Madness? THIS IS...

...the aftermath of last thursday's john peel day?

A night of handing out perma-warm tins to the strange collection of cover bands, pastiche acts and various oddness purveyors (speckled with a couple of interesting bands and singer songwriters) assembled to raise some dollar for charidee and promote exciting new local music the late and legendary peel would be proud.

Sadly, the term "abject failure" springs to mind.

Rusty, prehistoric wanna-bands playing to a room of similar, mostly non-paying bandanna wearing people who came and went as quickly as a jack cable can be inserted and removed from a guitar. No crowd, no money for teh sick children. Peel would be getting some air doing the 900 in his grave. 900; a number which brings me onto act 2 of this car crash-tastic night.


Hawaiian Baby Woodrow seeds. I headed off to meet up with three of the talented ones from the night, who had shuffled off to a alcohol-soaked karaoke night in search of some anti-sober luls. They'd found plenty. A tag team of five bankers in posh suits beat up a vertically challenged chav with snooker cues, bacon/pork/pig related innuendo jibes were fired, drunkenly, at police and vomit was ejected by some poor fellow who had indulged a bit too much with the john peel day cheese board rider (one of the few highlights). I'd arrived too late from packing away the peely mess to make a dent on sobriety. My fellow drinkers had been loyally supplied with hooch from my boxes of tepid stella all evening and so had a horrifically epic head start i was trying to leapfrog. Two jagers and a bottle of cider just wouldn't cut it.

Instead, as the banker bashed bar began to close and our rag-tag bunch parted ways for the night, i headed off with two of them back to theirs for more exciting adventures. I slumped onto their sofa, kyuss and blakfish were thrown on via vinyl and a few more drinks ensued. This is were the seeds come in.

We were dry of the booze when the suggestion was made that we should ingest some LSA via baby woodrow seeds. I was, understandably, hesitant at first having seen a friend loose his sanity briefly and require hospitalisation for the summer due to a night on such things. After an hour of chopping and cleaning the seeds, removing the highly toxic outer shell chaff, we stewed the remnants in tea and tucked in. What followed was an eventual 42 hours awake in which i watched 300 three times therefor accidently becoming the only person to attend one man premiere of 900 in which 3 Leonidas and 900 Spartans face off against 3 million Persians. It's at least three times as long and three times as good as 300.

I stumbled out onto the street to get home wandering past a man on a shop mobility scooter doing doughnuts. I went to check the spot later that day when sober and the rubbers there. It happened.

Sleeping is overrated.

72 hours then 10 hours sleep. That's the way to roll.