Saturday, 20 August 2011

Enjoy your clams cocksuckers

'Up all night talking shite' is a neat little mantra which nails the vibe of summer 2011 thus far. The last few weeks have been a real non-sleepy rambling madness with nights continuously melting into days, then turning back to night with the only refreshment being a few snatched hours on our sofa. Certain images stick in the mind - waking up surrounded by beer cans with chums in kneeling positions. Rainbows. Tablets in the sofa. Meeting shouty Chinese blokes in MX-5 convertibles in the midst of the witching hour. Ear syringing. Fry ups. Dentists. Wobbling around fields. Sunshine. Chaos. Soul searching. Personal demons. One pot dishes. The last few weeks have knitted a rich emotional tapestry of massive ups and crashing downs - it's had it all.

The month began with a little trip down to Hackney Wicked. Set in Hackney Wick (obvs), it's a festival which provides shitloads of creative types and arty chancers with an opportunity to show off their talents. Or lack of depending on your perspec. For the rest of us, it's an excuse to drink cans in the street and not be lambasted for total alcoholics.

Our day proved to be a right hoot. Loitering in the streets turned into a roof terrace party where a few slangy beers led to a full on room-odouriser-balloon-based dance party which ran deep into the night. Two of us didn't want the fun to stop so we rang a mini bus and headed off south of the river to Vauxhall to Fire for some euphoric house, plant food and bottom pinching. Vibes. It was like how DC10 may well be but with less girls and far, far too many man. I woke up on a tube in Wimbledon at ten in the am and spent the rest of the day attempting to find the part of my soul which I'd sacrificed on the altar of meow meow. Whoops.

E Pellicci fry up - next level fodder feat. extra chips

Dogs on mugs - ready

Fridge master

Day time balearic hype

Dusk hides balloons

It's a disco ting

It's a fucking late/early ting

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