Here's a rare shot from the day job - with Bob and Marisa at the Mentoring awards on Monday: good speech Bob!
And here's Mr Spizz with ace drummer, caterer and thespian Justin Denim at Acoustic Suicide on Thursday:
Folllowed swiftly by Bristol's S J Esau putting in a stirling performance at the very end of Saturday's show, just after we managed to eradicate the various gremlins that had accompanied the studio move, providing the show with a little extra frisson.
And the now rather creepy empty space that was once the conrol room and has taken on the feel of present-day Chernobyl.
And since it's all change round here, a last photo of the Piccadilly Weepers (or at least one of them), which have finally succumbed to the razor blade in the face of encroaching greyness, an impending passport renewal photograph and a bloke shouting 'Teenage Werewolf' at me in the street the other night. It was fun having the Iberian peninsular etched upon my cheeks in salt and pepper facial hair, and we had some good times together, but all things must end.
2 comments:
NNNNOOOOOOOO!
!!Two pigeon wing beats pass in a lifetime style slow motion!!
You giveth with one hand and yet taketh away with the other (or at least shaveth). Back with an update but what heart wrenching news it carries!
We'll miss those old buggers (grips). And what's wrong with being called a Teenage Werewolf anyway? Better than middleaged W...or N London W...surely? And how are we all meant to plan our touring holidays in Spain now, eh?
Tch
I have to say I do feel rather naked without the chops. As for the middleaged and North London genus of werewolf (homolobus pipeandslipperus and homolobus ponce, to give them their technical terms), I'd be quite comfortable with the former, which after all would be more accurate, but would have to take the razor to my throat if ever confused with the latter.
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