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Tuesday, 30 April 2013

Studio Report

Upon arrival, after driving round the windswept streets and rain lashed back alleys of Northern England for more than 18 hours searching for our destination, we leapt out of the Solstice armoured personnel carrier to be confronted by the sight of a virtual military style compound. Razor wire and broken glass cemented atop whitewashed walls surrounded the studio buildings, and to compliment this, a slavering Staffordshire Bull Terrier which snapped hungrily at Andy’s groinal regions through gaps in the main gates steel mesh.

“Never mind him lads” sounded a whisky soaked death rattle of a voice, “I fed him yesterday with a stray taxi driver”. We turned and faced our studio engineer for the session; a grim pallor lit his features in the gray light and pissing rain of the cheery Yorkshire spring weather. First mate on the Good ship Venus, and now turned sound emporium proprietor, Kerry “The Hatchet” Hughes gazed upon our dishevelled forms, a gleam of contempt in his glass eye as he decided to himself whether to feed us to his dog, Nosher, or welcome us in, or maybe bludgeon us with the piece of lead piping he carried in his gnarled club of a fist.

Our newest recruit, Squire James twitched nervously, his nervous tick which normally only surfaced after 17 pints of real ale and a kebab becoming more apparent, as he noticed the backstreet we were now in was deserted (except, for a urine soaked corpse of a tramp someone had left in a shopping trolley). We were on our own, and there was now no going back.

“Let us in ya bastard” mumbled Andy, his eyes averted and sweeping the ground as if looking for spare change for a bottle of cider, or a discarded jazz mag. The hatchet again cast a withering gaze with his glass eye upon us, and with a laugh that sounded closer to a broken beer glass being inserted between the buttocks of a nancy boy, swung back the gates to allow us entry….


To be continued....

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