Peter and the Test Tube Babies - Peter's old blog logs

Dave's blog, old stuff
Recent entries you might have missed, we delete the old crap.

I thought the regular readers of this website might be interested in the domestic arrangements of us so-called musicians and how we manage to cope with the mundane matters of everyday existence amid the frenzied lunacy of our non stop rock and roll rollercoaster lifestyles. Of course, as a cave dweller I have slightly more to deal with about the home as my prehistoric facilities are necessarily more labour intensive than my more modern counterparts.

After a long day of hunter-gathering, wrestling with sabre toothed tigers and throwing stones at woolly mammoths followed by an evening playing drums in some sweaty boozer full of fighting skinheads the last thing I want to do is run a duster over the cave. Therefore I take the wife gently by the hair and, after administering a romantic beating, bundle her into the broom cupboard and get her busy with the old J-cloths and suchlike. Well, I can hardly be a new man as I was born in the Neolithic period.

I cannot deny that it is rather difficult to keep the old cave from stinking like the fucking shit hole it is. The main trouble is the rather primitive toilet arrangement which consists of an open trench in the middle of the cave. Once it is full we encourage the dogs to eat the contents, which does reduce the smell, but then the gormless beasts tend to be less fussy with their own habits and the cave floor is littered with dogshit. Happily the wife is soon pressed into service with rubber gloves and mop under threat of a brutal clubbing.

One of the difficulties of trying to keep up with 21^st century living is the lack of cash when scraping by on a Neolithic wage. Taking in lodgers seemed to be the ideal answer and so we placed a stone tablet in the newsagent’s window. Most of the applicants were so horrified at the conditions in the cave that they left immediately, however we eventually found a suitable candidate. He is a very quiet bloke, in fact he is decidedly secretive, spending a lot of time in prayer or mumbled phone calls in Arabic. The only trouble is that he hardly ever comes up with the rent money. I said to him "Look here, Mr Bin Laden, you really should get out there and find a job." But he seems reluctant to ever leave the cave so I am going to have to tell poor old Osama to sling his hook.

Well there you have it, an insight into the life of a busy rock star at home, now I must be off to give the wife a vicious clubbing. If you have any tips about cave cleaning or want to rent a space in the lovely homestead please contact me at daveflatpig@genie.co.uk

How quickly time flies! (when your brain is filled with drugs). The last thing I knew it was a fine summer and I couldn’t wait until September, now the year has fled by and 2007 is upon us bringing with it who knows what. Yet, like all other punk rockers, I have been left thinking: “what a fantastic year for soft fruit 2006 was!!!” A walk in the country one late summer afternoon in September left myself and the long suffering wife agog at the sheer volume of hedgerow goodies on offer. I mean, as your aficionado of all things punk and Oi! will be well aware, most September hedges bear a bountiful supply of blackberries and elderberries but to be rewarded with such a plentiful source of damsons is a thing that seems to comply with the old seven year rule and then only if you are lucky.

Needless to say, in true anarchic style meself and the wife loaded carrier bag after dogshit bag with berries and returned to the homestead with a bumper crop of hedgestuffs which were soon converted into booze. Autumn in England provides the ideal recipe for cheap (almost free) booze and so I give you now my personal favourite recipe:

STERILISE EVERYTHING YOU USE WITH HOT WATER OR STERILISING SOLUTION YOU DIRTY FILTHY CUNT.

Place the fruit and sugar and grape juice (good for vinosity) in a (clean, non-coloured) bucket and pour four and a half litres of boiling water over it. When cool sprinkle the yeast over the top.

Strain off all the solid shit and put the fermenting must into a demi john. (in a warm place)

When fermentation is finished (month or so) chuck in a campden tablet and siphon off into another demi john.

After a few weeks of clearing, siphon into bottles and keep until your resolve cracks.

That’s all there is to it and you should be able to get six bottles of wine for the price of a bag and a half of sugar and a tiny sachet of yeast. HOW FUCKING COOL IS THAT????

If there was a god ( which there fucking obviously IS NOT) it would be just like nicking booze straight off the shelves of god’s offie. That’s the way I see it.

2 I have never been kicked in the bollocks or stabbed by another amateur winemaker or countryside hedge collector.

Should you have any winemaking/drumming/autoerotic tips please feel free to contact me at:

I was most impressed by Del`s dancing on the Hootennany, he truly has all the very best moves, His swanky outfit put that scruff Holland to shame as well. I bet he didn't have such expensive footwear as Del`s trainers. More remarkable still was Mr. Chinnery's performance as Mr. Toad in the new version of Wind in the Willows, an absolutely inspired work of casting genius as hardly any make up must have had to have been applied. Here are pictures of chin in and out of costume for you to see if you can spot the difference and look forward to seeing H in "The Simon Weston Story".

Kept hearing all this stuff on Radio 1 about Lily Allen losing her dog to heartless thieves and was so delighted to hear that the hapless hound had been recovered that I went out and bought a paper to see if there were any pictures. How my heart sank when I saw the state the evil dognappers had allowed the poor wee beastie to get into. Observe the heart rending picture below.....such a tragic sight.

“What sort of a sad fucker writes a fucking Blog?” I thought to myself when setting about this task. “What the fuck is a blog?” was the other question pressing on my small mind. I decide to investigate and read some of the blogs on My(waste of)space. Previous to this research I had thought that “blog” was a contraction of “web” and “log” but after perusing a few of the diaries on offer I realized that it must be an acronym for “boring load of gobbledygook”. The tragic fuckwits who think their pointless little lives could possibly be of any interest to anybody other than themselves must be among the most misguided imbeciles ever to set foot on the planet. “Hooray” thought I, “they’re just like me.” I realize now that I don’t have to keep updating this thing, I can just put: “Played a gig somewhere and got so off my head that I didn’t know what I was doing and then made a cunt of myself”. Easy.

If anybody reads this page at all they are probably drummers so maybe I should write some sort of “drum chat” (nice and cheesy does it) or just put drum tips for beginners like “shut the fuck up and play the drums, you are not a musician”. Who knows where it could go, if anybody has any ideas about what to write in an interesting and informative blog please feel free to contact me at daveflatpig@genie.co.uk, abusive comments are very welcome.

In the meantime here is a poor quality drummer joke:

Q: What has three legs and a cunt?
A: A drum stool.

Cheers for now, “Caveman” Dave XX