It was always going to a boozy night, and as you may have experienced to your pleasure or misfortune, alcohol can be a fickle mistress. But, as if in honour of our hostesses efforts in the trouser department over the last five years, Bacchus smiled upon us and lent us her (his? it's all a blur) super powers.
That's right - we pulled off the unlikely double whammy of drinking to the point of insensibility and playing to the edge of our limited proficiency. You can draw your own conclusions. We were the lucky tip of a mighty cacophonous iceberg made of an infinite number of monkeys playing an infinite number of guitars after consuming an infinite number of Spitfires with Coca Leaf Liqueur chasers. Shakespeare it wasn't.
For the first time in a while we played Lola - which was going well until Bernie's commentator's bluff collapsed the Schrodinger's cat-style quantum uncertainty that was the only thing keeping us afloat by that stage.
We played all the big numbers and fully explored their bigness. We played all the pop ones and hit the right notes, often in the right places. The smoke machine worked so well that we couldn't see each other or the edge of the precipitous stage. It couldn't have been better, and could have been a whole lot worse!
We love this band. And if it weren't for the birthday girl, we'd be playing naked. Happy Birthday Cath.
And on that bombshell of a mental image, see you in October! We're off to the Montego Bay beach house for an intensive detox, then Bolivia for an intensive retox.
Love you Byeeeee x
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