Dear Nessi

Sunday morning, still basking in last night's glory, listening to a new song we're going to do with yet another new guest singer. It amazes me that I've got this band where we just have a laugh, can't guarantee any money, and all these professional musicians want to join. This time it's a much welcome female singer from a classical group called the Medieval Chicks. A very drunk Power Pack cackled with laughter and frowned when I told him late last night, but I'll see what he says when he wakes up. Also, Mr Lulu, our new singer who spent years touring the US fronting his own band, was nervous about playing with us, and was very honoured. And he has been put forward for doing some music for a well-known American TV show! (I won't speak too soon in case it doesn't work out... but the last band who did music for this show when from being unknown squatters to international stars overnight). Anyway, all real musicians and they all want to be in my band!

So it's the beginning of a new era. The first gig went very well. Quiffgirl was very sexy as she learned the joys of trying to wee in a grass skirt. She didn't move much on stage but she said she was concentrating, which did pay off. It's a different feel, faster that before, a different style of bass but its good, she played really well and everyone said so. Guest singers Power Pack, Mr Lulu and Mr Head shared out singing duties. Though the Bootlegger was happy to see Power Pack up there, he wasn't too keen on Mr Lulu. I don't know what the guy looks like from the audience point of view - he is a bit of a washed up old drunk - but I think the band all agree he's got a fantastic voice. Rhythm Guitarist said he got bored during Mr Head's song, but I think that one went down very with the crowd. Mr Head had some kind of shark tooth necklace, which he used as prop. Someone commented that the singers got progressively drunker as the show wore on, culminating in Power Pack having a punch up with the microphone stand and a groping the guitarist (me).

I thoroughly enjoyed playing. And coped very with the organising duties, too. I was going to treat myself to my weekly ration of beer but thought the better of it. I had dark yellow snot pouring from my nose and equally dark yellow piss. Dehydration could not be risked even for just one beer. Which makes it amazing that I can still say I'd do another gig with Nude Sheep.

Nude Sheep are the most chaotic, disorganised and paralytically pissed band ever. "Nude Gits" Power Pack calls them. The bass and violinist are some kind of aloof Cambridge classical musicians; the singers and guitarists are terminal alcoholics; the drummer is the only sane one, and he forgot half his drum kit (luckily all the bits our drummer did bring.)

It's like dark surf mixed with lounge and a few classical tunes played at deafening volume, making sure to wake Grieg from his grave just to hear their rendition of "Hall of the Mountain King". Izzy comes along and duets and Mr Lulu (yep, some band overlap here) and saves the fading sex appeal of the once-quite-attractive ageing boozers.

Afterwards I braved the money counting situation with men who could barely say their own names. Mr Sheep, as I call the guy that seems to resemble a leader, if there is one, got assy when I said slowly for about the fifth time, should I really be giving him his band's money when he had just left the taxi fares on the floor of the dressing room. After I finally did give Vlad (his real name by the way) the money, Victor the drummer and Mr Lulu both said "Oh no..." as if that meant they'd never see any of it. What they do once it's divided between bands is up to them. But what a palaver, eh. But, as I said, I still like their music enough to do it again. They seemed to like us, too, and liked the fact that I bothered to promote the gig, which meant they got more people along than to their usually inadvertently secret gigs.

Power Pack did some dj-ing as well, playing only "biker prog" which went down especially well with Ted's girlfriend who we'd hired to work on the door. "Hawkwind! Excellent! You never hear this when you go out!" Fortunately the post-band DJ set was down to Mr Lager playing a more subdued lounge-retro set, safe but not cliched. I think what everyone is sick of is that same old 60s garage-rock they play at the Gnome.

Power Pack was paralytic by the end, though. He was so drunk he didn't even drink his celebratory Jaegermiester when we got home. Thankfully the Bootlegger helped with the amplifiers.

So that was it... the beginning of a new era. Which is also the end. Apart from me and Power Pack, only Quiffgirl knows that. And she seems perfectly happy. We are truly living in the moment, enjoying now for now. And this mystery will be revealed in due course...even with the 'secrecy' of this journal, I'm not leaking this 'news' here 'til its in public anyway.

And on that note I better on with organising the bloody Art Fair...

Petra