Monday, 28 November 2016

The Pipe Cleaner (not) from Venus

Friday night and on the pre-loader express Up the City to that finest of venues, The Waterfront to catch Dr John Cooper-Clarke and Hugh Cornwall. Ticket said 6.30 start, don't know what I missed by the time I rocked up  but  straight to the the bar I went. Why not? Looking round me I am sure the delivery dray was rammo with Sanotogen that morning . Demographic? Retired Social Workers and Sociology Lecturers to a man/woman.

Standard gig fare in poxy plastic pots. But I had acquired  a thirst...sometimes lots of lager will do.

The Stick Insect and an almost equally thin but heavily tribal tatted Hugh Cornflour were up and at it and  rolling through an eclectic mix including McArthur Park, Johnny Remember Me and Jezebel.
To the right was a handlebar tached 70's  Lounge Lizard Porn Star on keyboards and occasional geetar. Behind  the Hi-hat was a pair of eyebrows and behind a pillar was a bass, probably attached to someone given it's movements.

One (more elderly than me) Social Worker type was soon off to her 2CV or more likely 16 plate Beetle with the ironic plastic daisy air freshener, seemingly suffering from burst eardrums. OK, it is quite a tight venue and the bins are normally up around 10.98 but what did she expect?

Time for another pint and back out came the band and  it had to be said jacked it up several notches: mostly Stranglers faves such as Nice n Sleazy and  a timeless cover  again, Walk on By. Which I have on white/pink vinyl. Forgot how similar the intro's to Nice n Sleazy and Toilers on the Sea are.

The one song Cooper-Clarke had written  required a lyric sheet, as he said in his laconic Salfordeese "Instantly forgettable lyrics-that's my bag" Classic from the Stick Insect.

Back over the Novi Sad bridge into the City at night and it's ripped backsides

Through the turnstiles and wait for the vomit comet, the last train from Naarich.

Tonight one chap of advancing years, as we pulled into "Your next station stop Salhouse" suddenly sat bolt upright, bolted for the doors and if it hadn't been one of those press the yellow light jobs would have gone straight out onto  the the adjacent track. As it was  he darted out on on the platform side, got back in and ran to the end of the next carriage and slumped back in a seat smiling beatifically to himself. Don't think any one else noticed.

Of course the serious yoot don't get Up the City till the last train in of  a weekend night, having necked  litre of voddie and Red Bull. It gives you wings.


  1. Sounds like a good night. Surprised to hear that Uncle Hugh is a skinny git too.

  2. A litre of Vodka, frightening. And I worry about a few beers. Know what you mean about sometimes only cold lager will do. John

    PS Minus six this morning. Bloody cold.

  3. Chaps, you missed a couple of song names/lyrics..slipping up

  4. Did he do You'll Never See A Nipple in the Daily Express?

  5. Ha ha, forgot about that one Dickie. Or I Married a monster from Outer Space ? Wak, Iggy's The Passenger.