This Is A Blues Riff In "B"

We went on a road trip this weekend for the Cublet's birthday to Loch Fyne, which was a beautiful scenic place and only rained about fifteen times while we were there, which as a national average probably ranks pretty well. The drive there took about two hours or so and was accompanied by the aforementioned Playlist of Epic, which featured awesome songs like "Moves Like Jagger", "Ride On Time", and of course my favourite classic party anthem by Lionel Richie, "All Night Long". At one point, the Adele song "Set Fire To The Rain" came on. As I'm sure you all know by now, I like nothing being better than being annoyingly pedantic about things that were never meant to be taken literally, to comic (or possibly not-so-comic) effect, and thus the following conversation happened.

Sarahnator: Adele is wrong. I'm pretty sure you can't actually set fire to the rain.

Me: Now that you mention it, that is a logic fail - water does not burn, Adele. Where were you during primary school science class? I had issues with her other one, 'Chasing Pavements' too. I mean, you can't chase pavements. They're right there. It's like "oh where's the pavement? There. Done. Let's get ice cream."

Sarahnator: Don't forget "Rolling in The Deep".

Me: She's obviously taking notes from Rihanna's school of misinformed lyrics. I mean,  how deep? Deep like Charlie Sheen's despair? Deep like the Marianas Trench?  Could you even really 'roll' down there?

Since the other people in the car could only endure so much dickishness at that time in the morning, I eventually let this go, with a longing look and some swelling, wistful orchestral music. Our hotel was a charming little place just by the side of the loch, with winding stairs and lovely staff who patiently put up with our excited banter and vital questions about how late the bar was going to be open. Wetsoks and I were sharing a twin room. The first thing I did upon entering said room, naturally, was to run around touching everything and poking into every crevice while yelling about my findings to a tired Wetsoks two feet away.

Me: Hey look! There's an old style radio in here attached to the wall, but there's only one channel and it's playing Nelly Furtado.

Wetsoks: Turn it off! It's like a nightmare!

Me: You do it. I need to use the bathroom, dude.

I ventured into the bathroom for private time and a chance to peruse the selection of shower gels the hotel had provided. I was considering whether or not to don the shower cap or to keep it for a later drunken moment, when I heard Wetsoks calling me.

Wetsoks: Um, Otternator?

Me: Yes?

Wetsoks: The radio just informed me that Nelly Furtado is number 14 in the charts right now with "I'm Like A Bird"...

Me: Oh my god, we've travelled back in time!

Wetsoks: And a shit year too!

Me: The year is not my primary concern. The time travel is.

Wetsoks: 'It's not a question of where we are, but when we are'. Ha!

Me: Ugh, if we are ever in a  time travel situation then please refrain from using that. It's totally overdone.

Wetsoks: .....What do you mean, if?

Me: ..... Damn.

It was a wonderful weekend all in all, featuring much alcohol, many board games (including what we will now only refer to as the "Pictionary Incident", and a new card game called Ho-Bra which I may explain in a later post) and a Clemence Poesy birthday cake featured below.

Happy Birthday Cublet!

The Teaches of Fleetches

The Fleetch and I journeyed a long distance yesterday evening, all the way to the fair city of Glasgow, to meet my friend Hot Emma (her official title, and it is well deserved). We'd all bought tickets to see the fantastic Peaches DJing at a local club, and it was an excellent night. For those of you who don't know Peaches, this is a little taster of her music and is in fact my favourite song of hers.

We decided that the teaches of Fleetches are like also very much like sex on the beaches. Huh. What? On a slightly related note, the Fleetch and I had the following conversation earlier in the week:

Me: You know what I really like? Rum.

Fleetch: That's very pirate-y of you.

Me: I know, right?

There is a brief silence.

Me: By the way, we're out of rum.

Fleetch: (eyeing me suspiciously) Are the two things related?

Me: I refuse to address such accusations. Much like I imagine a pirate would.

Fleetch: You know, we should really start making Fleetch-related cocktails at home.

Me: That is a genius idea. Like a "Fleetch On the Beach", or a "Fleetchito".

Fleetch: A "Strawberry Daiqufleetch". Oh, wait - a "Fleetchmopolitan"!

Peaches performed a brilliant set which had the entire crowd dancing and throwing themselves around like toddlers on a sugar high. She wore what I can only really describe as a 'boob dress' - literally, a dress with enormous breasticles sown on - as seen here:

Peaches also ensured that the crowd remained sticky throughout the night by spraying us with champagne and beer, held between her legs in a rather suggestive manner. After the bus dropped us back in Edinburgh, we walked home. On the way I saw a constructive digger, looming all shiny and alone in the darkness, so I dared the Fleetch to ride it, which she did without a moment's hesitation.

Young man! There's no need to feel down!

Music Is My Hot Hot Otter

I tend to not know what I'm going to blog about next until it actually happens. I like to live my life dangerously on the edge of bloggerland. That's just how I roll, homies. Try reading that last sentence again in a Scottish accent. Yeah, the cool factor just went down a million points, didn't it?

I've somehow managed, despite hardly ever doing any exercise (although in hindsight that might be the crux of the issue) to sprain my foot. Not the ankle, or the toes, or any part I could name, just what I will refer to using the technical medical  term "the foot part of the foot". I've developed a listless dragging gait that makes people around me shy away, especially people in the street. It's not remotely zombie-like, guys, I swear. Put the gun down. No, seriously. Somebody's going to get poked in the eye. Just because I'm pale and quite often glazed over, staring into the distance, does not mean I'm one of the undead. Your discrimination is zombie-ist.

Anyway, like I was saying before I tangented wildly into the distance, my foot hurts. I came home early from work, took some painkillers and am resting the foot in the hope that this will cure it. I also started listening to some music, partly to take my mind off the foot and partly because its been a long time since I listened to any song on something as ancient and dated as an actual CD. Normally I use my ipod, which has many obvious benefits - no accidental skipping if you happen to clumsily smash it against something, holds a ridiculously huge amount of music and is small enough to fit in a pocket. However, there is something to be said for owning CDs. They are tangible things. If one CD scratches or breaks, you haven't lost your entire collection in one fell swoop. They have booklets inside which usually have lyrics or interesting information about the band, and some CDs have special hidden tracks which you can only hear by waiting a certain amount of time after the 'last' song has played. It's a different kind of experience altogether.

I've been influenced by my mother's love of 80/90s rock and my dad's obsession with all things Motown (which, by the way, is a damn odd mix to grow up with) and have developed a rather eclectic taste. I like almost everything, but here are my five favourite songs of the moment:

1. Music Is My Hot Hot Sex - CSS
2. Little Lies - Fleetwood Mac
3. Waltz #2 - Elliot Smith
4. Church - T-Pain
5. The Way I Push It - Salt 'n' Pepa versus Timbaland

See what I mean? Rather random. Incidentally, if I had a pair of kittens, I would call them Salt and Pepa, and every time they came in the room I would make Push It jokes ("oh, how cute, they're showing you how to become number one in a hot party show! Squee!" or "yo baby cat, yeah you, come here give me a kiss") The fun would be endless. Of course, I could name them Jesse and James and go in a totally different but equally geeky direction of Team Rocket jokes, or perhaps I'd be better calling them Holmes and Watson, thus taking a literary path to the wonderful world of Nerd.

A Little Respect And A Lot Of Other Stuff

This week, I have been in Oxford - bringing the Scottish flavour to England without the use of shortbread or heroin hasn't been easy, let me tell you, but I've done my best.

On Saturday, Jen (@JenClone) and Alex (@nicelittlestory) and I attended a great gig at Westonbirt Arboretum. Sophie Ellis Bextor was supporting Erasure, one of my favourite bands of all time, and we were all very excited. The were a couple of odd moments during the evening which I feel worthy of bloggage. The first was when The Bextor (note: once I've grown attached to a celebrity and they have proved themselves worthy of my eccentric and perhaps slightly misguided but unconditional adoration, they get assigned a 'The' - see previous extensive notes on 'The Dern') announced that she was about to perform her first release 'Murder On The Dancefloor' and then followed that announcement by saying "which was released in 2001." Imagine the horror. A whole decade has passed since then. I won't deny I had an existential freakout.

Me: Did you hear that?

Jen: What?

Me: Ten years since this song first came out. Oh my god, I haven't done anything with my life.

Jen: Um...

Me: You see that child standing next to you?

Jen: (looking increasingly uncomfortable) Yes?

Me: That child wasn't even born when this song came out. SHE WASN'T EVEN BORN.

It had started off a quite a nice summer evening, if a little cloudy, but soon the weather began to torture us for enjoying '80s electronica. It started with a light refreshing rain, followed by a heavy, drenching shower, finished off with a delightful round of painful, belting hailstones marinated in a chilly breeze. This is really something to savour when you're standing in a forest, jumping up and down in muddy joy with a couple of hundred other people.

Once I'd forgotten about The Bextor and the horrible implications of my own mortality had faded (this took about ten minutes, as the attention span of an otter is short and easily led by shiny things) I was able to relax and enjoy the gig fully. Erasure came on stage and performed brilliantly. They played all the classics - 'A Little Respect', 'Ship of Fools' and one of my personal favourites 'Love To Hate You'. The crowd was a varied mixture of people both young and old, gay and straight, and the atmosphere was lovely. About halfway through the set, a man wearing fluorescent sunglasses pushed in front of us. I happened to glance downwards for a moment, and saw that he was carrying a clear plastic bag, filled with yellowish liquid. I hesitate to relay the following conversation, and not least because of what it concerns, but let's face it, you've heard me talk about worse.

Jen: That guy..

Me: What's in the bag? Is it a goldfish?

Jen: A...goldfish? Who brings a goldfish to a gig?

I admit, I hadn't thought the idea through fully.

Me: What is it then?

Jen: I think it's piss.

Me: I'm sorry?

Jen: Piss. He's carrying a bag of piss.

Me: Why? Why would anyone do that?!

Jen: It could be beer.

We all looked at the bag with reactions ranging from curiosity to plain horror. People around us were beginning to stare at the man with the bag.

Jen: If it is beer, I don't know how he'd pour it.

Me: I'm still stuck on the bag of piss idea. Somehow I can't get past it.

Jen: Hmm.

There was a pause as we tried to bend our minds around this concept.

Me: Do you think he has a bag of piss from every gig he's ever been to?

Jen: What, like a trophy?

Me: Yeah. Like, maybe he has a shelf above his bed where he keeps them all neatly labelled. That's what I'd do, if I had a bag of piss.

People were looking from Piss Bag Man to us for help, as if we would be able to offer answers. We distanced ourselves quickly, making clear we-have-no-idea-either-and-are-frankly-scared gestures. We may never know what he was carrying, since we were afraid to enquire further, so it will remain one of the great unsolved mysteries of our time, however I appreciate all suggestions.