A happy chainsaw tale
Mar. 13th, 2002 05:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hirezHumblebee parties were (and I hope still are) legendary. I went along to a few before I lived there, but generally had to leave before things got really stupid because I had to get home. And because Bad Things would happen to anyone careless enough to pass out drunk. One hapless inebriate went around for the best part of a day with 'cunt' permanent-markered on his forehead. Other tricks were less sophisticated.
So anyway, it's a Saturday morning and the set of us are in various states of hungover. I am woken by the steady pulse of good dub reggae, which pleases me immensely. On wandering downstairs, I find that Will has constructed a precarious tower of cheap stereo kit on the table in the sitting room that happens to be directly under my bedroom. The speakers are pounding out dub some six inches from the ceiling, so it would seem that he was trying to piss me off. How sweet.
I go sit on the lawn and slurp tea as the bright May sunlight makes the castle in the valley look not unlike a chocolate box. Only substantially larger.
As I'm wandering back indoors for more tea and a bacon sarnie, a car arrives and black-clad rabble lever themselves from inside. It's Liberator, one of the bands playing tonight (Yes, kids. Bands and DJs. We had some kind of warped style...) who are up for an early soundcheck and (thankfully) some furniture moving as we have to shift the contents of the front room into the shed.
They set up and let rip: EEEEEE! BAWANNNNNGGG! RUDDARUDDARUDDA! GRONT! GRONT! RAAAH!
There's a commotion from upstairs and a severely hungover Ed charges in, bathrobe-clad and swearing massively: "Fucking shut the fuck up! I'll get my fucking axe and chop your fucking instruments up for fucking firewood!"
Oops... This would probably be a good time to slide down the offy and stock up on cheap lager...
[TBC...]
So anyway, it's a Saturday morning and the set of us are in various states of hungover. I am woken by the steady pulse of good dub reggae, which pleases me immensely. On wandering downstairs, I find that Will has constructed a precarious tower of cheap stereo kit on the table in the sitting room that happens to be directly under my bedroom. The speakers are pounding out dub some six inches from the ceiling, so it would seem that he was trying to piss me off. How sweet.
I go sit on the lawn and slurp tea as the bright May sunlight makes the castle in the valley look not unlike a chocolate box. Only substantially larger.
As I'm wandering back indoors for more tea and a bacon sarnie, a car arrives and black-clad rabble lever themselves from inside. It's Liberator, one of the bands playing tonight (Yes, kids. Bands and DJs. We had some kind of warped style...) who are up for an early soundcheck and (thankfully) some furniture moving as we have to shift the contents of the front room into the shed.
They set up and let rip: EEEEEE! BAWANNNNNGGG! RUDDARUDDARUDDA! GRONT! GRONT! RAAAH!
There's a commotion from upstairs and a severely hungover Ed charges in, bathrobe-clad and swearing massively: "Fucking shut the fuck up! I'll get my fucking axe and chop your fucking instruments up for fucking firewood!"
Oops... This would probably be a good time to slide down the offy and stock up on cheap lager...
[TBC...]
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Date: 2002-03-13 11:57 am (UTC)