Quite the entertaining night at the Public Bar, and plethoric kudos to those who fought the cold, damp and troglodytes to get there.

With the mando viscously shived, a torpedo straight into the exhaust port of the bellows, and the 12-string held at bay by an unyielding stream of covering fire... what could we do but toss back Dutch courage and storm the mosh with all the fight left in us... it's what Ned would have wanted!

The Public now rates in my list of all time favourite venues, but then any joint where you have to unload the truck to the operatic strains and squeaks of anxious love making from high in the tenement, must deserve some kind of adulation!  There is also the little matter of Block's receding hairline as he hands out crayola scissor-hacked dreadlocks to the fair damsels.

The 16th will bring us new adventure no doubt as we unleash the famed Catgut mystery bag upon the throng at The Tote. SC Trash! Charter 77! Cherrywood Guns! We who survive the clash will reassemble at The Espy the next night where we will drink to the memory of those that we left behind.

Whistlin' Davey
CATGUT MARY