Last night I managed to head off see The Flaming Lips in the Junction. Having never heard the band before I was ready for anything, but I’ve had good luck and not a little help in getting to see good bands since I’ve been here so why not.
All I can say is, “Bloody hell! Was that just the most orgasmic musical experience I’ve ever had or what?” The Lips had us eating out of the palms of their hands. Consummate showmen without a hint of arrogance or bravado, they played over an hour of the best rawk music I’ve heard. Of course they’re well known for She Don’t Use Jelly (a song I was delighted to recognise), their new album is absolutely fantastic. I’d recommend you all run, don’t walk to the web site for a listen and then go out and buy the bloody thing.
As if that wasn’t a perfect night, the support bands were excellent too. The young Silverfish with an interesting Travis-like sound and Bob Mould who is indescribable. Picture it: a bald thirtyish man plaing heavy indie rock accompanied by a drum machine and various electronic sounds. No it’s not Beck, it’s much less depressing than that.
So there you go. Two nice records to go find and rock to.
After only four matches it’s all over for us. Despite playing their little hearts out, the Irish team are heading home to a heroes welcome. Continuing the tactic of letting in an early goal and clawing through ninety minutes to a spectacular draw, McCarthy’s Eleven went on to take shot after shot at the Spanish goal before losing on penalties. The irony when compared to Italy 1990 is far from lost on me.
On the other hand I did go to see Spiderman during the week. What a fantastic movie. This is everything the Episode II should have been and now with Ang Lee‘s Hulk coming up, it looks like it’s going to be a good year for comic book fans.
Another hint: Check out The Libertines. I saw them at the Peterborough Met on Friday and even though they only played for a half hour, they were amazing. I’ve a feeling these guys are going to be bigger than Blur or Oasis combined. Punk isn’t dead – there is finally life after Steps.
Beer, beer, beer, beer. Beer, beer, beer, beer. Yes, I spent last night at the Cambridge Beer festival over on Jesus Green. An enormous tent filled with a bizarre mixture of students, professionals, Iron Maiden wannabes, normal folks, and strange facial haired CAMRA members. There must have been a hundred or so types of beer for sale and the weather so so good we say in the sun drinking away.
One hint though, if you ask for Stout, don’t expect to be handed a Guinness or Murphy’s. It tastes more like porter that’s been left sitting in the slops tray for a couple of years, heated up, and then served in a filthy glass which was last use for storing sewage.
Two words to strike fear into the heart of adult and child alike: Root Canal.
I’ve had an abcess for a while ever since I had to get eight fillings in one go and decided to find an NHS dentist to take care of it. Little did I know that it’d involve five injections of anaestethic, much drilling, and a good looking dentist poking around in the soft tissue of my gum for fourty minutes all made worse by having my appointment at eight in the morning.
The only thing that kept me sane was munching on Ibuprofen for the rest of the day. I’m probably over my limit, but I’ve a low tolerence for pain and a high tolerence for drugs.
Six days rest not before I go back for more drilling. Good time to watch Marathon Man again.
That was a busy weekend. First I went down to London to meet Iain and then he came back up to Cambridge to potter about the town.
I arrived in London in the afternoon and of course we went down Tottenham Court Road where I went and got a digital camera for next to nothing. Then on to another part of London – South Kensington – and the Science Museum. We hadn’t much time there but we got to see the introductory exhibit, the Space stuff, and some odd, old, household appliances. A cheap Chinese buffet for dinner and then on to O’Neill’s Irish pub to meet Elizabeth, Iain’s girlfriend. I was the only one drinking, but then again, you have to when playing a gooseberry.
Got the last, cancelled, train home and fell asleep. It’s not good for the heart to be woken up by someone banging on the window at the station at 2am, no matter how good looking she is. My chat-up line of, “Oh fuck, sweet Jaysis” didn’t go down well, so I muttered a quiet thanks and wombled off to the taxi rank.
Getting back into the work thing now. We moved out the a shiny new office in the Science Park over the weekend, and surprisingly everything more or less worked when I get in. I’ve gone from a very cramped, open-plan office to a lovely view of the UUnet building out a window, half-sized partitions, and more then a foot’s distance from my boss. The only thing is, it’s supposed to be closer, but it seems like it takes me longer to cycle in the morning.