I've just got back from The Pixies concert here in Melbourne.
My voice is gone.
I've danced and sang for the last two hours.
I've been drinking cider. Not sure if this is a good or bad thing, as cider has some strange effects on me - but I didn't get to the manky, slutty stage, so that is fine.
There is an orange wrist band on my right arm. We sat in a booth. It was very cool.
But I will write about this at a later date. I need to imbibe a lot of water, talk to my cat and digest the awesomeness that is The Pixies. I might also
Black Francis is still god.
I drummed away with Dave Lovering.
I marvelled at the technique of Joey Santiago.
And loved how Paz is fitting in so well.
For an hour and a half, I went off like a frog in a sock.
At 54, I still got it.
Now I will do my French lesson and go to bed.
And ponder this message froma friend about Clinkers.
"My friend, who comes from the west country in the UK said that they refer to a piece of toilet paper that is inadvertently stuck to her girl bits or bum as a clinker. Imagine her surprise on arriving in Aus & found choc covered Clinkers in the confectionery aisle."
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