OK - I'll start:
Moons ago I was in a band. We were the usual collection of 20- and 30-somethings with ideas of grandeur, talent and creativity above our station; it was brilliant fun and I'd do it again at the drop of a hat.

We recorded a demo at personal expense, and one evening before a gig, were sitting in a pub with friends, discussing the new demo and what do with it; who to send it to and how.

Suddenly my mate clicks his finger excitedly - the table stops:

"I know!" he said triumphantly, "You want to send it to Jo Wiley on XFM - she'll play any old shit!"

Silence.

Cheers, mate.

Sensing what he'd done, he rallied with "No! Erm ... I mean ... " he whined, "I just mean that ... I don't reckon she listens to any of the stuff before she plays it, that's all ... "

We're still friends, mind.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 10 Jan 2013, 16:19, Reply)