This comes at the end of 10 straight days of rehearsal in our blast-proof bunker on Kilburn High Road, constructed and maintained by the handsome but devious proprietor of The Luminaire, Andy Inglis (pronounced Ingles). He is a man without mercy or pity, who tortures stray cats for sport, so it still gives me cause for wonder that he saw fit to give us access to his inner sanctum for the purpose of honing our chops.
At great expense we trucked in a 40 kilowatt 3 way public address system for this final phase of tour prep, and we have red-lined it 12 hours a day. Each night as I try to sleep on the floor of Aaron’s cockroach infested rat-hole in Dalston I can listen to the delicate pops of the cilia in my ear curling and dying, like a bowl of Rice Crispies. It’s so loud now that it drowns out the screaming of the killer drunks who seem to roam Kingsland Road at all hours of the night, sometimes in packs of 3 or 4.
Most mornings there is blood on the pillow, but that’s as it should be. Are we not men?
We posted our new single online last night and sat back with a bottle of peppermint vodka to watch lady internet do her thing. Aaron flew into a violent rage when the entire stock of five hundred 7” singles didn’t sell in the first hour, but I counselled patience and eventually he let me lock the pistol in the strongbox under the bathroom sink.
Aaron is a Young Genius, and thus wracked by the terrifying psychic winds that blow through the minds of all such men. But he listens to me, if only because I have the key to the strongbox and the password to his email account.
So anyway, tomorrow is Friday, so let’s see what kind of horror and damage we can generate in Brixton, and then pick up the hire-car and go hit those boozed up fuckers in Hamburg like an airbourne cement factory!
They will piss their Urban Outfitters cycling pants when they hear our battle cry.....”LOLLYSCRAMBLE!!!” *