jAEGERBOMB cRAWLS aND dIRTY bEGGARS

Well, I've been having fun. There has been lots of things to do and people to see in this 'ere city. That would be Glasgow to those who are Disco-Uninitiated.

Either get with the program or just FUCK OFF, seriously.

You know Dan, wanking Nazis
really aren't that funny.

Kidding. God sometimes I make myself just crack up, and then that's me done, turned insane for the month in a deluge of mad cackling laughter. Like when I went on holiday to Prague, and in the "Provocative" Art Exhibition saw this brilliantly painted, detailed canvas portrait of two Nazis having sex with each other. I couldn't stop laughing for like two whole days; ask my girlfriend Sklep.

Anyway, so stuff I've been doing.

• On Tuesday night I went to Gambrino's in Glasgow's West End with some family for lovely  pizza, wine, and my uncle regaling me with the sprawling, poetic tale of his one and only magic mushroom experience when he was 18.

HaHaHa ... a gentleman with
a strange and rather gross
pigmentation

• The plan after that was a sturdy, sound one. I intended to employ friend privileges to go and freely see my good friend the excellent DJ HaHaHa at SubClub. But then Jaegerbombs happened.

A recap, please. I was with family. In the end it was just me, my underage brother and my sister. Now, I believe it was my underage brother who first suggested "shots? Maybe Jaegerbombs?" And you have to understand - he has only just moved to Glasgow. My sister and I have had the odd night out in the two years we've both shared living in this city, but now ALL THREE OF US ARE HERE.

It just had to be done. The Jaegerbomb Crawl. The Stravaigin didn't do them, so we marched on, with the purposeful questing intent of the Fellowship of the Ring, if by Fellowship of the Ring, you mean Booze-cruising Sibling Trio. The Old Schoolhouse, formerly the Primary, supplied us with what we wanted. Then I believe it was Wetherspoon's on Sauchiehall Street, and so on ...

Jaegerbomb: half Jaeger, half Energy, half Bomb,
half pure sex

• Thus my sturdy, sound plan went to the proverbial shit. We did actually try and go to Sub Club. Alas, they don't let Jaeger-bombed teenagers in anymore. 

• Wednesday daytime was a brutal affair, sandpaper-tongued was I, and a brick attached to an elastic band pinging relentlessly against my head. It was imperative I got it together for a gig I was playing later that night with my brother at The Box, who was obviously fine from the previous night's escapades, because he's 17, and a dick.

• We played and it was most pleasing. Prior to that we pwned China Buffet King, which was also pleasing.

• Following our set, I dashed off to Pivo Pivo to see the Glasgow Come Together In Aid of Oxjam gig, which raised something like 400 quid, which made us all feel jolly good. I went to try and see an old local favourite of mine - though they are actually quite new, I've just known the guys for years - The Dirty Beggars. For the love of Christ, BUY their debut album, Bite the Bullet. It was worth every penny I didn't actually spend because I found an old Christmas present iTunes voucher. The bugger is, I have Ubuntu, which doesn't support iTunes, so I had to buy it on Sklep's computer, and can only listen their stomping hoe-downs at hers. And when I'm at Sklep's, I am Sklep's. Slave, if you will. There's not much leeway for me-time.

Ah hate those dirty dirty goddamn beggars, yeeHA!

Recap: Dirty Beggars are a Scottish familial quintet who play and write epic bluegrass and Americana songs, and are, in all probability, the best live band I have ever seen. Also top gents. Expect a feature at some point.

• So, saddled with a guitar and a bag, I hurtled through town, always thinking I was nearly there, but then I'd get to another street and remember Pivo Pivo was still a whole other block away. I was acutely aware of time ticking away, bomb-like, the explosion being the explosion of emotion that I would become were I to miss the Beggars, which I thought I already had.

• As it turned out - as these things often turn out - the Dirty Begging Bastards hadn't even started yet. The previous band were still on. And what a band! I only saw a song and a half, but they were bloody brilliant. I have hunted them down, Facebook-stalk-stylee. They are Roman Road. Nice lads as well. I put it to them last night that their sound was a kind of "melodic cacophony." I only saw a song and a half, but they reminded me of the Arcade Fire. But as I said to them as well, "Maybe it's just because you have a violinist." They said "Look mate, we don't know you, so will you just fuck off, and why are you wearing a stick-on beard you fucking weirdo?"

• After the Dirty Hobos performed a blitzkrieg of a set - including an impromptu bluegrass version of Twist and Shout - I was on my way, tagging along with two fanatics of the Edinburgh-based band Meursault to see them at Bloc, a band I'd only heard of. Sadly, all I can tell you about them is that they had two drummers, and that Meursault is the protagonist in Albert Camus' existentialist classic, The Outsider. We saw half a song and then it was over, to the tearful chagrin of my fanatical companions.

Flat 0/1 ... like a club in a flat ... or a flat in a bar ... or a bar in a club ...
 well that's a given, Dan, that's a given

• Then I boogied on down to some good old electronica with Sklep in Flat 0/1, which is like a flat, but also a bar, and also kind of a club, but mainly a flat, with, as they put it:

plenty cheap booze, seriously good tunes and a double bed in case the couch is taken, we turn council tax letters into paper aeroplanes and eviction letters into roaches.

we won't be up for lectures in the morning, there won't be a flat inspection from the landlord, and as for nosey neighbours... they just tanned a bottle of mad dog 20/20 so they won't be bothering us for a while.