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shermaramaI got up far too early for a Sunday morning, grumpy and surly and unwilling to leave, but I made all sail through breakfast and the leaving of the household including its chocolate-fuelled small child, and my phone not having miraculously risen from the dead before dawn (damn these superstitions) I was still without a portable timepiece but I strapped on my various luggage and did my best stride over the two miles to Cambridge station to be sure to catch the rail replacement bus *spit*. Only when I got there, there were semi-fasts running to Kings Cross after all, even with the tube transfer time making that a better bet than a bus all the way to Bishop's Stortford and a stopping train to Liverpool Street. The matter of having utterly forgotten about the hour change (this laptop knows. My phone would know, if it was alive. Us squishy things just don't have the programming.) was trivial; I could assume that half the band and probably the people running the practice rooms would have fallen foul too, or just plead having had to get up too early as it was.
Everything from there on was going so well. Tubes and food supplies and train to Seven Kings. No response at the door when I got there, but there often isn't and I have to ring someone. Only, as previously mentioned, my phone is dead, and I clearly remember the moment of decision on Thursday of leaving my address book behind, the one with the paper back-ups of numbers for when my phone is dead, so though I had change for a payphone I had nowt to phone with it. Now there's an internet shop just opened right by the studios so I paid the 50p minimum charge and found Paul's number by rummaging on the web. The studio's number is printed on their outside wall and I did try it first but got nothing but a 30p charge for an earful of fax machine, so I tried Paul.
The dead phone, when I shove four volts up its rear end later on, is going to bring me important news. The guitarist, it seems, after cancelling months of practices, claiming to be moving back south for almost as long as I've known him whilst never actually doing so and causing us to have to turn down several gigs and even cancel booked ones, has now decided that he's 'got no enthusiasm left' for the band. So there's no practice today and we're going to have to find another lead guitarist. Forgive my tone, right now I'm on a train home from Essex when I could have been in Cambridge eating a roast dinner that couldn't be beat, I mean, he could have decided this sometime in the three weeks since the last practice, or even when he cancelled last week's intended one, but that's not actually important and I'm finding it unfairly easy to overcook this.
It might be worse to reveal that beyond the immediate irritation of having left a warm bed full of boyfriend for no good reason, I'm really not that bothered. It's not that Yus wasn't a pretty nifty guitarist. We're unlikely to get a replacement with as good a grasp of shred and squealing and the effects and over-the-top stuff; we've got a good solid rhythm guitar filling space already, we need someone who can do the extravagant end. No-one else is going to have the shared years and close links with Oz, and Yus's properly metal sound was giving the drums more matching context. Just, well, there are other things that another guitarist can bring, possibly, I'm not even sure what but I'm looking forward to looking already. We need to get this back into action again and a shake-up can only help, I think.
Everything from there on was going so well. Tubes and food supplies and train to Seven Kings. No response at the door when I got there, but there often isn't and I have to ring someone. Only, as previously mentioned, my phone is dead, and I clearly remember the moment of decision on Thursday of leaving my address book behind, the one with the paper back-ups of numbers for when my phone is dead, so though I had change for a payphone I had nowt to phone with it. Now there's an internet shop just opened right by the studios so I paid the 50p minimum charge and found Paul's number by rummaging on the web. The studio's number is printed on their outside wall and I did try it first but got nothing but a 30p charge for an earful of fax machine, so I tried Paul.
The dead phone, when I shove four volts up its rear end later on, is going to bring me important news. The guitarist, it seems, after cancelling months of practices, claiming to be moving back south for almost as long as I've known him whilst never actually doing so and causing us to have to turn down several gigs and even cancel booked ones, has now decided that he's 'got no enthusiasm left' for the band. So there's no practice today and we're going to have to find another lead guitarist. Forgive my tone, right now I'm on a train home from Essex when I could have been in Cambridge eating a roast dinner that couldn't be beat, I mean, he could have decided this sometime in the three weeks since the last practice, or even when he cancelled last week's intended one, but that's not actually important and I'm finding it unfairly easy to overcook this.
It might be worse to reveal that beyond the immediate irritation of having left a warm bed full of boyfriend for no good reason, I'm really not that bothered. It's not that Yus wasn't a pretty nifty guitarist. We're unlikely to get a replacement with as good a grasp of shred and squealing and the effects and over-the-top stuff; we've got a good solid rhythm guitar filling space already, we need someone who can do the extravagant end. No-one else is going to have the shared years and close links with Oz, and Yus's properly metal sound was giving the drums more matching context. Just, well, there are other things that another guitarist can bring, possibly, I'm not even sure what but I'm looking forward to looking already. We need to get this back into action again and a shake-up can only help, I think.