Punk Era...
...ah yes, London in the late 1970s. There I am in the 100 Club looking, by today's standards, very much like a twat; but 'tis the summer of '78 and I look no more of a knob than anyone else.

It started with a rumble from the tum, quite audible above the din of... a band called Gloria Mundi, I recall.

Realising that trouble was brewing, I headed for the bogs... which were decorated in black... and the lights were out. Nevermind, I found a vacant cubicle and allowed a fair quantity of evil-smelling crud to blurp messily into the bowl.

Mopping up operations were hindered somewhat by the total lack of toilet paper. I went through my pockets: my return rail ticket and an empty crisp packet. I chose the latter, reasoning (for some reason) to use it like a glove, and that turning it inside out would be a good idea.

Fuck. I wish I'd chosen anything except salt-n-vinegar flavour.
(PunchMyFace you know you want to..., Sun 30 Mar 2008, 14:29, closed)