Punk Piss and a Poodle

Thank God its a long weekend! I am severely hung over. Aktor nailed the next round at the Mona Vale on Saturday night. They were splendid in their alternative punkness. DrummerBoy went crazy, the fills were on time, the bass player was more animated than ever and Ocky's dreads copped a head banging hammering. They were fantastic and have made it to the finals at Sydney's Metro, one of the top alternative venues in the city. The winner there, goes to Germany for the world championships of the Emergenza International Band Comp.

It all started with the sound check, DrummerBoy was nervous and wanted to head down to the beach side suburb of Mona Vale a little early to make sure everything was in its place. Soundcheck at 5.00pm so of course we arrived at 4:10! I'd arranged to catch up with Busty Substances and TheEngineer in Avalon, have a few drinks and nibbly bits, grab some dinner then on to the hotel to watch the band at 9:30pm.

My arrival at Cockatoo Castle was therefore a little earlier than planned but it wasn't a problem. TheEngineer was in the garden finishing up his pottering, Busty just out of the shower so a nibbly plate was prepared and the biginnings of an 8 bottle rampage began. Seriously, we didn't plan it that way.

It was great to catch up. We all went to school together and have been friends for years. We don't see a lot of each other but when we do, it's like no time has passed at all. They have a fabulously renovated home with a glimpse of the sea through the trees. The house is modern but always a mess, full of interesting nick nacks from their extensive travels and arty farty conversation pieces. Then TheScot and Mrs Brady arrived, another old school friend arrived. Since the night's voting relied on a show of hands, the more the merrier. More chardonnay, more nibbly bits before packing into the car and down to the Noodle bar. Full of course and nobody had made a booking so we resorted to pub grub. Damn good pub grub actually. Coconut prawns, calamari and salad . . more chardy . . .

Met up with very nervous Aktor members who had just downed a foccacia and were limbering up to go on stage. We finished our meal, carried our bottle and glasses up to the Jaeger room. Were duly stamped as having paid in full with the word 'Room' and into the mele of punks, emos and would be rock stars. A brilliant little venue and all in all a great turnout. The night comprised 10 hopeful bands of various ilk, ours playing third last. Aktor had recruited the 75 strong rentacrowd so there were loads of familiar faces. Of course we had to resort to sign language due to the noise. The boys did their set . . .sound was good, stage presence was good, reception was good. They did a really great job and the new song sounded great. More chardy between sets . . we stayed and watched the last two bands which weren't a patch but left before the votes were counted.

TheEngineer, sick of sipping water, drove us back to Cockatoo Castle for . . . you guessed it . . .more chardy. He threw in the towel at 1:30am so Busty and I sat up squinting at each other, smoking far more than we should and reminiscing. Oops, out of chardy . . but there was a nice bordeaux in the bureau so to speak . . .sploshed more in clean glasses and finally crawled up the stairs -literally - and attempted to make up a sofa bed among much tripping and giggling. You know that laughter when someone starts you off and after that everything is fucking hilarious. Hysterical stupid girlish tears down the face, fall on the floor giggling . . . fantastic, my face still hurts. Bed made, that was it, the close of the night at a useful 3.00am. Good effort by the girly swats I say!

The only problem, we were still pissed at breakfast so sailing on a breezy spring day wasn't such a great idea.
a) none of us were in any condition to drive down to the mooring
b) none of us was sober enough to hoist a jib, let alone a mainsail

So we settled for a fried breakfast and the Sunday papers. I probably shouldn't have driven home as soon as I did, my head's still swooning and I'm thinking the only cure is hair of the dog. And that brings me to the Poodle. They have the most amazing steel grey standard poodle called Harry . . nothing particularly special other than he's just lovely. So Punk over for the night, still Pissed and now ThePrincess who is mightly annoyed at having been left alone for the weekend is taking great interest in my track pants which obviously smell like Poodle.

Well done boys, champion effort. Well done girls . . .even better effort 6 bottles of chardy, 1 bordeaux and a bottle of bubbly before we threw in the towel. Some sort of record methinks. I'm so proud!

Ooooh me 'ed.