“Sunday Bloody Sunday.”
July 28th. A date that should carry quiet reverence — Dad’s 72nd birthday. But of course, it’s absolutely pissing it down. A classic British summer day: soggy, grey, and thoroughly determined to ruin whatever sentiment tried to survive.
The roads are soaked. “Driving rain” — the kind that turns windscreens into aquariums. Dr Foster’s fucked off to Gloucester — or Glouster, or however the hell you spell that bloody place. Doesn’t matter. No one cares but Google Maps.
Sunday starts at Zip World of all places. A breakfast amid screaming zip-liners and overpriced toast. Thumbing thru Fortnite comics with Charlie and Marni — some fleeting joy in fictional panels. We are soundtracked by Single Mothers’ Our Pleasure, like life’s trying to remind you that even joy has reverb.
I had guests over from China staying at the caravan on Friday. I was told (by my cocksucking curtain twitching neighbours) it all kicked off at 11pm. Full-on scrap. No subtitles. Just shouting and slamming. Wankers!
And on my playlist? The Growlers Chinese Fountain. Irony thick enough to spread on expensive toast.
The caravan — or “Hollies,” as it’s been dubbed — got a “deep clean,” whatever that means, but it's when bleach won’t cut through bad vibes. In between scrubbing and post-fight repairs, I play marbles with Charlie. Desperate nostalgia in the midst of adult chaos.
Maccy’s for tea. A Filet-o-Disappointment wrapped in cardboard and regret.
Then: salvation? redemption? A pint with Llion and Tracey at the Black Cat before tonight’s gig. Maybe music will fix it all — or at least drown it out for a while.
There it is. In the centre of the chaos:
SPAM JAVELIN — a band? a curse? Chester today then the USA - we had joy, we had fun at The Live Rooms in Chester with Soap Girls and Saltwater Injection. The fact that Piss Kitti had pulled out was an advantage as we went on later to a bigger and very responsive crowd. Sold 4 vinyl and 7 CDs.
Saltwater (in my fucking eyes!) were good - a 2 piece ensemble with a slapdash noise set. And the Soapy South African sisters were good fun, but played way too long, but I guess they had to appease the pervs ogling their topless t-shirts.
