Above: Joel, ready to eat some sea.

Our tyres might have blown up mid-journey and our bodies may be ravaged by booze and lack of sleep, but the SHITDISCO landed on its feet, somehow blagging two free nights in a caravan park on the Devon coast. We immediately slipped into gypsy mode, offering to fight the locals for a pound, and stealing ash trays from nearby bars. We didn't leave until the grass turned yellow & we had attracted at least a few angry stares from the Daily Mail reading residents.



On the second day we went for a bit of a surf in the ice cold waters of the English channel. It was more Crimewatch than Baywatch. We had wetsuits, boots and gloves but decided against protective head gear, which was a mistake. Ive never had brain freeze like it. Each wave was like an ice hammer to the forehead, enough to make you cry like a girl and want to go home. But we stuck it out for over two hours. I gave up when currents and big fuck off waves clattered me onto some rocks and I realised I didn't have the energy to keep myself afloat.

Above: Joel as happy as a dog in a bucket of booze.

Above: Me wearing a customised army helmet, ready for action. Or booze.


That evening we went to the park's entertainment hub to spend almost a fiver on the 2p machines and watch a budget Jim Davidson tell jokes about irish, chinese, gays and viagra. We sat at the side and yelled abuse at him until he did a song and left the stage. Then it was time for some real Phoenix Nights entertainment, 'Atlanta,' a semi-ugly girl singing covers while a gangly lad provided music from a huge automated keyboard. When they burst into their version of 'Dyou Love Me? (Now That I Can Dance)' we took to the floor for some hard dancing.

Above: Tom and Joe take in the atmosphere in the entertainment lounge, Joel scamps around like a younger, less healthy version of Shaun Rider.


A fine couple of days off provided by circumstance and the kindness of Richard who pulled the strings to get us a caravan, (Big thanks to you, sir.) ONWARDS!

We weren't on the road to Nottingham for ten minutes before the rear tyre exploded on the motorway at about 70mph. Sparks flying, the lot. It took us about two hours to get taken off the road and another two before the van was fixed. So Nottingham had to be cancelled, big fat apologies from us all.

On our way to Bournemouth we discovered on arriving in a petrol station that we'd be driving with a big flat tyre. It took hours for us to locate a jack that worked, ours was useless, and remove the rusty bolts that held the wheel so firmly in place. Bored, I unpacked the drum kit and treated passers by to an hour long drum solo & actually managed to get some schoolgirls dancing for a quarter of an hour. It was big fun and we recieved bemused looks from bus passengers and pedestrians, some circling back down the street so they could check if it was really happening. We got a couple of grainy phone videos of it somewhere, when we figure out how to put them on here, we will. But sorry, Bournemouth - our once trusty van has failed us. We'll be back next time round.

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By coincidence or design, St Patricks day was a day off on the SHITDISCO Big Fuck Off UK tour. Relaxing ourselves in leeds we decided on a jaunt to the areas various pound shops to pick up ball-bearing guns, child army equipment and bicycle reflectors. Then we headed to the local manor, Temple Newsam Park to try out our new toys and run around screaming gargled laughter in our throats like some stupid moron army fighting the 3D wars of the future.

Above: Tom (DJ Thug With Knife #2) and Martin (Driver/Stockbroker) fire at the camera with the kind of gay abandon only real gays can muster.


Above: Me and Tom get Martin with a beaut right on the tip of his cold ear. Hear him squeal as we laugh - ha ha ha.


Above: Joel looking like he's going to find those Jews in your loft and put them on a nasty train. Tom, screaming, in the background.


Above: Me in one of my various poses infront of a bench with a scarf over my face to deflect bullets and insults.


Above: Me and Tom shooting it out at spittingly close distance.
On our way back to the van we noticed a Police car had pulled up in the entrance of the car park, Jan had (luckily) already removed the real Police mans helment he had been cavorting around in but the copper still wouldn't let us out and started busting our balls. Apparently he had seen us running around with guns from the motorway and had came down to check it out, no doubt hoping on some level that this would be the big moment when he captured some terrorists training in the local park. He kept us there for about half an hour, checking our insurance details and interrogating Jan in the back of his car. We hid our guns and got out broadsheet newspapers and books, hoping he wouldn't want a look in the back of the van. Eventually he accepted that we hadn't stolen the van from Aquarius Carpet Cleaners and we were just a bunch of loons on their day off. He let us go, and we went to find some stew to put in our bellies.

The first week of the big tour and much fun has been had, not least inside the four walls of our glorious van. Formerly the chariot of Aquarius Professional Carpet Cleaners, this fine vehicle has merrily shipped us from gig to gig like some kind of bus or train. Or a van.


You may recognise an imposter in the middle of the above photo - Tom, our on the road DJ, also known as Thug With Knife #2. Aswell as he, we have Martin (Driver/Stockbroker), Skotty (Tour Manager) and Larry (Heavy Lifting/Rock Breaking). All providing a valuble contribution to sanity in the back of the van where the sun never shines and the door rarely opens, except for the release of excrement and screaming beserk obcenities at other motorists. Here is a photo of Tom giving the Elephant who lives in the back of the van some poppers. Nice one Tom, he looked like he needed that.


Aswell as the slow decent into cabin fever we've been playing gigs. Although we forgot to tell Elvis he was meant to be playing with us in Glasgow and Haunted House had to step in at heroicly short notice. One of the best was the other night at the Metro in London with Klaxons (below) who are fucking great.


I wore my workie day-glo jacket for that one, wot I stole off your bin man Dad. It as hot as bastard. I need to keep my eyes peeled for some more appropriate rave-attire in future, but for now it'll have to do. Maybe best not wear it every night or I'll sweat my glands off.

The first week of the big tour and much fun has been had, not least inside the four walls of our glorious van. Formerly the chariot of Aquarius Professional Carpet Cleaners, this fine vehicle has merrily shipped us from gig to gig like some kind of bus or train. Or a van.

You may recognise an imposter in the middle of the above photo - Tom, our on the road DJ, also known as Thug With Knife #2. Aswell as he, we have Martin (Driver/Stockbroker), Skotty (Tour Manager) and Larry (Heavy Lifting/Rock Breaking). All providing a valuble contribution to sanity in the back of the van where the sun never shines and the door rarely opens, but for the release of excrement and screaming beserk obcenities at other motorists. Here is a photo of Tom giving the Elephant who lives in the back of the van some poppers. Nice one Tom, he looked like he needed that.


Aswell as the slow decent into cabin fever we've been playing gigs. Although we forgot to tell Elvis he was meant to be playing with us in Glasgow and Haunted House had to step in at heroicly short notice. One of the best was the other night at the Metro in London with Klaxons (below) who are fcking great.

I wore my workie day-glo jacket for that one, wot I stole off your bin man Dad. It as hot as bastard. I need to keep my eyes peeled for some more appropriate rave-attire in future, but for now it'll have to do. Maybe best not wear it every night or I'll sweat my glands off. Off to Edinburgh now anyway - the fun goes on.