Dont Bother To Rate This

I was going to write about getting a new leather jacket for Reading,
but I dont think I'll bother. Instead I will comment on the rating
system. How can you rate this as "1". It is not even writing, its more
a series of notes about me getting sorted for Reading. I really don't
know how you can rate this as bad. Are you listening? In fact I dont
know how you rate this is anything.

I dont want ratings, I certainly don't want a load of "1"s, I dont want
this work to be rated at all.

I was listening to Green Day's new album this morning and then I got
the bus to town and I bought a leather jacket.

That's it.

I might mention I messaged someone and got no reply. I might mention
that I got the bus so I could talk to them.

I might mention I got depressed because someone said "I thought you
could play guitar."

I might mention that I can. Leastways I think I can, even if trying to
play an acoustic in a shop in a public area was a bit daunting.

I might mention that I would like to form a band.

I might mention that I was asked if I was playing at Reading.

Yeah right....

Manny the manager called round the squat and said that we were
supporting 20/20 vision tonight at the Green Gable. Ham was breaking
wind having eaten the last of the baked beans and Joe was trying to
restring the bass he had bust a string on, I mean that was some going,
half way through Midnight Hour and twannnnnggg. I fell about laughing,
Joe glared at the Fender Precision bass and it glared back at him, then
we put the Clash on as without a new string we couldnt play. Tonic was
looking through the catalogue for new drum skins and Erin was cleaning
her teeth, and I play rhythm guitar.

The Green Gables is about two miles away from the squat which itself is
a huge Victorian house with a secret link to electric and the water,
and I am not sure if it is haunted. Erin reckons it is, I think it may
be, Joe has taken to wearing a crucifix, just in case.

We rehearse in a room at the back of the house, mostly. We all have our
own rooms. This is house is big, even has a garden.

Manny says what are we playing: "What's the play list?" He asks, as if
he doesnt know. He insists we play Scarred Life, which we hate. I
suggest that we do Real Friends in its place, Manny disagrees and moans
a lot.

Erin comes out from the bathroom and asks who forgot to flush the bog.
We all look at each other and Tonic goes red, tries to hide behind his
catalogue.

Ham mentions that we have six pints in the fridge. He points at me, and
asks why I am not eating at present.

"Because I am too fat," I reply. "I may write about it."

Erin pouts: "If you do, I wont sing it, you can instead while I make
with the tambourine."

Erin is beautiful when she is like this. We all fancy her. I write love
songs about her and she usually pouts and refuses to have anything to
do with them. Joe tried to persuade her to sing a Kinks song, and she
gave him a kick. She is a lot better than she used to be. I remember
about two months ago she used to cry constantly at night. Joe would say
"Is she still crying?" and we would go in with a huge pack of Doritoes
and a tape of David Bowie but that usually made her cry even more. It
was like this for ten nights in a row then I took her out for a curry,
and we sorta got drunk and, well, never mind...we understand each
other.

Manny is still standing there. He looks like Maclcom McLaren on a windy
day, he must be the only guy I know who has a seriously huge Leo Sayer
haircut. It's part of image. He always wears white suits and brown
brogues. Erin tried to get him to dress like Jake Elwood once after we
saw the Blues Brothers but he wasnt having any of it. He doesn't even
like blues, spends most of the time writing letters to radio stations
asking them to play more glam rock and seventies motown.

We button up and get the gear into the transit van which Manny drives.
I think the tax is paid up, I hope so.

Erin and I sit in the front with Manny, while Tonic Joe and Ham argue
in the back about how little room there is to sit what with the
equipment and all. Joe says that he wants fish and chips after.
"Optimist," I tell him. Erin stares out of the window but a smile is on
her lips.