, I happened upon a paperback novel by Martin Amis. ‘Dead Babies – excellent!’ I told Audrey. ‘We haven’t got that one.’
As we turned the corner into Water Lane, my shoe nearly fell upon a forlorn and lonely, extra-large condom. Lying satiated on the pavement with its bulbous tip full and distended, it looked rather like an exhausted cuttlefish whose tasty services were no longer required. ‘We’ll leave that where it is,’ I said to my little dog. ‘We have plenty of those at home.’
Tagged as:
Alcohol,
Books,
English Village Life,
Recycling,
Writing