I Say Will Riker - You Look Like A Biker!

Well He Does!
Conrad is happy to bow to Colin's masterful knowledge of motorbikes, bikers and biking, yet he strongly suspects that this is what you'd look like if you tried rocking the world with your "Rebel Biker Who Don't Need No Stinkin' Helmet" look:

You've got to admit, Conrad has a point ...

     Shocking, Will, frankly shocking!  How can you let yourself and Starfleet down so badly in the presentation department?  I realise that you hail from an alternative reality infested with the Borg where humanity is an endangered species, but dammit man!  Standards, you know, standards!

"Salute Of Guns" By Donald Boyd
Hmmm, the author, I believe, is trying rather too hard to show how "artistic" and "poetic" he can be in this autobiography of his time as a gunner in the Royal Artillery during the First Unpleasantness.  Unlike "The Australian Victories In France", Boyd uses flowery rather than formal words to convey his experience.  Given that the unfortunate chap had two mental breakdowns during his period of service, one cannot critique him too harshly.  Still, it suffers by comparison with the excellent "A Passionate Prodigality" by Guy Chapman; Guy had the talent to put across his prose with wit and intelligence and not look as if he was showing off.

Gun Salute.  Close enough

Conrad's Night On The Tile
You're going to get the full experience, like it or not, in fact especially if you don't like it, for I am perverse that way.
    The background to this story is that Ian said his band were playing at the Soup Kitchen on Thursday evening.  Now, I happen to like his band (Claw The Thin Ice) and there were a couple of other acts on as well, but - and this is a "but" that comes in the shape of a twelve ton Public Service Vehicle - by the time the gig would be over I'd be at the mercy of First Bus and if, or when, one of their buses turned up, plus the prospect of a taxi home from Oldham Bus Station.
      So I got a room at Sasha's, brought a change of clothes and some toiletries and a full English breakfast on Friday morning.
     "Watch out for Sasha's," warned Ian.  "Some of the room's don't have windows."

Indeed not

      Although this means No Natural Light, it also means not having to hear the rowdy drunks fighting under your window at 2 a.m.

      The thing about the Soup Kitchen basement is that it's an utter pit.  Imagine an air raid shelter that has been emptied out, with a tin of paint being thrown over the walls.  Now take away the tin of paint.  The toilets are the grimmest I have ever seen and I only used them to get evidentiary photographs -

      It's certainly an achievement if you have to inform your patrons that what looks like a male urinal is, indeed, the sink.
     Also I heard a couple of girls mentioning a huge spider they'd seen, although as luck would have this was after my trip to the "toilet", or - Conrad being a huge coward - I would have been haunted by fear for the rest of the night.
     Enough pettifogging!  On with the gig -
     First up were Big Machine.  Big Machine, small combo, merely a guitarist and drummer.

No paint on the walls, but lots of funeral drapes.

     Not really Conrad's cup of tea*, they might be described as Gleefully Raucous Thrash. I couldn't understand a single shouted word, although it was great to see the guitarist fighting his guitar.  Or he could have been playing it, it was a bit hard to tell.  Still, it's great to see young people dealing with anger management issues via music.

     Next up were The Doctrines, a more conventional four piece.

Centre stage the bassist

     I could understand some of their words, and they weren't bad at all, with the bassist bouncing around like a human-shaped superball and making the most of a pretty small stage.

      Last up were the Claws, and if I'd had to go catch the bus I'd have missed the last couple of songs.  I knew the words to a couple of the songs.

Exciting rock and roll moments: setting up the kit

     Let me point out that the Claws let the Doctrines use their drum set.  A very tight set performance, which doesn't come out of nowhere; these chaps all have full time jobs and have to set time aside to rehearse, and it shows.

The Claws drumkit, with customised design

      Another thing about the Soup Kitchen is that it's not that large a venue but they have a whacking big PA system, so my hearing was up the river until the middle of Friday morning.
      So there you are.  Immortal rock 'n' roll journalism, or what passes for it in my head.

 A Bit Of Inventory
Whilst having lunch with Katie and Stephen, the latter was reckless enough to ask what got included in the blog, so I read out a list that seemed to amuse them.  One part of the list was "BOOJUM!S Pet** List", which I reproduce for your delectation:
1)  Tony the Ten Ton Terror Toad (he squashes people)
2)  Clarissa the Cannibal Combat Chicken (she eats people)
3) Frank the Ferociously Farting Frog (he gasses people)
4) The Coincidence Hydra (bites Conrad on the bum at least once per day)
5) Wally the Weasel (he gets more "W" words added to his title each time)
6) Frockodile (you'll die laughing)

*In the ground floor bar I had a verrrry nice pint of "Marble Arch" - an Indian Pale Ale infused with Earl Grey tea.  
** When I say "pet" I mean "Terrifying and dangerous killer animals that hate humans".  Okay?