fraser and the yellow v-necks
went to see me mate fraser's band (the v-necks) last night at some toilet of a pub in dagenham. went with mark, carl, john and souness. we're all off to ireland this weekend so were all just starting to drift into warm glowing feeling that befriends you in the days leading up to a monumenal piss up.
what a night. we should have stayed indoors.
in fairness, fraser wasn't that bad. i mean, he was okay. but the rest of the band were just horrific. a bad dream. in fact if you dreamt about this lot you'd need therapy to get over it. the bassist had to be in his 90s. he bore a striking resemblance to someone who was dead. i mean, this old duffer actually looked like he'd been shovelled up for the occasion. 15 minutes into the gig the poor sod lost all bodily coodination, pissed in his pants, and had to be carried off the stage by Mary the pub bouncer. the drummer kept losing his sticks during the songs and nearly had the barmaids eye out during a rendition of 'oh boy' when the stick shot out of his hand and across the room, missing her by an inch. and then their was the vocalist. i mean this guy was an insult to bad singers. imagine the worst kareoke singer you ever saw singing a duet with the worst kareoke singer you ever imagined and you'll have some idea of the drivel we had to listen to last night. roll on dublin and some proper music.

fraser came up after and asked me what i thought.

"brilliant," i lied.
"you reckon we've got a chance then" he said.
"chance of what," i said wondering where the nearest cab firm was.
"chance of the big time."
"not a doubt in my mind old son."