1. I should probably straighten a few things out before I get all red and angry and shit.
I am no more arrogant than I was last year. You just think I should be because you can’t handle that im fucking awesome.

2. I don’t want to sleep with your girlfriend. I presume she has a lady muscle like a ripped out fireplace and she dresses like a fucking dickhead.

3. I don’t think I’m in the best band in the world. But you do think that so shut the fuck up you greasy cock fart.

4. I would however sleep with your mother. Out of sheer spite. But you would make light of this to your bohemian friends over a Amaretto milkshake or some shit. So I’d probably curl a turd on her as well.

5. Your band is shit and your record looks like a bag of chopped tits.

6. Steven Dennis is criminally underrated. If you disagree then shit the fuck off, you DO NOT know anything and you probably can’t cum.

7. You know that I know. But you can’t have me. You are a liar and a fucking thief. You also prey on vulnerable girls, and not in a fucked up Dave Harper way (because that shits cool), I mean in a you way, so basically you’re the devil. And you look like a teabag.

8. I didn’t realise I had so many friends. This is because I don’t.

9. Id prefer to spend time with Garry Wilmot than another second with your pointless face. Having said that, id just like to spend time with Garry Wilmot.

10. You buy stupid fucking records. Or buy my records and claim them as your own. I listen to Les Coq (Sportifs) because they are fucking brilliant not because I need another anecdote for my friend Sebastian. You dick!

11. Of course this is all a cry for help. I’ve already transcended your pointless pyet!

12. Merry Christmas. Except you, you can go and piss up a rope fuck stick!

In many respects this band/myself have a lot in common with Manchester; we have Strangeways (copy write John Shuttleworth).
I don’t know why I feel the need to offer a disclaimer every time I post a blog so for one and for all, I swear this happened and there is no fluffing or conjecture to speak of.
Today started roughly a year ago. Believe it or not I wasn’t always the sun kissed rock Adonis you drool over n Grazia magazine. I haven’t always been fed raw whores and drank French wine. Good French wine. There was a time when I had to lower myself to promoting pop shows. Mostly for my own amusement and to spite people who have slighted me or out of unrefined malice. Now anyone who has had the displeasure of promoting a show event or whatever inevitably has to deal with a selection of fucking uptight babies hell bent on being treat like stars with they are fucking not. We don’t have stars in Sunderland we have gradients of cunt. After several altercations with faceless retarded bands I was informed that a member of a certain band had been diagnosed with cancer of the leg the day before. Not one fucking complaint. Not one fucking demand. Not one foot out of place. Please, thankyous, superlatives and bravery. So FUCK YOU, fuck you to hell every band who complains about the brand of Gin they get for fucking nothing. Fuck you for whinging about money and girls and attention.
I woke up this morning with a message that the only guy with manners that night had died yesterday. He died with a smile on his face in a hospice in Sunderland.
It occurred to me that that really isn’t a start of a day; it’s the fucking finish of it. If I’m honest I didn’t know the chap to well at all. BUT, the above tale has always acted as a mantra when faced with fucking babies in bands needing their little bottoms wiped because their Crystal was to bubbly.
Christmas can be a total dick sometimes. About an hour after I heard the news my mobile telephone chimed and I was speaking to the guy from The Hairy Bikers. They want to use some song or other. Normally this would be the best thing since Bovril crisps, but how can it be. Not today man.
So fuck off world, I don’t particularly care for you today or the people in it. I still love the band but today perspective has torn me a new one. I close my eyes a minutes and picture all of you people who should be ashamed of yourself. I doubt you will die with a smile on your face.

Dedicated to the memory of Darren Grainger who passed away on Dec 2nd 2009.

Dave Harper