Thursday, July 21, 2005
And Maybe Later On After The Late Late Show, We Can Go To Your Room, I Can Try On Your Clothes
On Tuesday evening we took a spin out to the People’s Republic of Liverpool.
A happy band of Leanne, Charlie, Juggling Protégé, Girlfriend and me went to one of those ‘all the hot chilli sauce you can drink’ establishments before heading on up to the university to see the artist they call Josh Rouse.
It was our first time with Josh and I enjoyed him very much.
He seemed a little disengaged at first, but it’s marvellous what a bit of banter with a pair of stoned scousers can do for you, and he was soon grinning rather than scowling while he rocked the house.
Why isn’t he selling out much larger venues? Nashville is a simply wonderful album, sexy and cool, much like the little fellow himself, and afterwards I snapped up his entire back catalogue from a man with a trestle table.
We walked back to Juggling Protégé’s groovy city centre bachelor pad - beautiful crisp plasterwork, a joy to rub yourself up against - then left very late and crashed even later at Leanne’s. Her spare room is fast becoming a home from home for me and Girlfriend, and next time we’re taking a pot of paint and some book cases and claiming squatter’s rights.
In the morning I dashed home to hook this up to that, and recorded myself trying to sound urbane on the radio. Credit where it’s due to Philo for a top notch job with the cut and paste.
After that I went for a longer than usual run - which was already too long in the first place - to wipe the grin off my face and teach myself a lesson.
On Precipitous Edge a dozen tracksuited gorillas wedgied into a Nissan Dwarf tooted their horn and cheered me along in a manner that made me jump out of my skin and shriek mildly. I waved back and cursed myself for forgetting to vaseline my nipples.
I was a tad anxious this morning that Stella might say “So you think I should lose the self help books, do you?” but I needn’t have worried.
Instead, she sat on my credenza swinging her legs and said rather wistfully, “You know, Tim, when I left school I was voted the girl most likely to.”
I said “They call me Mister Boombastic but you don’t hear me bragging about it.”
A happy band of Leanne, Charlie, Juggling Protégé, Girlfriend and me went to one of those ‘all the hot chilli sauce you can drink’ establishments before heading on up to the university to see the artist they call Josh Rouse.
It was our first time with Josh and I enjoyed him very much.
He seemed a little disengaged at first, but it’s marvellous what a bit of banter with a pair of stoned scousers can do for you, and he was soon grinning rather than scowling while he rocked the house.
Why isn’t he selling out much larger venues? Nashville is a simply wonderful album, sexy and cool, much like the little fellow himself, and afterwards I snapped up his entire back catalogue from a man with a trestle table.
We walked back to Juggling Protégé’s groovy city centre bachelor pad - beautiful crisp plasterwork, a joy to rub yourself up against - then left very late and crashed even later at Leanne’s. Her spare room is fast becoming a home from home for me and Girlfriend, and next time we’re taking a pot of paint and some book cases and claiming squatter’s rights.
In the morning I dashed home to hook this up to that, and recorded myself trying to sound urbane on the radio. Credit where it’s due to Philo for a top notch job with the cut and paste.
After that I went for a longer than usual run - which was already too long in the first place - to wipe the grin off my face and teach myself a lesson.
On Precipitous Edge a dozen tracksuited gorillas wedgied into a Nissan Dwarf tooted their horn and cheered me along in a manner that made me jump out of my skin and shriek mildly. I waved back and cursed myself for forgetting to vaseline my nipples.
I was a tad anxious this morning that Stella might say “So you think I should lose the self help books, do you?” but I needn’t have worried.
Instead, she sat on my credenza swinging her legs and said rather wistfully, “You know, Tim, when I left school I was voted the girl most likely to.”
I said “They call me Mister Boombastic but you don’t hear me bragging about it.”
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