You don’t recover from the Stooges.


You can’t, its just not possible. This has been medically proven.


( I may have made this up but as a Doctor of Rockology ,I am not to be trifled with you fucks….)

Not ever. Not from the 1st time you hear them to the last time you were blessed enough to see them. You just patch your existence together in the meanwhile.

Lord James Newell Osterberg? I am your dog for life sir.

You are talking to a woman who has “Search and Destroy” tattooed across her ribs for gods sake….

You just impatiently wait and pray for the next time. If I had of started writing this last night I would have still been awake from the gig. Oh The Horden pavilion! How many  nasty nights I have spent with a million volts coursing though my vicious veins with my sexy boot clad feet stuck to your floor. If your hallowed walls could talk I would curl at their skirting boards and listen to their hero filled fables till the day I died. Rock and roll, I am naught but your slave and conduit. Forever I shall serve your decibel drenched desires. Bow before your amps, my  spine bent with sonic supplication  and a cranium crammed with a swarm of  Gibson toting bees.

I am yours.

Seeing my big brother rocking out with a big smile on his face was worth everything to me. He kept pulling my tail and cackling whenever James Williamson ripped it up or Iggy pulled a perfect shape. I was half way between a heart attack and an orgasm the whole time. Lilli staggered out of the pit post show with yet another foot print on her forehead and a huge smile on her face. I told her that she should start wearing a hat to shows. “Why?” she yelled with post show deafness and the fact that we had both forgotten to take our ear plugs out ” Because ‘  I bellowed pulling the offending rubber from my ear canals “If I was stage-diving I would aim for the red dot in the crowd”

I think I have a point. I know I have a point.

Fuck me. After playing an acoustic show on Sunday then jamming with The Squirters and Los Hombres on Monday night then yelling my fool head off at the Stooges all night I now sound like Peter Brady in that episode of the Brady bunch when his voice breaks. This means I should shut the fuck up in preparation for Fridays show. Ohhhhh! So excited. May make a puddle. May write a message to Nate on my bum cheek just to see if he can hold it together when I flash him round about half way through the set….. Its going to be wild. I get to play with my Wollongong angels Bruce! and my bro and my amazing band. Thraxx will be selling you tee-shirts on the night and belting you if you don’t buy,Lilli will be photographing the events and I will be in hot pants.

So all is well with the world.

What the fuck else do you want on a Friday night?

I’m going to go and interfere with myself to “Dirt” and try and sleep.Seven minutes of perfect bass line and Iggy should be long enough to knock the top off it methinks.