Oh yeah, I’m back in motherfucking Tasmania! I swear I could’ve waited 6 years to come back down instead of 6 months and nothing down here would change. That’s not necessarily a bad thing (although it often is in Tasmania). The Salamanca Market was pumping today, as the weather is actually pretty good (one of the 7 days a year in Tassie when this happens). 3 of us all flew down on the same flight this morning, all nursing raging hangovers and ringing ears from the Turbonegro gig at the Hi-Fi last night.

I’m currently writing my blog on my laptop in a moving car with a heavy bass head resting on my lap. My mate is in the back seat with three guitars resting on his lap, so I guess I’ve got it pretty easy in comparison. My band and I are on the way to a jam room in a commercial estate in Glenorchy to play together for the first time in over 6 months. I’m fucking excited, it’s going to be glorious. I haven’t had my bass guitar in Melbourne either, and opening up the case this afternoon and picking it up for the first time in what seems an eternity made me feel like a little kid at Christmas opening his first present. We’ve got a gig tonight and today will serve as a bit of a crash-course refresher to ensure we don’t completely suck when we get on stage. I’m going to be a sweaty mess by the time I get off stage tonight.

Oh and by the way, if I have to hear one more fucking story about the royal pregnancy, I’m going to start pipe-bombing media headquarters like an Irish Republican in The Troubles. For fucks sake, why does anyone give a shit about Will & Kate’s baby(ies)? It’s likely to be a fucking abomination anyway, if the historical in-breeding of the British royal family is anything to go by. I’d love to see the glossy magazines and tabloid newspapers trying to find the positive spin If Kate Middleton gives birth to two malformed urchins with gigantic foreheads and 6 fingers on each hand. I’d actually by a New Idea to find out.

Now, the nurse that was duped by the prank call from a couple of Aussie radio presenters (whereby she gave away personal information thinking that she was speaking to the Queen) appears to have killed herself. Exactly why, I don’t know, but perhaps the constant media attention and the feeling of shame for having been duped by possibly the worst faux English accents I’ve ever heard got too much for the 46 year-old mother of two.

If nobody cared about this clearly completely irrelevant news, the media wouldn’t be reporting it, the call wouldn’t have been made and the dead nurse would still be alive.


Seriously though, I couldn’t give less of a fuck.

/end communication