We did the art school degree show street party last friday. That was a laff. Everyone's pissed up and rammed into the street, swiging buckfast and fink brau in equal gulps. Almost from the start of the set people were getting on the stage and jumping into the crowd - it was near constant. So two bouncers dressed in the finest day-glo jackets stood at either side of the stage, looking glum & even resisting Joel's polite request that they dance. They couldn't stop him launching himself into the crowd either, floating around out there for a couple of minutes while we played the breakdown in Reator Party. He got back to the stage on time and we finished the set, falling out the back of the stage tent onto the road. I think we went back on for a shambolic rendition of the I Know Kung Fu Remix and left proceedings to Mother & the Addicts.



I went out and danced to them, parping a miniture klaxon inbetween the numbers. Then it ran out and I threw it at Mother's moustache. Take that slimeball! After all the po-going about I happened to be walking by the stage after the DJs had stopped and all the music and dancing had finished. In a flash of inspiration I remounted the drum kit and proceeded to play. The crowd reacted positively and began dancing again, the bouncer reacted negatively and started shouting spitty threats in my face, then grabbed a drum stick out of my hand. I picked up another off the floor and he got me in a half-nelson. Then the crowd rushed the stage, people took the sticks from out of my hands and started drumming for me. The bouncer, with his bacon mishape brain, didn't think to remove me from the drum stool, and there i remained in this ridiculous wrestling move with my arms in the air, while 20 odd people tried to play the drums on my behalf and other bouncers grabbed clumsily at their necks. I managed to wriggle out of the hold and got on the floor, banging the bass pedal with my hands.

Then getting up, I grabbed the snare and two sticks and retreated to the front of the stage, banging away some drunken samba rythyms as best I could. The bouncers came at me again, so I ran into the crowd. The stage was still full of people dancing, the bouncers frantically trying to get them off. I went to the other side and plonked the drum on a bin and continued playing. Various art school employees tried to get the drum or my sticks off me but failed, until i was attacked by about 4 of the swine, two on each arm. I struggled but it was no use, they had me. But then I had an idea & started pulling the bouncers with me into the crowd; they were surrounded on all sides and people just started attacking the bouncers with fists and bottles, including a little old man (thanks, by the way) who gripped both arms around one of the bouncers necks, kicking him in the back with his little feet. Soon they succumbed to these assaults and I was let go, skirting off into the crowd to be informed by a friend that the police had just arrived.

[BTW If anyone's got any photos of the show or the hoo-ha afterwards can you send us em? ta.]

Sometimes of late, Ive been wondering if I haven't got better things to do with my time than piss off an ageing ex-landlord. I've been out of 61 for a month now, living at the grace of Tolson and Jim in their (lovely) cell-like spare room. Mr Khans owns that flat too. But it wasn't enough. One day, while in London, killing time at !WOWOW! before a gig, I perused ebay and found a caravan for sale near Glasgow, going for a song. I bid, and got it for £103. Half a months rent; a bargain. Mum would be proud.

There was a bit of trouble getting it delivered cos I couldn't find a car with a tow bar anywhere. But eventually the guy selling me it agreed to drop it off and even helped me, Jim and Tolson push it down the back lane into the garden of 61. Which wasn't easy, the lane was long and narrow with muddy potholes and the front guide wheel had broken off en-route so I had to try and take the weight at the front on my arms. It took ages, but when it finally rolled around the corner & into that nettle filled garden - it looked nothing short of spectacular. I stood there and thought; this is the best idea ive ever had in my entire life.

Above: Me and Tolson pulling my new home down the lane.

Mr Khan found it a couple of days later and immediately came knocking on Tolsons door as both flats share the garden. We hid. Then later, Tolson explained to Khan how the caravan was given to him by his grandma as part of his inheritence. Mr Khan laughed, evidently relived, "Ha ha! I thought it was gypsys!" he said, "You know, you read in paper..."
So Mr Khan's fine about it, as long as Tolson is the 'owner'.

Above: Getting stuck in a muddy pothole for about 15 minutes.

The other night we had a finger buffet in the caravan to celebrate me getting the keys through the post (the previous owner forgot them when he delivered it) and also because it was the 6th of the 6th of the 6th. A finger buffet for the Dark Lord, if you like. I nearly choked to death on smoked oven grease in the kitchen cooking cocktail sausages in both ovens. I'd be lying if I didn't entertain my catholic guilt for a minute, but quickly put it out of my mind with booze. I even found an old Christmas tree down the lane, perfect for our anti-christmas fire. It went on until noon the next day, me and Tolson the only survivors. We were convinced that Mr Khan was going to come out any minute and find us, Tolson even took to hiding under the sink with the curtain pulled across his nervous face, I lay with one leg out the window, laughing uncontrolably at the prospect of getting caught. We cackled until our chest's hurt then went to the park.

Before too long we'll be taking the caravan with us. On tour, into fields, car parks, back gardens. Anywhere we can park a caravan, we can have a party. This is the beginning of 61 in the expanded field. We just need a generator and to hook up a sound system. Watch this space.