Awkward territory this. Prior to attending, I had a serious chat with my mother about how I hadn’t been to a decent party in months, but she was unsympathetic. Respite only came when she promised that if she won the lottery, ‘we’d have a jolly’.
Andrew Wesley King’s twenty minutes onstage at the Kensington Park Community Birth Outlet were plagued by existential difficulties and an arrogance I can only describe as ‘real’. Plus I was really hungry. I caught up with him after the gig for a chat.
Good to meet you. Wilkes Krasp. Andrew, if you like.
I am not he.
This is not a surprising development.
I’m glad you feel that way.
Did you find a pair of skates your size?
I did not attend this event.
Right. Well that I find unbelievably difficult to believe. Everyone said you’d be there. Joey, Neilo, Drewseph, Harris…
Cardamon Carol. Benson. Stockton. Salek?
Anderman Makarov, DJ Rashad, various members of King Crimson, Nicola ‘Sarsaparilla’ Sturgeon…
Neil Buchanan. Desmond Prince. Lynch QC. Patrick Magee as portrayed by the BBC. Bobby Sands as portrayed by popular S4C comedy ‘Shameless’.
I suppose you think you’re fucking hilarious.
That’s not what we’re here to talk about.
Listen, do you actually write for metal hammer? I mean this here, my possibly being or not being here, is comedy gold, and you’re doing fuck all with it. You’re just sitting about in your living room, giddy as fuck, listening to shitting Burzum? Seriously? Are you for fucking real?
You’re disappointed? My pen name is Upman Hampton.
Fuck this. I’m going back to The Garage. Coming?
Very funny. For dinner tonight I had a burger with some sweet chilli sauce, some cheese too. Next comes salad, and then, regret. I am still here. I endure eternal, listless. I am Desmond, many-stomached.