Hot Dub Time Machine

I had a morning free so I helped a friend move house. Everybody seems to be moving house all the time at the moment. I don’t know how I’d manage to do that with all the accumulated years worth of utter crap I have here. I could probably throw away three quarters of what I own and miss none of it. There’s clothes and books and random bits of fluff that never see the light of day. Sometimes I imagine it all pulling at my energy, anchoring me into this flat, wanting me to drag it around. No surprise I like to live out of a suitcase, and go on tour. Maybe I should have a jumble sale and ditch some of it that way. Or just take it to a charity shop while I’ve got my car. I find it hard to throw things away.

I’m still feeling positive and forward after last week’s vomit-fest. The kambo dots on my arm feel like visible reminders not to slip into old habits. It’s been a great week for meetings and recalls. There’s more to come next week, too. I need to keep my head. I’ve been keeping the diet as well, as best I can. Although Brian, right now, is cooking cheese and pork and wheat and he’s just told me he’s putting red bull in the onions, which makes it one of the least Al friendly meals possible. Great of him to cook but I think I’ll pass and just get some fruit.

The red bull onions are in anticipation of the fact that Brian and Mel I are going dancing. We’re off to Hot Dub Time Machine in Brixton. It doesn’t even start until 9 so I’m getting this written before I go out in the anticipation of being crosseyed later. I’m loading up with glowsticks. I was supposed to be at Bestival this evening so it’s only right I go some way towards duplicating the experience I’d have had there. In fact I’ll let myself finish this in whatever state I happen to find myself in at 3am or whenever I roll in.


I’m now standing in Brixton waiting for an uber, covered in glitter. Even my moustache is full of glitter. God knows how I’ll audition for a doctor on Monday. Hot Dub Time Machine involves dancing consistently to hits from 1957 to present. Turns out the year I was born had some banging tunes. I’ve just been dancing. That’s as much as I’ve had the headspace for. There were six of us there, and we exchanged about three words all night. One thing I’ve discovered is that music since 2010 has been pretty shoddy and generic. Either that or hindsight hasn’t kicked in with enough context to bring out the diamonds that stand the test of time. Certainly the last half an hour of the set was the weakest. Which I thought was just me being old until Brian reflected my thoughts, and he’s 29. All said, a great night, and that guy that runs the time machine – he must be totally minted after cutting together a load of videos and stitching up a timeshift DJ set. Good work that man.

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Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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