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Friday 17th June
Sandy made everyone do a bong for breakfast this morning as it’s his birthday. We’re all now down on the beach absolutely wasted, in various states of obliteration.
Mrs Muck has gracefully retreated behind her sunglasses and her iPod, while Handy is being melodramatic about his advanced red eye, claiming he’s going blind and crying “my eyes, my eyes!” in pained tones.
Mandy and Fifi are locked in conversation on a sunlounger and keep looking over at me and giggling coquettishly. Fifi just lowered her sunglasses and winked at me, and Mandy blew me a kiss over the top of her cocktail. My God, those girls do strange and unspeakable things to me, and the little minxes know it full well. One day I’ll tell you more about the Muck FM geisha girls. They’re quite something, and I’ve actually been thinking of turning my hand to erotic literature for a while anyway.
But I digress.
Jamal is in good humour, and has a whiskey bottle in his hand, telling dirty jokes and leering at passing girls.
Sandy himself is in full birthday mode. The obligatory badly rolled spliff is dangling out of the corner of his mouth and he’s on his fifth pint of Stella at only midday. He’s found an outrageously cute young Portuguese girl, who’s draped all over him and blows my theory about Portuguese girls being manly right out the water.
Every half hour they’re disappearing into the toilets of the beach bar “to powder their noses”, which Sandy always announces in a loud voice and a wink, as if everyone else on the beach is actually stupid enough to believe it’s a euphemism. Sandy’s wild eyes and gurning, coupled with his Burberry trunks and matching baseball cap leave nobody in any doubt that he’s wired to the eyeballs, and people are stepping out of his way and picking their children up when he approaches.
As for me, well I’m tripping my tits off and am struggling to even type these words. I asked Sandy what on earth it was we smoked and he told me it’s a new Portuguese strain of sensemilla called Lisbon Lights, which has been grown here in the foothills of the Algarve. He claims that the buds are harvested by gypsy girls in traditional costume, and left to cure for four weeks, three days and two hours. No more, no less. He really is full of shit, but damn this stuff’s strong. I sincerely hope that it’ll have worn off tonight by the time I play at the Palace.
My own red eye is kicking and Mrs Muck has just told me that I’ve got kupu* eyes, and keeps calling me Doctor Beige-ing. Get it? Because I’m beige… and look Chinese… Oh for God’s sake throw me a bone here!
* kupu= any Oriental me-so-horny type lady. Totally politically incorrect, but meh, sue me.
All I can say is thank God for sunglasses because they’re my sanctuary and give me a semblance of normality that I certainly don’t feel. And thank God for trance. It’s never sounded more beautiful and I’m drifting away here in a heavenly daze…
Handy’s birthday is tomorrow, as despite being identical twins he and Sandy were born either side of midnight. Handy hates being the younger twin and Sandy winds him up about it all the time. It also means that every year their birthday celebrations stretch across (at least) two days. Certainly I’m not expecting any sleep now until Sunday at the earliest. It’s fitting that I’m DJing at the Palace tonight and we’ll all be down there for the birthday celebrations. On the downside, Handy is insisting that at midnight I play a medley of Whigfield tunes from her greatest hits CD he’s brought with him to usher in his birthday.
What a choice I’ll have to make later- keep things sweet at home, play Whigfield and lose any street cred I may have in the eyes of Luis the DJ, or not play Whigfield, blow Luis the DJ away with two hours of the muckiest music he’s ever heard, but then have to deal with the fallout from Handy. His tantrums are bad enough at the best of times, but can you imagine one on his birthday? Dear God, it doesn’t bear thinking about… what am I going to do?
Mrs Muck stayed at home last night as she had a face pack on (that’s not a euphemism before you ask). I felt pretty tired to be honest, and needed a shot of vodka and one of Sandy’s diet pills to wake me up after gorging on huge amounts of barbeque action before heading into town. I needn’t have bothered though, as the Palace was closed when I got there. Instead I took myself down to the Iguana to see what they thought of my CD. The same guy was behind the bar and told me he’d given the disc to his manager, so I’d need to speak to him, although he wasn’t there at that moment. He said that after I’d left he (the barman) listened to it and really liked it. He told me that the trance wasn’t as “aggressive” as he thought it was going to be, and his attitude suggested that it would be ok for the bar. But there was a DJ there last night playing house tunes, and I was told he’s booked to play all through the weekend. We’re off home next Friday so it looks like I probably won’t get a chance to play. Never mind, I stayed for a while anyway and had another of their fabulous mojitos while chatting to the barman and his friend, who it turned out has an English father and lived in Brixton for a while. Sarf London in da house!
I’m turning my mind towards tonight, and my set down at the Palace. I’ve made a shortlist of tunes that I’d like to play and will suggest to Luis that we play an hour each, to break it up a bit. I’m really excited as it’s been a decade since I played on a club system, and can’t wait to hear my favourite tunes pumping out of huge speakers. It’d be really good to have a few people in there too, but I’m looking forward to playing, even if it’s just to us lot and the staff. As Handy so indelicately put it, it’s still more than I get tuned in on Muck FM sometimes, but I prefer to say it’s quality not quantity that matters- and when it comes to the Muck FM crew there’s nothing but quality tunes and quality people…
Wish you were here folks!
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