Sorry this is late. I’ve been reviewing the Throbbing Gristle show for WWM, sooner or later it’ll be here http://downtuned.net/
The weekend was, as usual, fantastic. It began with dinner with IC in an upstairs dining room in pub off Columbia Road, sort of gastro pub fare; bloody nice it was (even if the downstairs half was full of media wankers.)
Saturday we popped over to Dalston to help Dan and Y move to their new gaff in Hackney. My back hasn’t been too clever of late so helping someone to move might not have been the cleverest idea but I’m happy to say all is well (at the moment.) What isn’t so great is my ongoing battle with claustrophobia, so why on earth I volunteered to sit in the back on the Transit to collect some more gear is anyone’s guess.
I assumed there would be some light from the front windscreen but instead the back of the van was boxed in. It was like the black hole of Calcutta, dark, hot and completely disorientating. One of Dan’s mates (K) and I sat over the wheel arches and were thrown about like peas in a drum. K attempted small talk but I was in the grip of a balls-out panic attack, which caused me to respond in panting exultations of complete crap confusing us both in the process. I looked around in the dark for a handle to open a door, my eyes popping out of my head in a state of blind fear as my breathing became erratic and complicated. Fuck! I couldn’t see a latch, I tried to contain myself but felt that exchanging dignity over death (this is what a panic attack feels like) I opted for lurching at the side door and to my palpable relief located a small lever that opened the inside to the day, light and air flooded in. I breathed again and the attack subdued. Merciful god.
We spent a few hours lugging furniture up and down stairs and left to go to get some shopping for the evening. We passed Swineshead and his missus on the way to Victoria Park and stopped for a chat, grabbed the provisions and rested at home for while.
At 5-ish IC, Mary and I went to London Fields. It was a bit overcast when we arrived; already a group of two-dozen had laid out blankets which were spread with food, mainly Swedish dishes like the revellers, the Swedes celebrate the solstice with the attention it deserves. More and more began to arrive, the sun came out, my bro turned up, the booze began flowing, endless it was. Marvellous. I nearly got locked in London Fields toilet, we managed to fuck up a DJ with spiced vodka en-route to a gig, the Swedes began dancing… We packed up when it was dark and went to the pub, IC bought me a cocktail which ran down my beard, a few of us went back to IC’s and Mary’s, a couple paired off and left, the house ran dry of people but not drinks, by daybreak there was just me, IC, Mary and a sobbing girl, I was pissed beyond reason. I must have gone to bed because I woke up at midday still rotten and feeling incapacitated, mystery and bloody ill.
I watched the Grand Prix with papers I don’t recall getting, I don’t recall the Grand Prix either but I do remember that we went out for breakfast and had a massive fry-up. Feeling very, very marginally ‘better’ we took the 38 to Charing Cross, the bus journey was a nightmare as my body fought for sobriety and by 4pm we were at Heaven, though far from in it. I was feeling so awful I even spurned a hair of the dog, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. I wanted to be in bed. At 4.30 S.C.U.M. played a superb set but the highlight of the afternoon/evening was Throbbing Gristle, one of the best gigs I’ve seen, read all about shortly.
Blown away we took the bus back to Hackney in the sunshine, the depressing air of Sunday began to blacken the soul, we got pizza and popped back to watch a movie, it was so appalling I can’t even be arsed to utter its name.
