Tuesday, 23 March 2010

Brotherly Love.

I'm back in London now. In fact, I've been back in London for two days and was amazed by the friendliness as soon as I arrived. Mainly my friendliness but it's friendliness nonetheless.

Even though I got up stupidly early on Sunday (and no, I didn't get up at Stupid O'Clock and if you ever use that phrase, you know that phrase were you say something o'clock that isn't a number o'clock? Well, I hate you and you should be ashamed of yourself. It's never been and it never will be Wine O'Clock) I still managed to go back to Hitchin to record Precious Little number 26. It was really a weird experience because I was phenomenally tired and yet buzzing from too much caffeine. I don't know what I said but I do remember discussing Tara Flynn's recent wedding with her on the phone. Actually, now that I remember it, we only discussed the wedding for a second because I felt I needed to know her stance on two brothers blowing each other for a bet. This might seem a random and vulgar thing to just spring on someone but it was a subject that had been swimming in my fractured brain since James brought it up just before we started recording. Not that it was James and his brother that blew one another. It wasn't. I don't think James has a brother. But he did hear of a story where that very thing happened. Two brothers put each others willes in their mouths. But don't worry, it was for a bet. You know, it was all just larks. HA HA HA HA! We've all been there (I haven't).

The thing is, I realise it's quite a disturbing story but it's "the bet" thing that's really upsetting me. Think about it; why would you suck your own brother's cock? A bet? No, that's not right. There wouldn't be enough money involved surely? Not that I would put a pricetag on my brother's cock. I wouldn't. It just seems deeply unlikely that a bet is the real reason. So what about "for a laugh"? No. No because sucking your brother's cock isn't funny. Not in the slightest. It's the Lesbian Vampire Killers of comedy, as far as I'm concerned. So why did they do it?


Is it so wrong to want to suck your brother's cock and just admit it? I've checked. Yes, it is. But surely, if you've done it, saying something feeble like it was a drunken bet won't cover up this weirdness. Plus "drunken bet" has been an excuse for too much shenanigans over the years and after a while you can't help but be a bit disappointed by it. Tony Hawks went round Ireland with a fridge for a "drunken bet". For fuck's sake. Wouldn't we have more respect for him if he said "I went round Ireland with a fridge because I wanted to suck my brother's cock"? And Dave Gorman. When he said that he went round the world, basically breaking his back and bank balance, to meet other people called Dave Gorman he said it was for a "drunken bet". Christ Almighty, Dave. If you want to suck your brother's cock then that's up to you. And his brother is his twin, which shows you the ego of the man.

Anyway, I was very tired when I got to London, that's what I'm trying to say.

After the podcast I headed back to Kings Cross and on to a Los Quattros Cvnts meeting. As I walked down towards the Victoria line my tired and wired mind reminded itself of yet another time that I embarrassed myself in front of Robyn Hitchcock. In case you don't know, I have embarrassed myself in front of Robyn Hitchcock more times than you've had hot dinners. Even if you've had 25 hot dinners a day and are 75 years old.

It was sometime in the mid-90's and myself and my friend Phat Paul went to see Robyn Hitchcock & The Egyptians at The Old Trout in Windsor. At one point I passed Robyn a note that he quickly put in his pocket and ignored. Well, booze and I agreed that we demand he reads my note so between songs I subtly scream "READ MY NOTE OUT, ROBYN. READ OUT MY FUCKING NOTE". Robyn was in the middle of one of his famous in-between songs stories and obviously realised that if he was to continue he'd have to read my note, just to shut me up. "It says thanks for all the great music, Robyn", said Robyn. I think you'll agree that that was something that NEEDED to be read out. He went back to his story.

"WHAT ELSE DOES IT SAY?", I shouted.

Robyn looked baffled and said that the note just goes on to say some nice things about his albums. "WHICH ONE?", I yelled. Robyn looked depressed now as he said "Eye". True. Eye is the greatest album ever made and I love it and surely everyone in this room needed to hear my opinion. Robyn sighed and put the note back in his pocket. Phat Paul egged me on to shout again. Good for him. "WHAT ELSE DOES IT SAY???"

Robyn now looked like he had been repeatedly hit by a rolled up newspaper. He wearily took the note out again, rolled his eyes and said "If anyone is driving back to London can you give two brilliant blokes a lift?"

The room glared at us and we thought we were the funniest people in the world. We weren't. We were cunts.

When this story popped into my head I started laughing. I hadn't thought of this in years. I had made such an embarrassing arsehole of myself that it was funny. I was too tired to fight the laughter so I happily walked towards the Victoria Line openly laughing in public. This is when the friendliness thing happened. I saw a woman struggling with her suitcase and I offered to carry it down stairs for her. She looked really grateful until I took her bag and walked beside her down every stair laughing away to myself. It must have been the most uncomfortable minute of her life. A giggling psycho has my bag and he's going to use it as my coffin, must have gone through her head.

She didn't need to worry. I was just laughing at a stupid thing I did when I was younger. And don't judge me, OK? I wouldn't have done it if there wasn't booze involved and wasn't being egged on by Phat Paul. It was just a drunken bet.




Anonymous said...

robyn rowan hitchcock = sex,food, death & tarantulas

BLaCKouT said...

Oh, for fuck's sake, Legge. If you're awake - it's wine o'clock. The end.