Many thanks to those who made it to the party on Friday, or to those who made it through the door. Brilliant sets from Mother & The Addicts and Haunted House (Steev Errors and Tom Straun previously of Park Attack fame) who stormed the bitzed crowd at 4am with a perverted cover of Kids Of Amercia. Which makes it all the more remarkable the Polis didn't turn up to ruin our fun. It was the first time I've witnessed a gig in the living room from the crowd before and it was fucking immense. There must have been 200 people rammed in there. No room to dance but you could jump and not for the first time there was a semi-violent mosh pit where there should have been a rug and a TV or a vase and other living room type things. It took about 20 minutes to move between rooms, you couldn't even plough through the crowd there wasn't anywhere for it to go. The hallway was still packed solid at 6am and I've heard reports of a queue to get into the flat stretching down the stairs of the close. I have vaugue memories of playing air guitar on a prosthetic leg on a table infront of a rapturous crowd and others, confirmed by photographs, of Joe decked out to the nines in glow sticks, looking like a villain from Tron. It ended at about 10am. The samauri sword smashed telly with a strobe light jammed inside still flickering away while stragglers were talked down off the roof. The kitchen was flooded, the radiator was off the wall and people had tried in vain to mop it up with the Yellow Pages, leaving a black mulsh. And some utter bastard ripped the intercom buzzer thing off the front of the building, so when my landlord phoned me the next day he was raging, saying he was going to report me to the police and sue me if I have another party. What? Shut up. There WILL be another party, but it will probably be the last. We're off on tour through March and if I'm not evicted or sued by April, the landlord plans to rip out the staircase and convert the flat into two 'luxury' apartments. Its a shame; so many happy, debauched memories. But it does give me the excuse I need to go tits out on the next party, I'm thinking a two day festival with tents in the garden. PARTY ON.

Fucking test

We played in the basement of the !WOWOW! squat on saturday and it was big, blurry head fried fun. There was falling over style dancing, another naked guy (not The Naked Guy, but some enthusiastic contender) running around screaming, occasionally donning a gimp mask or shoes and I, annoyingly it turned out, satisfied my primal urges by hitting the cowbell out of time for 3 hours after our set. Then somebody gave me some brand name low fat diet cereal and theres a long black gap before the memory kicked back in again. I do remember Tolsons glasses though, how could I forget. Glowing like some horrible vision of the future, streamlined well beyond the depth of his skull, and kept in place with generous helpings of duck tape, they stole the evening in their glory.

After passing out for awhile I woke up with a bottle of Sanatogen wine and wrestled with the dog, Punk, who headbutted me in the face and bit my leg. I got my revenge by duck taping a wig to its head. (NOTE: NOT cruel, but entirely justifed under the circumstances) The wig turned into a beard after awhile, then we went on the roof and shouted abuse at the children playing with a doll in the street, I accused them of being racists and told them to to get a job. Meanwhile these 'innocent' kids decapitated the doll and stirred its cotton wool like guts in a bowl, before dishing it out to themselves in some weird ritual. I entered the street and retrived the hollowed remains of the doll, its legs and arms still attached. It made a nice hat and I wore it while shouting at the kids some more.

We decided to go to church, but somewhere along the line that idea was jettisoned. Instead we went to the launch party for Super, a 'style' magazine being held at a bowling alley. It was like some Turbo Nathan Barley Nightmare; Fashion with a capital FUCKHEAD. I had the illuminous workmans jacket on still, with camo-net over my face and shoulders, staggering around with a tin of Heinz baked beans in my hand telling people I was a stylist and eating the beans with my cupped hand. Then I ran down one of the bowling lanes and slide tackled the pins, but the barrier came down and i was left wrestling my legs out before sliding back up the way and getting beratted by some prick telling me to behave, "Thats not cool man, thats not cool. Be cool. Be cool." He told me, I couldn't believe my fucking ears. This man was wearing sun glasses IN A BOWLING ALLEY, telling me to be 'cool'. I told him that being cool was all I wanted in life & he shook my hand, seemingly satisfied that he'd got through to me. Around that time I got a phone call from Jan saying I had to meet them and drive back to Glasgow, so my fun came to a stop and I had to sit still in a van for 7 hours, which isn't easy. But all in all, it was a whole load of BIG FUCKING FUN. Cheers !WOWOW! you lovely bastards.