COOL AS FUCK, FRIDAY 4th DECEMBER

I’ve been a tinsy touch hard on Hastings, but it must be said that among the hunchbacked Diamond White supping flotsam of this backward seaside town, there are a small number of warm, kind hearted, and generous citizens. I mean, only last time I was there, I wandered straight to the sea, leaned over the railings outside my hotel and was greeted with the unforgettable offer from two carloads of young folk. “Oi! Dirtyman! Suck my Dad’s cock!” I respectfully declined but it was a touching moment.

I might call their bluff next week. Or bring my Dad along to return the favour.

A MONKEY'S TALE #1: A POT TO PISS IN

I get back to my hotel room shortly after two. They call it a hotel but it’s more a large B&B. I’ve had five or six pints of Stella and two JD and cokes. I’m pissed but not shit faced.

I kick off my shoes, drop my shirt on the floor, put my trousers over the chair as neatly as I can manage, take off my socks then pause. Normally I wouldn’t sleep in my pants but something about the grubbiness of the sheets makes me think twice and keep them on. Within seconds I’m asleep.

As is the way these days, I wake in the middle of the night needing a tinkle. Go to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Hang on. I’m not in the bathroom. I’m in the corridor. Bollocks. Push the door. Locked. Push harder. Still locked. You’re having a laugh. Shit. What am I going to do? Before I can think about that, the issue of needing a leak becomes urgent. Run down three flights of stairs to the ground floor. No toilets. Run back up to my floor. No toilets there either. Oh yeah, all the rooms are en-suite. I’m getting desperate. Go back down the stairs. There’s a small potted plant on the landing. Hmmm. Consider it but judge it wouldn’t take it all and carpet is a pale blue colour that’ll show the spillage too clearly. And seeing how at some point I’ll have to get help I’ll be too obviously the culprit.

Back on the ground floor and I’m hopping about wildly and panicking. Shall I go outside? You madman. Bad enough being locked out my room in my skimpy pants let alone out in the street. The lounge. Come on, come on, there’s got to be something there. Would a cushion soak it all up? Ridiculous idea. The breakfast room. I expect the door to be locked but it’s not and I go in. Hallelujah! Those little silver tea pots all lined up glistening, beckoning. Ahhhhh. And relax. Except the pot’s rapidly filling so I pinch hard and grab a larger pot. And finish. Phew. Relief.

But now I realise I’m stood in the darken breakfast room of a shabby hotel in a miserable seaside town at quarter to five in morning holding two pots of piss dressed only in my Calvin Klein’s. In a fleeting glass-half-full moment I thank the Lord for the grubbiness of those sheets.

I wander around before finding a small sink under a counter and rinse the pots before putting back on tables. It’s too early to wake the hotelier – not that I know how to anyway – so go back to my room and curl up on the floor outside. It’s draughty but I fall asleep before waking up again and, yep, need another piss. Repeat.

It’s now half seven and I reckon it’s a reasonable time to take a deep breath and summon help. In the reception I spot a “please call for assistance” buzzer. It’s deafening. Immediately from a hatch under the stairs right next to the breakfast room pops the head of an angry troll. In a Mr. Reasonable voice I go, “Excuse me, do you have a spare key for room 4?” He doesn’t strike me as the type of chap that would normally object to half naked men standing in front of him but even he apparently draws the line at puffy eyed old mods stinking of beer and piss covered in red blotchy imprints from his scratchy synthetic carpet. Silently he gives me the key and I hot foot it trying to look as casual as the circumstances allow.

At this stage I should just pack my bag and leg it in shame but I go to bed meaning I see him again when I check out. “Sorry about that earlier, I must’ve been sleepwalking and found myself locked out”. He doesn’t say much and I’m out of there.

COOL AS FUCK PLAYLIST

Don’t normally do DJ playlists but here’s what I played at Cool As Fuck in Hastings on Friday.

The brief recommended uptempo 45s with a bit of Motown for a mixed crowd including a few scooterists. Seemed a perfect opportunity to revive some old soul classics I wouldn’t normally play at hardcore mod/R&B nights. And no, before you ask, that didn’t include “The Snake”.

The following transformed a miserable depressing hovel of an inbred seaside town so wretched you feel the compulsion to shoot heroin in your eyes, into a sizzling orgy of frantic tail feather shaking.

2330-0015
Eddie Holland – Baby Shake (Motown)
Sugar & Sweet – You Don’t Have To Cry (Pep)
Jimmy Elledge – Gonna Turn Your Voodoo On (RCA Victor)
Bobby Marchan – Chickee Wah-Wah (Gale)
Dorie Williams – Tell Me Everything You Know (635)
Otis Rush – Homework (Duke)
Artie Golden – Look Out (Sunshine)
The Rollers – Troubles (Bel-Star)
Johnny Watson – I Say, I Love You (King)
Roy Roberts – Got To Have Your Love (Ninandy)
Alder Ray – My Heart Is In Danger (Minit)
The Four Shells – Hot Dog (Volt)
Ray Scott – Right Now (Decca)
Dalton Boys – I’ve Been Cheated (VIP)
Aretha Franklin – Tighten Up Your Tie, Button Up Your Jacket (Columbia)
Edwin Starr – I Have Faith In You (Ric-Tic)
The O’Jays – Lipstick Traces (Imperial)
The Groove – Love Is Getting Better (Wand)
David Dunn – Say Ain’t It So (Lori)

0050-0125
Rufus Thomas – Turn Your Damper Down (Stax)
Big Maybelle – Quittin’ Time (Direction)
Grover Pruitt – Little Girl (Salem)
The Dippers – Goin’ Ape (Diplomacy)
Rufus Lumley – I’m Standing (Horton)
The Downbeats – Request Of A Fool (Tamla)
Isley Brothers – This Old Heart Of Mine (Tamla Motown)
Kim Weston – Helpless (Gordy)
Gloria Grey – It’s A Sweet World (Warner Brothers)
Sugar Pie Desanto – Here I Come Running (Checker)
Jimmy Bell – What’cha Gonna Do About Me (Hickory)
Banny Price – You Love Me Pretty Baby (Jewel)
Mike Pedecin – Burnt Toast and Black Coffee (Federal)
Ernie Washington – Lonesome Shack (Chattahoochee)
Sugar Boy Williams – Little Girl (Herald)
Prince Conley – I’m Going Home (Satellite)

CAF! FRIDAY 10th JULY

Hastings! Huh! Yeah! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing usually but on Friday 10th July you could do worse than pop your head into Bar-Celona for some choice tunes to sip your sangria (or Stella) to.

I’ll be dragging a box of Monkey Magic on the train to join CAF resident DJs Rowly and Southern Sam to spin some summery sixties soul and R&B 45s. All the details you need are above.

Feeling in an up tempo rhythm and soul mood myself, with a splash of danceable fuzzed-up blues and a few ever-faithful Motown monsters. Cool as fuck.