I cooked tea for Neil and Kate on Friday night. We cracked open a few beers, played some CDs and generally hung out. At least I assume this is what "hanging out" is. Never been very good at societal staples like that.

Anyway.

I'd been out with some guys from work earlier, and the few beers then plus the few beers later made me a little tipsy. Something inside me was awoken: I crossed into a realm of Cheese. While a Teenage Fanclub song (Neil Jung, to be exact) was playing, I picked up my bass and, sprawled limply on a beanbag, proceeded to play raggedly along with it. This is something I've witnessed before - usually round at Chris's flat before he moved to Australia, often involving Chris strumming along to Wish You Were Here, and always after a colossal amount of various spirits - but never until now have I been overtaken by the desire to inflict my mad bass skillz on innocents. My rampant egomania has been given form, and that form is ROCK.

Curiously enough, Kate went home and Neil went to bed shortly after that, but hey: true genius is never appreciated until after you're dead, right? All this leads me to a single, inescapable conclusion: Tiny Monkey must play live, and we must do it soon. Mart! Dom! Doug! Are you listening? This is a call to arms!

(Wow. This is the first stream-of-consciousness post I've done and my word, gibberish is more fun to write than coherent diary entries.)