I don’t usually write about individual gigs on this blog, but it’s been quite an emotional experience, saying goodbye to old Walter. Wilko’s been there as far back as I can remember. Let’s face it, the feelgoods were, at best, okay-ish after Wilko jumped-or-was-pushed following ‘stupidity’. And tonight – 2013 – Wilko doesn’t look any saner than on the cover of ‘stupidity’. There’s just less hair.
It’s emotional from the get-go. Meeting someone I haven’t seen in a fuckload of years to see Wilko’s last stand. Decades to catch up on. Reminding him he was the person who gave me my first ever psylocybin mushrooms, back in 1979.
The audience are weird. At gigs in Glasgow, a lot more than Edinbugh, one sees a lot more women attending gigs. Tonight was like a fall gig, ten, twelve years ago. A mostly male audience, what women there were, seemed to have been dragged there, complaining bitterly.
I’m kind of hoping the friend I’m staying with can find it in her heart to administer a savage beating.
When I lost my mother, a friend stepped in and helped me process my emotional pain through physical chastsement. Eighteen months later, I lost a really close friend and my ‘Domme’ at the time refused point-blank to help me externalise the emotional pain through physical pain.
now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)
Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.