Originally Posted by
Organ Morgan.
Just returned from a trip to Sludge's pit. A visit there is always tinged with surreality.
On arrival he was stood at a window smiling broadly. He always frowns on seeing me approach. "What's up?" I asked myself. It was then he tied a bandana around his forehead and lifted an enormous spliff to his lips. A consolation of him being stoned was he didn't for once subject me to any pro-Tory government propaganda, nor did he hold today's Daily Mail aloft, as a born again Christian may a Bible, to proclaim its contents to be true and virtuous.
Once inside he drawled from behind a cloud of foul smelling smoke: "Hey, dude, what's your opinion of sausage-less sausages?" I replied meatless sausages would be a better description. He maintained they are sausages which contain no sausage. When someone's that off their cake it's best to shut up or humour them with an occasional aye or yeah.
Then he spent several minutes wondering aloud when he debated with himself whether if a new group emerged called The Anti Anti-Nazi League would it be more anti-Nazi than the already established Anti-Nazi League or would it be anti the Anti-Nazi League and therefore pro-Nazi. Just as I thought his behaviour couldn't become more erratic, it did.
He stood, swayed from side to side, before singing something I didn't recognise. Whatever it was sounded dreadful. I have an inkling it was a Nolan Sisters track as he's a long time fan of their music. He resumed his seat to remain quiet for a while. "Thank feck," I thought. But immediately afterwards he took another big drag of his Morrocan Woodbine then sprang to his feet again.
He became Julie Andrews for a mercifully brief period. With both arms outstreched for exaggerated sincerity, "the hills are alive with the sound of music," he warbled. Then shimmied to remove a plastic flower from a vase to use as a pretend microphone as he hopped from one foot to the other when singing a different song, Jeff Beck's Hi Ho Silver Lining.
You're everywhere and nowhere, baby
That's where you're at
Going down a bumpy hillside
In your hippy hat
Flying across the country
And getting fat
Saying everything is groovy
When your tyres are flat
And it's hi ho silver lining
And away you go now, baby
I see your sun is shining
But I won't make a fuss
Though it's obvious
For Beck's instrumental, he vigorously head banged while using an air guitar.
I slipped away the instant he took off his stinking vest. As I left he was twirling it above his head as fast as he could like a helicopter's rotor blades. He begun - and may still be - doing laps around his settee singing Barry Manilow hits at full volume.
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