I’m stuffing a bunch of new music into my ears, which is nicer than sticking pins into my ears, but not as nice as scrambled egg. While that music oozes all over my ear drums, I’m going to tell you about my stupidly busy week.
I had that Robin Ince doing a gig at my venue last Tuesday, after which I tootled over to see some good comedy at XS Malarkey. On Wednesday, I co-hosted the last Bad Language of the year, with poet Shirley May on great form. Thursday was covered in my last blog post, so go and read that for a bit. Friday was a necessary night in, even though a friend had a really good show I wanted to see.
Saturday afternoon saw me doing improv with Tony Slattery: an unexpected treat with a very talented chap, and you should book his new show if you are the sort of person who books shows. Then on Saturday evening, I went to a superbly funny Group Therapy comedy night, the highlights of which were seeing Glenn Wool for the first time, and seeing John Luke Roberts run through the 24 Spice Girls that didn’t make it into the Spice Girls.
On Sunday night, I scratched my pop itch by screaming at Years & Years (pictured). It was loud, proud and more colourful than a pair of jolly colourful slacks from Mrs Thribble-Smythe’s tie-dye trouser boutique. Then on Monday night, I “interpreted” a section of the film Shrek at Flim Nite, which led to the following tweet:
Thanks for having me, @flimnite. I should clarify to the audience: that was meant to be Shrek's decapitated head in the box, but I muddied the waters by sticking my finger in his blood and saying it tasted like Donkey. I apologise - these things happen.— Fat Roland ⁉️ (@FatRoland) December 4, 2018
Finally tonight I have been on Electronic Sound business, all of which was until someone nicked the case to my Zoom recorder then lied to my face about nicking it. Silly thief. The rest of this week is Burgess Foundation work and Electronic Sound work and maybe some extra sleep.
The music’s still playing. The music will never stop playing.
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