Grumble grumble. Every time I go out with those fuckwits I end up fucking hammered.

The biggest problem with bloody musicians is that none of the fuckers have fucking jobs. Consequently concepts like 9am and ‘time to go to fucking work’ have no bloody meaning for the pillocks. Nor does ‘if you get home after 4am stinking of beer your wife might just go mental’. Nobody ever fucking warns me about these things.

Anyhow, I am less than an hour away from my Friday pub lunch down at the King’s Wark. Apart from being the workplace of the rather lovely Izzy, who comments here from time to time, it is also one of the finest scoffing establishments in Edinburgh. Yum. And did I mention that they have beer?

Oh, and I got into another fucking row at a gig, you’ll be amused to hear. During Eagleowl’s show last night some silly Aussie tart came in and started jabbering away, and clearly wasn’t enjoying the music. This is fine, of course; you can’t demand that anyone likes anything, but then again if you aren’t enjoying it then Edinburgh is hardly devoid of other fucking pubs in which you might drink. If you don’t like it, sweethert, then instead of talking through the bastard thing, why not just Go Away. Eventually I suggested, in my usual diplomatic way, that she might wish to enjoy her recreation in the other fucking room if she wasn’t enjoying herself. Unfortunately, in the usual manner of vacuous bimbos, she continued to want to discuss the matter endlessly and wouldn’t just piss off and leave people to enjoy themselves.

To make matters worse, it then turned out that the grotty old mare was there with Matt, who is a friend of mine and a really lovely bloke, and who managed to stay remarkably calm whilst I insulted his pal. I do open my mouth occasionally, people, but it is usually just to change feet.

The worst thing was that later on we bumped into a couple of other plastered members of the Edinburgh music community and they confirmed that they had also heard me shush people a gigs before. So I am becoming known as the Edinburgh Gig Wheeshter which is not, I have to confess, terribly rock and roll. Honestly though – just shut up or go the fuck away. No-one is forcing you to enjoy it, but no-one is stopping just bloody sodding off either.

Grrr. Anyway, friday, bunch of favourites, de-lurk, etc etc…

You will be pleased to know that Roni Brunn from From sent me an email last night and given the monumental ripping she got from everyone, she was incredibly gracious. So whether or not you like her music it seems like she is a nice lass. Feel bad yet? You should.

1. Best Indiana Jones movie.
2. Custard or rice pud?
3. Painful comedian you actually like (NOT Adam fucking Sandler).
4. Drew Barrymore deserves to die. How should she achieve this?
5. Silliest sports kit – with pictures please.

Gerry Mitchell & Little Sparta – Nocturne in C
Neil Young – Heart of Gold
The Wallflowers – Josephine (For those of you who don’t know, this is Dylan Jr.)
Ghostkeeper – Solid Gold
Marcy Playground – All the Lights Went Out
That last song is one I used to listen to a lot when I first met Mrs. Toad. I lived a long way away at the time and we only saw each other every couple of weeks, and I was so dazed and in love I used to sit at my desk and hum along to this all the time… ♫yes today, all the lights went out…♪ I was developing a soft spot for the girl even then, it seems.

Ian from Broken Records sent me this, by the way. The Luminaire fucking rocks.