Iawn pobol! I, and this goddamned website...

Is back.

Are back.


It has been too long, really. So much has happened!

And that is the problem, when one falls behind on one's weblog.

Ble i defro?

Where to begin?

This time last week, for example, I'd just had a proper shave, at a nice Turkish barbers, and looked about as handsome as I ever will , perhaps, and was about to go and dodge pints onstage at Newport Arena, where Birddogg and I were supporting GLC.

I think, a week on, that that might have been the best gig we ever did. I fucken loved that gig. There were, like, 500 scallies all mashed up the barriers, going,


1000 other people going,


And a few,



So, like, midsong, I would eyeball the front row scallies individually and rap at them. And at the end, I would clamber a podium on one side of the stage, and go,


Then run to the other, and go,


It was ace. I felt like Gonzales, or the Phantom Of The Opera or something. Only I never saw Gonzales play thousands of nutted Welshers.

I saw him doing magic tricks once. That was good. He managed to pull an expert Houdini.

We got 5 missiles last Thursday - I counted. One was a pint that hit the SLDZ 1200. The SLDZ 1200 didn't even blink! What a piece of kit! Had that been the plain old 1200, situated mere inches to the right, it would have all been over. Well, not over, but getting there. As it was, I cleaned beer out of my face with water, the lights came up, and the place went nuts with screaming lady folk and roaring menfolk and booing townie type. (I got mobbed by townies after when I ventured out to find Birddogg. I thought they were going kick the shit out me, but they wanted to know when the album was out and if I was wearing a wig, innit) Maggot and Dwain Xain and that fucken Billy Webb loved it innit. IT WAS SO FUCKING FRESH. I felt like a man on a lot of crack.

Speaking of which, Pete Libertine never showed for his gig at London's Forum on Friday night, so his fans went apeshit and demolished the venue, tearing poor supporting Cazals equipment to strips. STRIPS!

So they never came to Wales on Sunday. Neither Ten Minutes, amongst other people. The London side of things was an almighty cock up which I could blame on Wade, but shall instead blame on myself, as expecting Wade to get together 30-odd people to catch a coach to North Wales on a Sunday morning is rather like expecting Pete Doherty to turn up to a gig.

SPEAKING OF WHICH! The Stunners International new years day line up has been announced. See ye the page of gigs.

So, Cazals never showed, but a couple of hunnerd safe North Walesers and the local constabulary did, so it was pretty dope. I DJed for two hours! And got kicked out by my own security for skinning up in the bogs. Wataru from Piranha Deathray (who, by their second set, were indeed the Lynchian Wonder I had been telling everybody about) got booted for throwing an ashtray at a reportedly crazed lady who deigned to badmouth yours truly.

My brother and Buff ran the door. Bryn Owen's set was something of a revelation. The fire never went out. We had freestye rapping and beatbox from local safelads. Gwilym did an excellent job. Nonny, Nightingalian genius who ensured the coach was not a total washout, was very drunk and entertaining on arrival. I wasn't at all drunk. I don't think.

As for the gig, I found it to be the easiest thing I have ever done.

More innabit, I have to do some Stuff. Read this. Living in the future!