Morning/ afternoon/ evening, Voodoo fans. How are you? Hope you’re keeping well. Long time, no blog.
Anyway, yeah we’re playing Download. Please come and see us. We’ve been practicing and we reckon these new songs are amazing (Nik’s been writing some weird shit about the pains of being left-handed or something). With it being Download and everything (did I mention we’re playing Download? No? We are), we thought we should probably try and familiarise ourselves with our own material, so, in honour of our beloved sovereign on this auspicious weekend, we packed ourselves off in the van and headed in the general direction of London. Who knew we’d end up in Petersfield? Honestly, with navigational skills like this I’m surprised we get anywhere
Ha ha, only joking, we went to Petersfield deliberately to see Nik because that’s where he lives (take note, stalkers). Had a mini, singerless practice on Friday night (which went well), made myself a packed lunch on Saturday morning (because I’m cool) and wandered over to Carl’s to meet the gang and off we went. First revelation of the trip: Paul’s got problems with his lead (not a euphemism) so we could only listen to the 20-or-so songs he’s got on his USB stick (not a euphemism) for the duration of this very long journey. They got a bit boring. I used to quite like Rusty Cage, too.
Anyway, we picked Rich up on our way and, a few rounds of USB stick later (not a euphemism), we were rocking up outside Nik’s cool rock and roll pad ready for like a million beers and some lines of coke. And he had a new kitten! We stroked the kitten and left the drugs for later, as we weren’t feeling very snorty after our long journey. Still, there was plenty of other excitement on offer, as we arrived just in time to see the thrilling second half of Wondrous Roy Hodgson’s England vs. Belgium! That’s right!
As I discovered, England under Roy Hodgson are not as entertaining as a kitten. Stick a kitten in at left-back, say (not an important position, obviously, I’m not stupid) and the whole thing should be much more watchable for the punters.
Another thing about Roy Hodgson: he looks a bit like my grandma. That is all.
Anyway, we watched the football. Sorry about that digression, if you’re not a football fan. Won’t happen again (still, didn’t Rodgers do well in his first press conference? Very self-assured, I thought). After the football, Nik took us to Tesco to buy some booze (we left the cocaine to brew for a bit. It’s better that way, there’s an art to it), and we headed off to his mate’s house for a barbecue- hooray! Having been a vegetarian for several years, barbecues are a disproportionate pleasure for me, and I couldn’t wait to get in there and sink my sharp carnivorous teeth into the delicious animals I’d been foolishly denying myself for so many years. Om nom nom, as the kids say.
Anyway, Nik’s friend was called Willy Bumface. A local celebrity, I shouldn’t wonder, due to his unusual name (although it later turned out that wasn’t his real name- quite a deceitful man, Willy). Willy’s mum- Mrs. Bumface- was also there, hanging out her washing, and was very cool about having her home invaded by a bunch of moody-looking (but really quite friendly) rock stars and a load of other, less important people. The conversation sparkled, the animals were delicious, and a fun time was had by all.
One particular conversation stood out, where Nik told us about a strange sexual practice known as docking. Not the kind of docking demonstrated by princes Philip, Charles and other members of the royal family yesterday when alighting their flotilla (probably), but actually one of those lewd homosexual acts, where, during the act of congress, one man stretches his foreskin over the end of the other man’s penis and then… we’re not really sure. Can’t quite see where it would go from there, to be honest. Do they just stand there? We were very amused by it, anyway, and spent the rest of the evening substituting ‘dock’ for ‘rock’ in a number of popular lyrics and clichés (“suppose a dock’s out of the question”, “we will dock you”- steady on, Freddie, “let’s dock”. That sort of thing). It was amazing. Made me think it’d be fun, when we’re massive (which we obviously will be) to play loads of coastal towns and shout “any dockers in tonight?”, and then there’d be a massive cheer from all these big, burly blokes and we’d all cover our mouths and snigger. Obviously, there’s all kinds of reasons why I want the band to do well, but that’s definitely up there. That’d show all the stupid people living on the coast. Idiots. Don’t you know about global warming? Voodoo Johnson hates you. Please come to our gigs, though. Especially if you’re a docker.
After all the docking talk, I decided it take up my natural position (not that one) at the iPod ‘dock’ (it wasn’t really a dock, it was a computer, but I was making a joke) and commandeer me some party tunes. I picked a few Voodoo-friendly numbers (Curl of the Burl, We Die Young, Ride the Lightning, It’s a Long Way to the Top (if you Wanna Dock and Roll) and many, many more all-time smash hits) and I was even about to put on Sleepwalker (very vain of me, but the drumming really is amazing), before I was usurped in my prime by someone who wanted to put on some different songs after I’d had it for about an hour. How selfish.
Anyway, we left in a huff, and ended up in the middle of Petersfield at a pub (Nik’s sister’s pub, in fact). The docking talk continued, and we chatted for a while in the pissing southern rain before heading back to Nik’s for bed and cocaine. When we got back, the cocaine still wasn’t quite ready, so we left it to settle for a bit and watched a Slash gig from last year on Nik’s Sky+ (which he didn’t know how to work, the stupid luddite). It was quite good, but not as good as sleeping, so that’s what we did. I was in Nik’s front room with Carl, and Paul and Rich were in the van, so I don’t really know what they got up to, but I’m assuming they docked and docked and docked.
We were woken by the sound of a kitten playing with a bin liner. Kittens are less cute when you’re trying to sleep and the idea of one of them playing for England seemed preposterous to me now, unless the opposition were all trying to sleep and we wanted to annoy them into submission. And you don’t need a kitten for that when you’ve got Jordan Henderson- boom boom! Anyway, the kitten woke us up, Paul and Rich turned up all docked out after a night in the van and we had bacon and sausage and kitten sandwiches. I mean bacon and sausage sandwiches. Which were excellent. We then watched an episode of Ridiculousness and some Man V Food- this is Nik’s level (not like me, I managed to read a book over the weekend! A book! That’s right!)- headed into town to buy some headache tablets and stuff for our poor hungover selves, Nik headed into work to pick up his pay (fortunately, they hadn’t docked his wages- snort), then went to Tesco to get some ice cream, since the cocaine still wasn’t ready; it was a little bit tart.
Anyway, after all that, we thought it would probably be a good idea to go and practice our songs, since that’s what we were there for. So, we all bundled into the van and headed off down the A3 to Portsmouth. Or ‘Pompey’ as the locals call it. Stupid name. Bet there were loads of dockers around there.
The studio was nice and roomy. Good acoustics (technical band term- you wouldn’t understand) and with excellent parking. Mmm. Anyway, we played a few tunes, mucked about a bit, worked on some new stuff and some harmonies and that was that. Good practice. Sorry if that’s the bit you wanted to hear about, but I’m much more into all the docking talk.
So… we took Nik home, I got a doggy bag of cocaine, and off we toddled back up the M40. On reflection, Sunday was a really boring day and Saturday was much more exciting- isn’t that always the way? We listened to Paul’s familiar old USB stick on the way home (not that one, and I don’t quite see what you’d gain by listening to it anyway. Unless he was doing a wee, and that’s still hardly my idea of a good time), I finished my book, bought a really quite delectable butterscotch and pecan slice, and it pissed down with rain. Rubbish.
We got home at about ten, cleared out the van and said our goodbyes. Next stop Download, I guess- woo!
Anyway, quick summary of the blog for any of you tech-savvy geeks out there who want to do some trending: docking, kittens for England, Paul’s USB stick, Willy Bumface and cocaine is best if you can leave it for a bit and possibly put it in your cocaine cellar.
And on that note, I’m going to have a cup of tea and a scone. Rock the fuck on.
