It’s a rainy night and, in a cold practice room above the Pump and Truncheon, Adam and Barry from Dinosaurs are Sh*t Dragons are worrying about stage-wear.
Adam: “I don’t have any women’s clothes anymore”
Barry: “You can borrow some of mine, it’s alreet.”
A: “They’re not going to fit.”
B: “No they’re skinny-girl’s clothes. I didn’t buy them when I was fat.”
A: “I used to have a really nice dress. I had a couple actually…”
B: “Do you want the sl*tty one or the long one?”
A: “Erm… could be the long one.”
B: “Sh*t”
It’s my fault really. In my view it was a simple question, “What can we expect from your final gig?” but, as ever with DASD, simple questions tend to be ‘answered’ with surreal discussions that only ever stay to the point in the bluntest of senses. It’s like the answer you were expecting texting you to say it’s on its way but going out, “just for one,” meeting some mates, having a few more shandies then stumbling to your table covered in vomit, offering an over-loud “shorry,” and trying its best to give you a kiss.
Dinosaurs gigs seem to follow a similar path. Gleefully disorganised, righteously aggressive, brutally sarcastic and fly-by-the-seat-of-someone-else’s-pants messy, the only thing to expect is that you shouldn’t expect anything they told you to, er… expect.
They tell me that February 22 2014 at The Blue Room, is the time and place that Dinosaurs become extinct. They tell me to expect four grown men dressed up in drag, Barry in a particularly tight-fitting little number, lipstick smeared and mascara running, screaming ‘LET ME BE YOUR FANTASY’.
I don’t believe a word of it. At least I don’t want to. But I expect I’ll be getting extra-specially smashed just in case. I expect everyone else will be too. I expect to see you there. One thing’s for sure, it’ll be your last chance for an age.
Dinosaurs are Sh*t Dragons’ play The Blue Room, 9pm on Saturday 22 February. Support from Fighting and The Scarlett Rogues.
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