On the way home Rory drove through a carwash for the boys and girl and to wash away the residue of rebellion. With the windows closed and the water trickling down, it was like being locked in a dream of the womb. The band listened to Dudley in the radio and quickly dispelled the rumours with antipodean politpop.

 hristo.jpg (24684 bytes) Dee would move from here to there, all at once everything and nothing. The band had chosen the time to record. It was a fraught time for Rory. He was in Finland. To avert his embarrassment, the band wrote new songs. The studio appeared in the corner at midnight, the soundman and ex grasshopper called Acko. The band had not been drinking all day. Honestly.

 

 

During this interminable session, as the night went awol and the day grabbed a tenuous hold on proceedings they recorded the Now Infamous INFUNDIBULUM. They were all rightly excited by the clean sounds of them selves, like washing after two years living in a bin. Dee played the trumpet for the band, Paul went to jazz heaven and back that night. Lisa sounded like musical crystals hidden in an Arctic cave. They would, however, look back on this time and say: Nyah, so what. They missed their dirty wounds.