Moaner

Last Saturday was yet another Underworld gig but had plenty of promise. Brixton Academy always delivers a good vibe plus we were meeting up with new mates, Candide, Gavin and Jackie from St. Albans which we'd met from Wireless.

Kerry was in London anyway having her haircut by long-time trimmer, Tony who had earlier that day had been released from an over-night stay at the police cells for GBH not GHB. Apparently so extra pervy gay guy stuck his hand down Tony's pants then after a Tony telling off, the guy cracked him over the head with a bottle. Somehow Tony recovered and beat the crap out of him. If it wasn't for the CCTV proof Tony could have been charged.

With Kev and Karol bedridden with flu, we prepare for the night around Steve and Sam's who have just got over the hideous same illness. I could almost feel the germs attacking me or it might have been having to watch X-Factor again thanks to Jake. After small cock-up with the pizza delivery, we went to the Ivan's Retreat to meet the other Underworld ravers minus Sam who didn't feel well enough, bless. The outbreak of flu must have cost a few quid as a lot of tickets were being offered and refused even though it was sold out.

Rob Da Bank was DJing when we went in and although the tunes were good he wasn't mixing or bothered about the order. Thank god Underworld came on stage on time for a 2 hour set which was being recorded for double CD. Like their Brighton gig they experimented with a wide selection of songs and never quite rocked it large until the end. Born Slippy went down a storm, as always, and would have, dare I say it, bored me, but like Wireless they brought out the giant balloons for the crowd to play with. The two encores were Dark Train, which was a treat, and Moaner.

We didn't hang around for long with so many 'to do's' for the next day to prepare for the Bonfire Night of the Living Dead party. Shame most of them didn't happen as what was thought to be past-clubbing achiness was in fact the beginnings of a cold. Damn those germ-infested mates (not German festive mates as work colleagues thought I said)!

Cut off me tenants
Sunday also had its lunchtime drama thanks to my nightmare tenants. I hadn't heard a single word from them in weeks since she decided to shred my Transco permission request letter. But at lunchtime, I was at the receiving end of a child-like tantrum as their electricity decided not to work. Luckily the electrician who'd installed the circuit breaker did me a favour to visit the house though before he arrived the electricity returned. At no point did the tenant apologise for having a go at me, slagging off Mark, who manages the house or hanging up on me twice. There was no mention of the boiler or Transco thing either. It left me thinking whether I can handle this type of stress of Mrs, Throw-all-my-toys-out-of-the-pram woman or convert the contract to fully managed just to save some sanity and get some rest.