"We had a van that was called Daniel, actually his full title was Sir Tobius Ryanheart of Ilford. He was a good van, he carried eight people and had a very unpredictable light in the back. When we first bought him we had to spend almost the same as we had paid for him on repairs, this was due to the bastard that sold him to us having a fake MOT on him, poor Daniel. Once we had him fit and healthy he drove us everywhere, between January and April 2008 he had taken us across the whole of the UK, Ireland, France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Holland, Germany and all the way to Denmark. I think that after this we had a better relationship with Daniel than we did with each other. We were all very sad when he came to an untimely end somewhere in Mosely. I think he had had enough of our antics and saw the only way out was suicide, luckily no-one and nothing was in him when he called it a day. We've just bought a new van, he's called Father. I hope he is stronger than Daniel, although I feel he won't be quite as loved…" - Sam, Blakfish
”A week ago in bastard Luton, disaster struck our band. While jumping about like a silly cunt on stage I fell on my knee in such a way that the entire thing popped out leaving me feeling not only in agony but like I just had a massive pie thrown in my face. A pie filled with custard and shit....actual shit.
Our new buddies in Blackhole quickly dragged me off the stage and up the stairs to the closest sofa. Here I laid in front of about 50 under age smoking scenesters all giggling after to much lambrusco bianco while I sat gritting my teeth so hard my gums bled. Sweet.
Now I don't want to dwell on the actual incident but rather the teeth itching hospital experience that followed after the event. Hospital is bad at anytime for anyone. It's a stale moody-as-shit place that no one wants to be, for any reason. However, just to make matters even worse I decided for some insane reason to take with me the Anti-Christ. Who is the Anti-Christ you ask? Alan Booth, our wonderful yet complete cunt of a bass player. While getting spoken to by people that didn't care, not being able to find a wheel chair; getting X-rayed, refused food and water and waiting for six hours; the wonderful Alan just added to the nightmare. While mocking me, teasing me and getting other patients to join in the mocking he would also eat in front of me teasing me about the fact that I hadn't eaten in ten hours. The only light at the end of this tunnel was for about 2 minutes when a hot female doctor rolled in and felt my leg. This was great. There was me with this hot doctor touching my leg when all of a sudden she decided to ram her fingers as hard as she could into my now even more painful broken knee cap. Fuck that doctor, fuck her to hell. Seriously, I'm fucking joining Godspeed You! Black Emperor or some shit, they just don't have these problems.
All that remains to be said is we finally got back home and decided to get a curry which Alan also fucked up. Forgot the rice and sat there like a smug prick at the hilarity of it all.
You may ask why he is still in the band if I hate him so much. That is simple - He is marvelous and I fancy him more than any other man alive. Oh, and he is my only real ginger friend. You gotta have a good ginger friend.” - Oliver, Johnny Truant
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