SLAMMATOWN: Annual Goth Day

Once in a blue moon, well once a year really, the Goths of Enmore have a festival. They call it Under The Blue Moon Festival, I like to call it Annual Goth Day. This year I attended Annual Goth Day (AGD) by accident, the same way one might attend the instant death of a commuter who stood too close to the edge of a railway platform and got sucked off by a passing freight train.


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Step One - for bringing back dinosaurs

Read 'In the time of the dinosaur' by Elliot Perlman. It will definitely help.

Oh shit

The ARIA awards gave me media accreditation. Now I have to come up with a way to get to Balmain to collect the pass, something to wear, a device for carrying spare pens and a grand plan. A plan grander than any other plan. So far I've got this - I am going to interview Richard Wilkins about his hair.

Some Peachettes like paints

Zebsicle - spray paint, poscas and burners

K2, our newest Peachette*, likes paint. She likes the kind that sprays, the kind that comes in a texta and the  kind you need to apply with a brush. She's started making a name for herself around town, which is nice. This Thursday K2 will be exhibiting in a group show at aMBUSH Gallery as part of the Changing Lanes Festival. Art will be for sale, etc blah fundraiser for FBI radio.


Check out the aMBUSH Gallery website for details.

* Right, so, I might have forgotten to mention that The Spatula discharged herself from The Peach around Easter time. It was agreed that there is only room for one exceedingly annoying person in The Peach at any one time and seeing as I was the most exceedingly annoying person ever it made sense that I should stay and she should go. The Spatula packed up her 59246708274607402867085376 chattels and departed The Peach forever. We had a small party after she left because, let's face it, any excuse for a small party will do.

Now let's talk about K2. K2 is young, swinging and like a breath of fresh air. She shares my penchant for creative pursuits, rock and roll music, shooting inanimate objects with water pistols and drinking beer. Life is sweet at The Peach. To your right is an unauthorised photograph of K2 readying her painting paraphernalia. I have no idea what burners are but
I do know that you need a bed sheet in the front yard to make them work properly.

Slamma makes a telephone call

Sometimes a Slamma will telephone a Spencer.

S: Hello! What! [sound of fifty men having a singalong in background]
DS: What on earth are you doing?
S: Having a singalong.
DS: Where?
S: Courty. You coming?
DS: Nope.
S: What?
DS: Nope.
S: Wait I'm going to lie down on the floor so I can hear you better.
DS: How will that help?
S: It will. Hang on. See?
DS: Nope. Did you say you were at the pub?
S: Yep.
DS: Maybe don't lie on the floor at the pub. You'll get kicked out.
S: I won't get kicked out. They can see I'm on the telephone.
DS: Why does that help.
S: Don't be stupid. Did you see you were coming to the pub?
DS: Nope.
S:What?
DS: Nope.
S. I thought you said yes.
DS: No, it was no.
S: I'm on the floor now under the table.

SLAMMATOWN - Carry bread, fly a fast jet and use men for sex

Sometimes I wish words of wisdom would fall out of the sky and knock some sense into my head. So far this has never happened. I believe the time has come to compile a partially annotated list of advice I’ve received from old people, in case any of us ever need it.

Let’s start with advice from my mum, who is not really that old yet.
“Never play with explosives in the garage because you might blow off the tops of your thumbs. If this happens you will not be able to be a jet fighter pilot because your thumbs will be too short to reach the ‘fire rockets’ buttons.”

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