See how the good times roll

Wow! Fabbo time! We may have had a tad of alcomoholicsismness, perhaps. True fcat.


The Ego Warrior in person 

The Rutles were great. I danced a lot. For some reason many of the rest of the audience were zombies. Or dead. They stood motionless throughout, which surely isn't possible if you have an ounce of music in your soul. And if you haven't, why are you at a gig? Ned roundly applauded the band whilst still holding his drink which was promptly worn by the bloke (and his lady) in front. Luckily the bloke didn't seem to mind. Too much. I'm not sure about her though.

Random thought - if you're a bloke, and you want to have your hair very short, make sure you have neat ears. A velvety-plush skull which resembles a wingnut is not a Good Look.

Then someone groped my bum. He was either blind drunk or just blind. We identified who it was, though (by the way he changed position when I swapped places with Lorry), and enormous amusement was had by us three as I danced some more and got ogled. Gosh, it's a long time since anyone tried to pull me! Lorry and I had our slapping hands ready, and Ned had his 'decking fist' primed.

Walking back to the car we passed the remnants of a wedding reception, as the bride and groom bade their farewells to honoured guests. By judicious use of less-than-subtle wrestling holds we managed to hustle Lorry around the corner before she shrieked "Don't do it, you fool! They're all bastards!"

On the drive home the tosser behind us had too many lights on, so Lorry mooned him, which we think he appreciated, as he flashed us when he turned off. No, Mallers, I didn't get a picture for the gallery. Sorry.

Ego-warriors thumb their noses.