They didn’t see it coming. Someone should’ve warned them. Someone should have prepared. The fringe that never sleeps just got a wake up call. From the depths of Brookes bar a vicious beast emerged and swept through the hordes eliminating all possibility of an early night and damaging throats and dignity in one fell swoop. Even man giants such as the Greg Davies fell in its path and those who thrive mostly on liquids being from the Welshlands like Rhod were not able to resist its lure. What did this I hear you cry? Surely nothing is capable of such destruction? It must be the stuff of myth? That’s ancient myth, not a young lady with a lisp. No, this monster exists and its name be…..TURBO CRAB!
Who did this? Who made the Turbo Crab? What evil denizen of the underworld, what batshit mad scientist of hell would create such a horror? The culprit, a man no one would suspect with his cleaner than clean face and more charm than a Gypsy’s trinket stall. Yes, none other than Stuart Goldsmith. Under the guise of a ‘Reasonable Man’, Goldsmith is the sort of rogue that would make Stalin look like a salesman for happy times. I don’t know what this means. The mere suggestion of mixing a Crabbie’s ginger beer and a Smirnoff Ice in a single pint glass was at first mocked, laughed at. How on earth could mixing the prime ingredients of a teenager’s binge drinking sessions lend itself to an adult environment? Would we all end up pulling behind the bins? Would someone be sick in a handbag? No. Instead, the two combined powers forge a drink that’s tastiness was previously unbeknownst to mankind. And so it began with Stu passing on his pint to taste and I became hooked. One by one people heard the news and TURBO CRAB spread round the Brookes bar quicker than the mutant STD it sounds like. Before anyone knew what had happened I had unwillingly become a crab carrier, racing round all clientele and even the bar staff to make them try such a drink. It was veritable magic potion and as the glass hit each of their lips, they were hooked. Meanwhile, like a shiny Doctor Doom of mirth, Stu quietly watched the mayhem unfold.
To be fair I should’ve always known not to trust a man who’s friend, Vince, last night used the phrase, in response to me asking what he does, as ‘you know, the usual: unicycling, juggling and that.’ This has never been the usual. Ever. Yet it was said with such a laissez fare attitude that I could not help but pass it off as entirely being the usual and nothing more. It was only later, several turbo crabs in, that it dawned on me that this man’s life must be so exciting if that is the benchmark of normality. I assume a wild night would need to include actual dragons and swords for it to be anything other than tedious. I would like my usual to be of such a high level. As it is, its mostly just ‘do a gig, have a drink’. Somewhere, somehow, I need to up this ante so I can start saying responding to people asking about what I do with my life as something better. ‘You know. The usual: training gorillas in ninjitsu and punching sharks in their stupid shark faces.’ Ah the dream.
Another 6am hometime and oddly I feel much better today than I did yesterday. The wall is gone and I’ve decided I don’t care anymore. This is partly down to buying a notepad with sharks on it. Not real ones. That’d make it hard to write. No. Just pictures of sharks with their stupid shark faces. I have genuinely been trying my best all day to not write ‘Fin’ at the end of every page for my own enjoyment. So that, and I think the only other explanation for today’s feel good vibe must be the TURBO CRAB. I may have to fuel myself on such goodness for the rest of the fringe. Or actually go home and sleep tonight. That might work too. Sleep schmeep. Turbo Crab, TURBO CRAB! TURBO CRAB! TURBO CRAB! *dies*