Last Time For This One
I’m sat on the sofa in the basement at Eve Studios listening to Jim mixing the drums. He is making them sound fat like a whale with a huge hunger problem who’s stomach is saying “give me some nosh that’s loaded with fat end”, all the while the snot drops keep running at quick speed from my nostrils. Its really hard to try and avoid a cold sometimes, especially when a few days ago everyone in the supermarket is either sneezing on the fruit, coughing on the veg or breathing germs on the eggs.
I tried to escape it but failed when I touched my mouth at some point in the last 48 hours. Man, woman germs everywhere.
The crazy Northerner is on his way to the studio to laugh loud and bring cheer to the walls of a quiet curry house. Hope a hot Indian can help bazooka this cold away.
The snot drops have almost dried so now I just feel bunged.. We managed to neck some ale then bashed the window to the con club. The gun slinging owner releasing we weren’t stray booze dogs on the scrounge for grog, let us in to sit and chat into the late hours. Under the cosmic bar tenders strange musical guidance of Gong blasting out over the out dated hi-fi speakers hanging from the tobacco stained ceiling, we chatted then made our way back to the vicarage. I sneezed and fell into bed.
The Studio needs more ram in the brain.. It keeps glitching and causing delays. Maybe the machine has a viral cold too? This bunged up main frame needs a shot of first defence to clear the micro chips. Apart from the small nagging problems the tunes sound really great and Jim is making it sound sonically awesome..
In between important issues such as the mix, the pool competition is hotting up and is currently two matches to one. Chalk up then!!
After a few days of patiently mixing, cabin fever struck, so we ventured onto the streets of Stockport. Upon Arrival at one of Romley’s fine drinking holes we discovered a barrel sized woman slumped over with her face in a pizza.. Once inside we were informed by the Son Druid’s companions that she was now knickers-round-ankles flushing her self esteem and dignity away for the roaming zombies to have a drunken laugh at.. Oh the shame. The second drinking hole was mainly full of men with cropped haircuts and lager arms and what could be better than a karaoke machine to add to the entertainment. The hyenas were scratching their claws on the grog stained dance floor, growling at the mere few females and trying to impress them with silly dance moves.. After the Michael Jackson Medley enough was enough and we left. After Mangles frantic phone call search to find another drinking hole, nothing came up trumps, so we made our way back to Eve to learn bad songs on the piano with the Son Druid. I eventually fell into bed, am awake now and must drink water.
It’s the last morning so I take one last stroll down to Bredbury Square, a bag of Sausage rolls, some bran, some coffee and a round of eggs to say cheerio.
Ten Songs – thought about, written, recorded, overdubbed and now mixed.
Cheers to everyone who has made this album with us.
Now onto the next phase, that’ll be interesting.
The pool competition ended 5-1. Who do you think won?
I am Dave Pen