Stretch across the water….
As an International ambassador for music and bondage gear, I know a lot about tunes and swings, so on a recent trip to the capital of greater London, I ended up under a bridge (like so many of those Irish and pepper people) listening to a bunch of young men doing Dubstep and other things. It was a dark, grimy, nasty cold hole of a place with a clientele who wore their least dirty tracksuits for the special occasion. I was with “my man at the BBC” MC Cog and his tiny dappr littul friend Kenneth Branagh.
It was a launch party, but it worried Stretch. It was a launch party by numbers. They couldn’t sell alcohol, so an ancient form of bartering for beer came into play. Tokens to be bought and then given back to the same person for beer. Thank the Laward I wasn’t mentally confused. This meant it was an ordeal to get alco-like. The acts I was waiting for were Skream and Radioactive Man. So we got to the venue and those guys were due to be onstage at 6am. It was 1am now. Okay, five hours to kill with the other DJs/producers.
Branagh decides to buy littul pills off a man who I wouldn’t have bought a bomber jacket off. He throws it into him like they do in the movies. Pills in mouth – head thrown violently back. So that’s him sorted, we thought.
The Bobbies arrive and all the Irish hide (just in case). All the bomber jacket/drug dealers vanish. At this time, Kenneth Branagh began to lose it. He started to spin and I mean SPIN. The music became a slow dubstep rhythmic crunching sound and increased in speed as he spun. We followed him where he spun.
“Hows we gonna stop thees geeza, Stretch?” said MC Cog.
“I dunno Cog, do you have a large cloak?”
The coppers got interested in this spinning and with collective bulldog grimaces decided enough spinning was enough.
“Shit, he’s done for now!” One of us said.
The piggies ran after Branagh, but he was spinning too fast, from room to room he went, from Jungle to Dubstep to Techno he travelled. We didn’t want to be too conspicuous, so we pretended to talk to each other and slid from room to room. We got close to Branagh at one point.
“Dudo, stop you’re going to hurt yourself!” I ventured.
“Yo nevah gonna catch me coppa, wahaaa!” exclaimed a sweaty Branagh.
As he re-entered the Dubstep room, two filth aimed at him, missed and crashed into each other. Sub-bass was exploding through my head, I looked at my time device.
“3am, shit three hours to kill.” I thought.
MC Cog dived at Branagh’s feet, got kicked in the face and was out cold. Shit, it was just me left. What would Stretch do if one of your friends is spinning out of control in a dark dingy nightclub being chased by the fuzz and your other friend was out cold under a bunch of coats? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
“Ahh, I’ve got it. Time to go old Skool!”
Quietly, I sidled up to one of the DJs. It was so dark I was able to render him unconscious without anyone seeing. I jacked my iPod in and mixed in Joe Dolan straight after Digitalism. This was a gamble and I knew it.
“oh me oh mi you’re such a good looking woman….”
Crazily, the crowd got into it. They changed their dancing movements and suddenly all had one hand in the air. Yes, it’s working. The hands move from side to side violently in the manner of an Offaly wedding. I could see Branagh spinning toward the room. I dragged Cog’s body outside the club and hid him behind a wheelie bin and ran back in.
Closer came Branagh, the crowd had created huge gusts of wind with their one-armed dancing.
Whoooooosh, Branagh got caught by this wind and was flung out the club door and half way down the street. Bang, I unjacked my ipod and ran for the door. The effect of no music playing caused the crazed youths to start fighting and the Police finally had their special night.
Branagh had hit the wall and vomited behind a wheelie bin.
“Aw shit.” I thought.