Egg In The Twat
This was killingly funny at about 10pm last night, when we were so exhausted we'd reached that sleep deprivation slap happiness.
Someone left a mint green egg-shaped percussions shaker in the rehearsal studio and we all took turns coming up with more and more ridiculous things to do with it. AMP had it between her breasts and was jumping up and down in rhythm at one point. We decided it was a totem or some kind of omen and symbol of our femininity (I'm seeing too many signs and portents lately. The black man on a white horse on Brixton Hill, the roller skating angels outside the National Gallery, the egg is the symbol of the soul, or fertility, or womanhood, or something, I don't know, ask me when I've had more sleep.)
Anyway, so Anna was trying to chuck the egg back to AMP like a schoolgirl passing a note (enough for the girls) and ended up whacking her in the crotch with it. Oh, how symbolic, that the egg wants to return to the twat. And egg in the twat is the new Pin The Tail On The Donkey. Hurrah.
So yeah, rehearsal. I'm getting the fear, because I always get the fear before gigs. Frances couldn't make it because she was off in Brighton editing that magazine what she edits, and Anna was burned out from 12 straight hours of writing John Peel's website and interviewing Katie sodding Melua, and I could barely see straight due to the rubbish described below. So we sounded rubbish. Though we persevered, and by about the third repetition of the set, we actually managed to sound passable.
And then we jammed on Neufriend for a while with all my pedals flat out and jumped around and struck Rock Chick Poses and that was the best thing ever. (Though really it does sound more like early Stereolab than Neu! We'll have to get Anna to work on purring sexy things in German over the outro.) Until I had the dodgy chocolate chip cookies and felt like doing a sick. Bah.
We hate the Little Room. We don't want it again. And as I paid, I found out that it wasn't even originally supposed to be our room, but they SWITCHED US with some sodding rubbish indieboybollocks because their drumkit wouldn't fit in the Little Room.
5 Comments:
You forgot to mention how, feeling guilty, Anna allowed me to attempt to get the egg in her twat too! She sat back and spread her legs (calm down, boys) and I thawcked the egg across the floor towards her, but it hit her in the thigh instead! I've never been any good at golf.
Yeah, well, where's my scan, Bee-yatch! ;-)
Is that the Mother-In-Law room? The Spinster Aunt room? The one in the old building at the ass-end of the premises with the windows that won't open and the stinky flowers on the mantle and the allergy-asthma-inducing stench?
I hate that room too.
The one in the old building at the ass-end of the premises with the windows that won't open and the stinky flowers on the mantle and the allergy-asthma-inducing stench?
That's the one we were stuck in! I hate it!
We really like the one downstairs on the courtyard with the stage - no idea how we swung that one last time.
Writes the John Peel site? Explain
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