Barnet Gig 4th December, totally acoustic
The Story of Justin's Boots. I lived in a grungy bedsit in Willesden, in the front upstairs bedsit which was handy if I got locked out because I could climb up the front porch and into the little window at the top if I forgot my keys. In the middle of the night one night I heard yelling in the street and I looked out of the window to see Justin standing in the middle of the road, shouting. Justin was a sax player who went out with Rachel from the Dollymixture for a while; he could make pigeon noises with his sax keys). He was sort of a bit mad, but OK, so I opened the window to see what was up. He'd been locked out of his place and I told him he could sleep on my floor. Our house was always warm because our coin meters weren't fixed to the wall properly and you could put the same 10p piece in over and over again and get electricity for almost nothing, so Justin was happy with that.The next morning, I woke up to a terrible smell and I could not see Justin on the floor at all- there was a thick layer of yellowish green smoke covering the whole floor and up to the height of my bed. I heard a lot of spluttering and swearing and Justin sat up with a furious look on his face. He had fallen asleep with his feet propped on top of the electric fire, which had competely melted the soles of his Doc Martins- he'd been so drunk he hadn't felt the heat at all. Rock'n'roll, or what?