On account of us doing a gig in Germany tomorrow, we find ourselves once more congregating in a pub in Kings Cross. Slightly earlier this evening, deciding I hadn’t been eating enough Cheese and Ham lately, I could be seen dining al fresco and enjoying the lovely Summers evening, at a little place I know that does authentic Croque Monsieurs and has a not too shabby house red either! Still, it’s 9.30 pm now and back to reality with a change of meeting place from the usual dodgy pub. We’ve gone up market on the insistence of one of the crew who has noticed a more refined establishment a few yards along the road. Coincidentally, it’s right next door to a dance studio where funnily enough lots of dancers hang out, which if you like fit, attractive young women in leotards is not such an awful place to be really. With time to kill before The Love Bus hits the road, we all agree it would be rude not to have a few glasses of whatever fine wines and spirits are to be had before HHJJ arrives fashionably late and causes quite a stir with the locals. A strangely familiar but hard to place smell accompanies HHJJ as he “breezes” in, T shirt firmly tucked into his jeans. The whole pub is considering this matter when 2 young ladies accost Abbiss and with a sniff of the nose declare “E’re your mate stinks of Bold non biological washing powder, you know, the one in the Yellow packet”. It seems that HHJJ is “fresh” from washing all his clothes and was waiting for the tumble drier to finish, hence his lateness. Oh how we laughed!
So, at 10 pm with lots more drinking time left we are dragged away, kicking and screaming towards the tour bus by that horrible Mr TM who just loves to spoil our fun. All is forgiven though when it is discovered that that lovely Mr TM has stocked up with fine red non fizzy booze and my favourite, very slightly fizzy, light brown bottled booze, that’s brewed by the brewmen of Bremen.
It seems the Love Bus has been redecorated especially for us in the style of my late Grandma’s living room, and only lacks a budgie in a cage to complete the illusion. All in all though it creates a very pleasant environment for our journey.
Down in the easy listening lounge, HHJJ & I are shown ultrasound photos of Rick’s as yet unborn baby and are amazed to discover that it already has a haircut just like it’s Dad’s. Des pays a visit from the noisy Rock and Roll upstairs lounge and he’s not making much sense apart from noticing that the quality of the baby photos was better than most of HHJJ’s first attempts with his new toy camera. Des begins to inform us that he has the power of the Internet within him because he’s been swallowed into The Matrix until Rick, remembering Des’s Achilles heel, tickles him half to death. Des leaves us, tail between his legs and returns upstairs, not so hard now then Des?
The remainder of the evening is somewhat fuzzier but I do recall HHJJ has counted up all the things he has to do before each show, and he proudly tells us that they amount to 600......... very interesting Dave. Also, with HHJJ’s Bold induced odour still hanging about, everytime Rick farts (which is quite a lot) the two smells seem to combine and mutate into a bizarre new strain of Lemon Fresh farty smell, mmmnn nice!
Landing on French soil and clambering into my bunk, the last thought I have is, why oh why did I eat that full English breakfast on the ferry at 2.30 in the morning! |
