either I’m a little fitter than I used to be or I didn’t dance enough at The Wendyhouse on Saturday: this morning I didn’t feel like I needed to be put down humanely
how many PhDs does it take to wave a glowstick?!
after the “oontz-oontz-oontz” in Leeds I regained my appetite for mindless trance music
The phone rings. It’s Mark. I wasn’t expecting to hear from him till next week.
“Hi, Maz, yeah… any chance you want to earn a little cash on Sunday?”
“Uh… what’s the gig?” knowing that if it’s Mark then it must be a gig.
“I’ve got a three-/four-piece jazz band that needs taking from [deepest darkest Yorkshire] to Leeds, then to Chester… oh, shit, but you said you’re going to The Wendyhouse tonight… no, shit, that doesn’t work. Sorry mate…”
