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Bez. At the Fez.
Fun, not a lot of Bez though. Bez's DJ turns up, plays tunes. Bez stands next to him with a microphone, dancing in the DJ booth (no mean feet), screaming "CAAAAAAAMMMMMBBBBRRRRRIDDDDDDDDDGGGGGGGEEEE!", "CALL THE FUCKING COPS!" and other such stuff. Mondays lyrics only over Mondays songs. Basically, they played lots of mid-nineties indie nostalgia. All the usual suspects.
Then he went away. And they did the usual Monday night Rock/Indie/Funk/Soul/lots-of-Stax stuff. Bez sat in a corner. A mate bought him a drink and chatted to him - he's doing a dissertation on the Madchester scene, you see - and affirmed that he was absolutely shitfaced. Had some dark-haired young thing all over him. Top bloke, absolutely mental, pointed at us when we pointed at him.
I had tons of fun - more exercise than I've had in ages, only a quid to get in, and I enjoyed a night out. Wow. Haven't been clubbing in yonks. MOST good. (About what you expected, realistically, Bengali?) |
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