Rufus’ birthday celebrations last night left the others in a bit of a sorry state. I cleverly dodged the party, but was called into action at 4.30am to go and pick the revellers up from the middle of nowhere after their car broke down.
Our manager Chris Taplin paid us a visit today, so we all had to look busy and not-hungover-y. Sam Ford is also here tonight, filming stuff to put in Simon Emmett’s forthcoming docu-drama.
Softy transplanted the Brown Bastard’s innards into Frankie’s spare bass and to my ears, it sounds even more betterer than what the other one did. Onwards and yay-wards!
Tonight we had a delicious stir-fry din-dins with a fruit crumble desert. “Crumble-Snooze” was thankfully rejected as a potential album title.
Dan’s roast potato injury is improving.