You wouldn’t think it possible with the weather from the past few days, but I’ve been persuaded to go Californian and buy a pair of Rollerblades.
After a boozy Friday night I crawled out of bed and made it to the rollerblade shop on Mill Rd and got a lovely pair of Cylon boots with detatchable wheels on the bottom. Meeting some people at the Beehive Centre proved too much like exercise so we gave up after an hour and went drinking again.
It dulls the pain.
How nice are the people at Forbidden Planet
here in Cambridge? I went in a couple of weeks ago looking for Amazing Spiderman #42
a couple of weeks after it had come out and not surprisingly they had sold all their copies.
Once I asked the lovely manager if they had any, he offered to call around all the FP outlets in the UK to see if anyone had a spare copy. Eventually they had one on Coventry because aparantly no-one buys comics there, so I wandered into town yesterday on the free bus that work provides once a fortnight and picked it up. They still only charged the cover price despite the fact that it probably cost them that much to get it sent down and to phone around. Fantastic!
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.