“I KNOW we stink. . , and we love it!” says a brave Auntie as he’s affronted with sparse applause and occasional hecklin’.

It’s hardly marked ‘top secret’ that Aunt May wants to be Alice Cooper. He wears Wrathchild’s discarded stack-heels, studded cod-piece an’ fishnet stockings, which is a biiiiiiiiig mistake with those knees! He spits spaghetti and looks as dangerous. disgustin’ and demented as. . . someone spittin’ spaghetti.

One of his guitarists is chained up, shoved in a sack an’ left writhin’ centre stage while Auntie, in snorkel and flippers whips the trussed musician.

And he fronts a ….hmm… ‘competent’ 4 piece band with a seeerious lack of hair, who look as at home playin’ with auntie a goldfish in a budgie cage!

Aunt May is either desperate for any kind of attention or he’s finally cracked. And the old bugger tries so damn hard, devil bless him! But that special formula he’s so clumsily groping for is, as ever, bubbling merrily away well out of his grubby reach.

The only real ‘shock’ of the night was of the shockingly obvious variety, as they awarded themselves an encore and played.. .three guesses.. ‘School’s Out’, which culminated in an onstage custard-pie fight. Well. . . at least someone had a good time!

But! But! But! My little fruit-bats, as goddamn bloody awful as the gig was, I did tip my rock ‘n’ roll hat to the Rocky Horror reject as, when dealing with one drunken nuisance, he let loose:

Darlin’, I’m more man than you’ll ever be, and more woman than you’ll ever have!”

Cute. Obviously rehearsed… but cute.


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