(Somewhat belated, but the farting's stopped now.)

Maybe it's just because it's the holiday season, or maybe it's because folks think this site is so crap that the band must be as well, but it has to be acknowledged that the gigs - are - getting - a - bit - thin - on - the - ground - at - the - moment . . . . . . .

Help ! - H E L P ! ! - Wife and two guitars to support !

Oh, Lord. Stuck in LODI again !

Is it because they're mainly wrinkled, sad, ugly, dodgy old bastards with bald patches & shite amps ? - (Seems to work fine for some !)

Is it the 'performance' ? Is it, er, "sacrilegious" ? What ?

Is it the material ? - (See later bit.)

Is it the smell ? - (Steps have been taken. See another later bit.)

Or is this all just a fream, a dreaky, dreaky fream ? - Are we lost on the cusp, the wrong side of the Stargate, or in John Peel's lad's room ?

Yisder Asmeni Orsiz Arsiz Asderiz Orsiz ?

Will the wolf survive ?

Can live men sing The Dead ?

Or are the Pranksters having a joke at our expense ? - Whose Huge Nose Knows ? - Hugh ? - Or maybe YOU ? - Share it with your chums.

Maybe it's a case of being cosmically out of step in a big way since The Eclipse, (or musically out of the Uptown Two-Step ?), so "The Lads" have sought refuge in Whimsy of late (it's three pints up the road from Scarborough, so I'm told) and they've attempted to exorcise their Daemons combing the beaches, in the woods, in the pie shops, and in the nocturnal solitude of a self-imposed Spartan exile, no Blyth pun intended.

The upshot is 'a whole raft' (Which TWAT came up with THAT ?) of Pieces of Tosh for your consumption, delectation and delight, Layz'n'Gem. Pretentious yes, but no-one can gainsay that they are indeed in Technicolour . . . . ish.

(Note: "Layz’n’Gem" is ‘Strine’, lifted from a novel "The Outcasts of Foolgarrah", which is well worth a read if you can find it. It’s a ‘Bloke fights The System‘ thing . . .)

Precisely how, why, when & where he wrote it is not admitted at this time, but he reserves the right to speak on this further at a later date.

"Take me on a trip that's hip

And way out far beyond the outer limits

Of this ectoplasmic psychedelic song,

Where we can wander through a staircase

To a dark, celestial hole,

Where the quasars and the pulsars

Watch the cosmic pinballs roll.

Then we find ourselves returning

To the place we couldn't find

And we'll wake up in the morning,

© Denny (Laffin' Bones), 1999

Yes, I think you'll agree that Le Capitain Sinistre found a way . . . .

'Tis a soft day.

At the Standing Stone by the Mail Road Cross, the sound of the curlew.

The Windy Pass. The Mountain of the Eagle.

Ghosts of eremitic Holy Men in their beehive huts.

On, to dreams of setting sail from Brandon Creek, seeking the Heavenly Isles.

On, to follow the Sacred Fish to the Island of Women.

The Street of the Two Gates.

One leads down a Dark Road

Through the Field of Blood to the Valley of the Mad,

Where Lord and Lady bear endless witness to The Rout of Souls

Lost in the trying, trying,

Trying to pass the Stone of the Moon through The Eye of The Needle,

Condemned to remain Slaves of The Wheel that spins eternal.

The other road is a Rocky Road, through the Field of The Cross,

Past a Medieval Church to the Green Fields of the Monks,

Past a Holy Well, a well that cures horses,

Through the Gates of Glory to the Fort of Gold.

The Faeries went from the land in 1920 . . .

Their likes will not be seen again . . .

(CopCon -Thi'said'e'adalightoutburredint)

(The Traffic Policemen told a whopper: They said he had a light out but he didn't.)

To précis the above, he seems to be saying "Save Our Souls", or something similar sounding but, as is usual with Mr. Bottom End, it's tenths where you'd expect fifths, or maybe not. I really didn't know he was into 'the sacred Phish', (that's Heresy in some quarters !), but the anal content was inevitable, of course. He often digs it out with his plectrum, but fingers are more in evidence of late. Hmm. He doesn't fret much either.

That Eclipse has a lot to answer for. (And DON'T shake his hand.)

The good news is that his piles appear to have gone on vacation.

Perhaps being skint is good for the system ?

Never mind, what they don't sell will come in handy to keep 'em warm through the Winter. But seriously, this is a limited edition run, featuring Timmy's hauntingly apocalyptic artwork on goujons of hysteria, flanked by medallions of melancholia, on a fresh green platter of locoweed, about to be abducted by aliens or a big pink elephant, all under the watchful eye of a big black bird, and done in the best possible taste. . . . . . and then that fat digital plagiarising bastard Thewlis went and coloured it in . . . . . . he's just a big kid. Here's a taste. The real thing is a squillion times more biggerer !

If business is brisk, Timmy will get his wish and future runs will bear his original monochromatic (she said "Be sharp" but he drew it in A flat) unadulterated, unsullied artwork, and maybe we'll have hats as well for next year, so hurry up and buy this lot as they're sure to be priceless artefacts one day. (Either that or Arse-less Prytefacts !!)

Only a tenner for one of each, T-shirt and poster, though separates are also entertained. Go on, feed the needy.

___________________________

Before a word could be uttered, she said, "Sorry, I can't serve you." This puzzled the travel-weary trio, so they sought explanation, only to be given the same phrase repeatedly, and nothing by way of reason.

They were dressed like most of the other patrons, were not in any way the worse for wear, and had done nothing to cause offence since coming onto the premises, so what was their crime ? Simply, THEY WERE STRANGERS !

(Obviously this was a LOCAL PUB, for LOCAL PEOPLE ! - Never saw Tubs though . . maybe she's HIS wife now . . . )

So, if you want a warm welcome in Hartlepool, don't go to THE WHITE HOUSE because it's not what you're looking for. The considered opinion of the band afterwards was that they had ventured into that enclave wherein dwell the descendants of that earlier crowd who asphyxiated a harmless member of the ape family, in the solemn belief that it was a French spy ! Everyone else in the town was friendly, so this lot of pillocks seem to have needlessly given the town a bad name. Shame on them.

For the record, being refused service on licensed premises is something that had never happened to any of the band before. To commemorate this, a ditty is being knocked into shape. You might guess what the chorus rhyme is likely to be . . ..

In the meantime, why not dip into our Guest Book and let us know which 3 Dead songs you would most like us to get into the set. The results will be posted next month (ish) and updated until the big light goes out. Cheers.

Or you could Email us with your thoughts and words (and even those bits in between) . . Who knows, we might even manage to rehearse some of 'em.

Thanks again to all correspondents, even those who clamour for T-shirts then somehow manage to fail to purchase when the chance presents itself !

It's a funny old world, innit ? Why not just say YOU were also skint ? It's cool . . . well, nah, it's not cool to be skint, is it ? Sorry.

Lastly, a big "Ta, lad" to Jim-Bob who beavers away into the small hours knocking this Bag O' ----- into Web friendly code for us. He's off back into Academia soon, so future offerings might tend to be a bit crap in comparison. If they are, blame Thewlis, as usual.

Save up for the album at Christmas. Sod VIZ this year, eh ?

__________________

and an insight into delirium in the middle of a recent gig.

** Anybody else wanna gie us a GIG ? (Not THE WHITE HOUSE !)

** Buy the pair and receive CASHBACK !