Monday, 15 February 2010

LaFaro: Fookin' Hell Luv, It's 'im Off Telly


we are now in Northwich.

With all that there salt, like. its nowt but salt and I.C.I. even the fookin practice room and studio are in I.C. fookin I. every fooker in town is wearing a hi-viz jacket like, and a hard hat except for that Tim Burgess off of the charlatans fame, like, who works in charlies coffee shop and served me a lovely fry with plum tomatoes instead of real ones. That were this mornin. You what, love? Tip him? did i 'eck.

actually there is one other guy who doesn't work for I.C.I. His name is john and he's the scot wot runs bar, like. He's from Glasgow but his folks moved to the west coast when he were three. and it took him 18 years to find them. BOOOM BOOOM!!!

Q. what exactly has happened in the last week, Jonny?

A. Well....we went to Portsmouth. Then we went to Oxford. Then we went to Northwich. Then we went to Crewe.

Q. Jonny, can you please elaborate on this succinct, yet basic and uninformative order of events? Your attempt at a slightly humourous and pithy retort is found to be nothing more than numbingly banal and retarded blah flum. Sort it out.

A. Ok, I will try.....We jumped on the arse end of a bill in Portsmouth because we were there and playing is better than not playing, ain't it? We found out when we got there that the two bands we were playing with needed to be taught the basic principles of polite ettiquette. just a few simple mannerly questions, eg. - "I say Paddy, we've had a little chat amongst ourselves and a few of the lads were wondering if one would mind awfully if one was to use some of that rather spiffing looking musical equipment in order to play this bloody awful caterwauling that we have decided to call 'hard-core', what what?"

Needless to say, when i pointed this out it was met with a brazen "fuck off Paddy." Well as you can imagine, this kinda grinded my gears, so i then pointed out that his attitude problem was probably the reason he had never succeeded at life and was nearly 40, in a shit job, in a shit band, playing shit music with shit lyrics to 8 shit mates in Portsmouth, where he was from just so that once every shit month, for a shit half-hour he could live out the spastic-mongol shite that was his musical vision. what what?

Anyway, there were more pressing matters to attend to on this night and a certain legend of a man who we shall call Mr. Hatton made this possible by letting us come round to his house, sit in front of what i can only describe as a cinema screen and watch the superbowl. i still cant quite believe what good athletes those homeless people were.

Then we went to Oxford where the promoter Jimmy was an absolute sweetheart. We played with 2 very different but equally great bands called 'Hold your horse is' (get it?) and 'Ute'. I hope to be seeing both these guys again. Great people, great music.

After Oxford we hooked up with a group of guys who simply call themselves 'the Helsinki Seven'. After much confusion and head-wrangling we found out that, oddly, there were only three of them and they were in fact from Northwich, in Cheshire, not Finlands' beautiful capital as their name would suggest. Whilst not the biggest or most offensive lie ever told, it has to be said that it is a lie nonetheless, and that as a band we feel like they are now outside the circle of trust. Dark days do indeed lie ahead...

In case you haven't noticed we are back to Northwich, which is the place i mentioned at the start of the blog. I feel an enormous sense of achievement being talented enough to round a story off like this and bring it back to logical conclusion in such an organised and brilliantly concise fashion. Duz mie gramatticle +literry talunt railly no no bowns ?£

I am going to stop writng because to tell you the truth, it is now 4.40 in the morning and im very tired/farty/horny and i need a wee-wee.

Thats a bingo, arrivaderci,

Jonny. x.

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