drinks with tony

i went for a drink with an old mate of mine, Tony, last night in soho. Hadn't seen him in years and he give me a call Tuesday out the blue. Met him at some poxy bar near Berwick Street. One of them poncey gaffs that don't sell pints - just bottled lager. straight away i'm thinking i'll give it 30 minutes then i'm fucking off to the grapes - there's a quiz on tonight as well. Tony's already sitting down when i get there and he's looking well different. He's lost about 3 stone in weight and he's wearing leather fucking trousers. After about 30 minutes, me drinking bottles of some (nice as it goes) japanese beer, Tony drinking spritzers, (times have changed) , i'm bored out of my skull with Tone. to be fair he was never the kind of bloke to dazzle you with banter but it's just if anything he's gotten worse. after about an hour a couple more blokes turn up and join us at the table. one of the blokes is called Norman and he keeps rubbing Tone's leg. then it hits me. Tone's a bender. jesus. what a turn up. oh well, live and let live i suppose, but i didn't hang about. made it to the grapes for last innings. and some good news. they cancelled the quiz. it's now on tonight. lovely.

a fucking shambles

the gig was a shambles. the audience were all old age fucking pensioners. i'd never seen so many of 'em in one place in my life. it was scary on stage - a sea of zimmer-frames and false-teeth. we did 20 mins and called it a day. we would have done the full hour but the manager told us he wanted to start the bingo early because half of the old codgers were falling asleep. he paid us up and we left. a horrible, horrible day.

the soap suds

the good news is we've got our first gig. well the first gig as a new line-up. i've insisted we change the name on account of we need a fresh start. fraser's not happy. he reckons the v-necks is a top name. i tell him he's got a point but don't keep on. we're changing it and that is that. he agrees. i've decided to go a little radical. we're to be called ... wait or it ... "the soap suds".
"the soap suds?" says fraser - face on him like he's just swallowed one of bernard mannings farts.
"it's a good name," i tell him. "I like it. it's nice and simple."
"I'm not sure," he says and i can see he's not because he's looking as miserable i've seen him in 5 minutes.
"well you fucking come up with something then,"
"i already did ... the v-necks," he says. that's the thing with him, fraser - not willing to look at new possibilities. he's scared of change. if it was down to him we'd still be playing with a pensioner on bass, a drummer who keeps trying to take peoples eyes out with his sticks, and Chesney Hawkes on vocals.
"the 'v-necks' is crap."
fraser says nothing and i couldn't give a friday night with jonathan ross. we're the 'soap suds' or i'm quitting. what the fuck does he know about good band names anyway.

our first gigs at the dagenham working mans club this sunday. should get us a nice bit of publicity. get us a bit of recognition. after the auditions went tits up we decided to improvise. we're now a 3 piece band with souness on drums. souness says he's always wanted to join a band and also said his brother used to play drums back home in hub-cap land. he reckons he used to practice endlessly on his brothers kit when he was out. so i auditioned him and guess what ... he was shite. but beggars can't be choosers. (well actually, they can, especially the fucking ones working the tube round our way. they're coining it in.) but anyway ... souness is in for the time being

i'll let you know how it went on monday.

spiky hair and all that
i popped home last night - more to see john than the wife. he's enjoying himself the lad - unusually happy to be fair, which i must say riled me a bit. i mean he could have showed some indication that he was missing me not being there. anyone would think he was glad i'd fucked off. maybe he's got himself a bird. he's not a bad looking kid. takes after me there. whatever it is he's discovered hair-gel. his heads fucking caked in it, all spiked up n stiff n that. he wants to be careful he don't have her eye out.

she's tarting herself up. off out somewhere. she's looking quiet nice to be fair. she more or less ignores me though and then ... as i'm getting ready to leave ... she tells me she's filed for the big D?

"On what fucking grounds," i says.
"Adultery, mental cruelty. There's a lot to choose from Marshal, " she says.
I'm totally fucking lost for words. I mean, i may not have been the ideal husband from fucking neptune or mars or whatever it is but for god sakes ... there's worse than me.
"I can't believe you ... i tell her. Have i ever hit you?" I say, gobsmacked as i am.
"No, she says. You've never hit me. Thanks for that, "
"No, i don't mean ... you don't have to thank me," i says, and now i'm thinking she's winding me up here and i know when i'm not wanted. I tell the lad goodbye, i'll come and see him saturday, take him over to watch the hammers, and i near fucking lacerate me hand ruffling up his hair.
"Daaaaaaaad! It fu ...! It bloody took me ages doing that!"
"Sorry boy I ... oh fuck the lot of yer ..." i say, slamming the door behind me.

lunchtime blues
still no sign of lambert the thieving leg tapping bastard! we've had to down tools. not that we've got any tools: the cunt took them as well.
i'm pouring all my energy into the band. i wish i could say the same for fraser. i think he thinks that he's going to be the song writer or something. he keeps coming up with these daft lyrics. i wish he'd stick to what he's good at. what that is i'm not quite sure but i do no one thing ... it's not writing songs.

Lunchtime blues by Fraser Clarkson
I met her on a monday
by tuesday she was mine
i'd given her my number
it was only half past nine

she said her name was daphne
i told her mine was Lenny
i don't know why i lied to her
and now i feel a Benny

Do you want some news
well let me muse
i've blown a fuse
i've the lunchtime blues

Do you want to snooze
or is this a ruse
to get me out on the booze
during my lunchtime blues

Daphne told me she liked wine
and i buy her bottles all the time
she likes red and i like white
it usually ends up in a fight

eventually she turned a corner
i've been left here all alone
i'm now living on a parkbench
this parkbench is my home

Do you want some news
well let me muse
i've blown a fuse
i've the lunchtime blues

Do you want to snooze
or is this a ruse
to get me out on the blue
during my lunchtime blues
2004

grey
found a grey hair this morning. the writing's on the wall. i'll have to dye it. there's no place for grey hair in rock & roll

where's jimmy lambert?
there's no sign of him. he meant to drop off our wages off yesterday evening. i went and saw the greek bloke (jimmy's boss), and he says he weighed the leg tapper out yesterday morning. i can't get him on his mobile either. bastard! sent him about 20 messages. the lads are doing their cobblers. we're all well skint. you can't trust anybody for fucks sake.

auditions for the band last night. jesus christ - there's some desperate looking punters about.

the ad i put in the paper was for bass players and drummers with experience. nice and simple. i had to re-read the fucking ad last night when i got home just to see if i'd made a mistake and put "the dregs of society are welcome" on the bottom of the ad by mistake. i mean. you expect the odd big issue seller but this was just plain fucking awful. shite!

i'm in the v-necks.
wallop! lead singer. i told fraser they'll have to be some changes though.
The bassist is too old though to be fair i think it was a relief to the old duffer when we told him he was out.
the drummer was less pleased but the bloke's a danger to himself and everyone else so he's been sacked as well. reckons he's gonna sue.
that only leaves me and fraser. so we're auditioning this thursday in the loft above the grapes. i've already started writing some songs.

marks still in hospital. tried to kill himself on at the weekend by jumping out the window. poor sod didn't realise he was on the ground floor. just his luck.
visited him last night with carl. wouldn't even talk to us the miserable git. told him my good news about the band and he just fucking turned over and went to sleep. can you fucking believe that.

frasers band
cousin fraser's just belled me on the mobile. wants me to audition for his band the 'v-necks'. says he's sacked the vocalist. most sensible thing he's ever done. auditions tommorow night round at me aunt pegs. should be a giggle.

kipping at carl's
kipping on carl's floor. his mum and dad are not to happy, then again, to be fair, i'm not sure carl's too keen either. not that i give a sterling. the truth of it is carl should count himself lucky that i even consider him a friend. not that i do. but that's what he thinks.

i'll stop round here for a few days then sort out somewhere proper. times are hard but i'm rolling with the punches.

the wife has changed the locks on the door. i've been kipping rough the past few weeks. at least i've been sleeping round at mark's which amounts to the same thing. had enough of it round there mind. his missus don't stop fucking moaning. i don't know how the poor bloke puts up with it. maybe the hospital's not such a bad thing. probably should count his blessings. don't know where i'm gonna kip tonight though. things are going from bad to fucking worse

accident
mark's in hospital. fell off the scaffolding. fell 3 floors into a skip. poor sod. he's even more depressed than usual. the good news is that as he slipped he reached out for support and took the contracts manager along for the ride. nice one marky boy.