spacemonkeygaz.com

The first five music tapes I ever bought, in rough chronological order, are:

• WWF Superstars — Slam Jam (Bought from WHSmiths in Alfreton in 1992 at the same time as…)
• HWA (Hedgehogs With Attitude) — Supersonic (Sonic The Hedgehog Theme)
• WWF Superstars — Westlemania: The Album (Can’t remember where I bought this from.  Probably the aforementioned WHSmiths)
• Meat Loaf — Bat Out Of Hell II: Back Into Hell (Woolworths, Matlock)
• Gabrielle — Dreams [single] (Our Price, Sheffield City Centre)

All-in-all a fairly pitiful list, with the obvious exception of Meat Loaf.  This nostalgic look back at my pre/early-teen musical tastes provides a tenuous link to malaria tablets.  (Stay with me here.)

If you ever plan to travel to certain ‘exotic’ locations you’ll be advised to buy malaria tablets.  We were given a choice of three, the prices of which were inversely linked to the frequency of tablet-taking and possible side effects.  We plumped for Malarone — the most expensive and most effective, which only required taking two days before, every day during, and seven days after travel. 

Bearing in mind these were the tablets with the least side effects, the list of possible adverse reactions included:

• cough
• diarrhoea
• dizziness
• headache
• loss of appetite
• mouth sores
• nausea
• stomach pain
• vomiting
• weakness
• depression
• anxiety
• insomnia
• strange or vivid dreams

(See, I told you we’d get there.)

Which brings me on to without doubt the strangest dream I’ve ever had, whilst very much under the influence of Malarone in the middle of my holiday.  I can explain parts of it, but there are also parts I’d rather not.  It was, although a single dream, split into four very distinct parts:

Part i: the dream began with me stood in the crowd watching Coldplay perform on stage.  Ever ones for understatement, they had fifty drummers drumming along on stage, while Chris Martin spazzed around singing as per usual.  The crowd started getting restless, grumbling about how self-indulgent and wanky it all was, building to a crescendo of very British, polite dissatisfaction.

Part ii: suddenly Oasis were on stage, and I was on there with them.  I was playing the guitar, just strumming along, not really doing much and aware that people were wondering what the hell I was doing there.  The song (Cigarettes and Alcohol, I think) ended, and I decided to show the crowd exactly why I was there.  Noel and Liam both gave me a ‘go on then’ nod, and I decided to play a solo.  Well, solo is perhaps pushing it.  I just decided to make a noise to show them I was actually playing an actually-plugged-in guitar, so I played a note.  I played a note and, with all my might, I ‘bent’ it (layman’s speak: with the finger of my left hand on the already-plucked string, I pulled down (not sure why—proper guitarists tend to pull up) which makes the note ‘bend’ upwards, as the tension of the string becomes greater).  I just bent the note as much as I possibly could.  Noel gave me a nod of approval.  It was a great moment.  I need a piss, I said, and walked off.

Part iii: I was behind the stage, up above it, looking down.  I saw two of the lads I play cricket with dicking around with some files.  I asked them to stop dicking around with the files.  That’s my work stuff, I said, I don’t know what it is, I haven’t had time to look through it but I might need it.  One of the lads ignored my advice and dropped one of the files off the side of the cliff.  I got a bit angry, but, needing a piss, I departed.

Part iv: in the toilets.  I was wearing a hideous green suit.  It was like it was made out of snooker baize.  Ross Kemp came into the toilets and started abusing me for stealing his place in Eastenders.  I told Kemp it wasn’t my fault they wanted someone better than him to play whichever Mitchell brother he used to be.  I looked down and I was pissing all over my green suit.  Then Adam Woodyatt aka Ian Beale was there, and he started giving me grief as well, and loads of other people were there too, all firmly in the Kemp/Woodyatt camp.  Sensing an opportunity, I launched a tirade of abuse at Beale (continually referring to him as Ian Beale, rather than his actual name), saying no-one liked him.  Beale looked down at the floor, defeated.  The people around him sniggered.  I was the winner.

 

End dream.

Answers on a postcard, please.

 .