Yosh! Watch me original rub-a-dub style! And welcome to another week in the world of Domu. Next week I will have news of how the Here Comes Treble launch nights in London and Birmingham went, with the wonderful Ben Mi Duck performing live at both. But first, lets take time to reflect on what has transpired since last we spoke.

I am conscious of this blog turning into an excuse for me to describe every gig I ever do, and allowing it to be an expose of other DJ’s, promoters and all the other assorted wildlife that I have to co-habit with in club-land. I only say this because the promoter I met this weekend wasn’t so keen on me mentioning various aspects of the evening, as to not bloody his name to anyone bored enough to cast their eyes briefly over my weekly drivel. I will respect this, although I feel it is fine to mention one funny point of the evening, where we arrived at Plastic People at the end of the evening to find a few spent DJ’s collecting their thoughts, records and meagre earnings after a hard nights graft. We happened upon another DJ from out of town who was going back to his hotel after relaxing at PP for a wee while too, so we agreed to meet him at his temporary lodgings in a bit, with the idea that hotel room service was more preferable to any other food establishment open at 5am in East London. So myself and my promoter friend for the evening set off around the corner in a cab to the Great Western Hotel on Liverpool Street, a fancy 4 or 5 star hotel I had stayed at once before, convinced that soon we would be drinking fine teas from around the world in a matter of minutes. Upon arrival, we quickly and professionally asserted our way through the lobby, displaying a tremendous theatrical gift for the facial expression “Yes I am staying here, I checked in earlier, the lift is over here and we are retiring to our rooms after a hard nights work.” In reality we looked like two 30 something DJ’s slightly worse for wear from a night of tequila, rum and whisky. And beer. It transpired though that the said DJ wasn’t staying at this hotel at all, even though we had convinced ourselves he was in room 521 and would be there shortly.

So we had managed to secrete ourselves, quite pointlessly onto the 5^th floor of a posh hotel with absolutely nothing to do there. So we ambled out again, this time with a look of “Yes we outwitted you, you simple hotel reception staff. And it was all for a laugh! We didn’t even have a reason to trick our way into your poncy hotel, we did it for the kudos such pointless japery brings!” Events dragged from the ridiculous to the downright draining as the afore mentioned DJ turned up with more stragglers, and we all realised he wasn’t staying at the Great Western at all, but The Hoxton on Great Eastern Street. So a building entourage of people dragged themselves back to the area we all came from an hour ago, to then find out he wasn’t booked in there either. The crew bowled back to one of the group’s flat where I had a cheese roll and a cup tea, then walked to Farringdon Station to begin the long journey back to Bedford. My life is so astoundingly glamorous it truly warrants a blog, doesn’t it?

The proudest moment of my week has to be my first ever appearance on BBC6music. I am a keen downloader of comedy podcasts and have been getting into Adam and Joe, who do a three hour Saturday morning show every week. Listening live this weekend just gone, I decided to secretly contribute to Text The Nation, a regular feature for listeners to contribute to a comedic discussion of the presenters choosing. This week the topic was noting annoying things that come with the recent hot weather, and I texted in about the smell of meat coming from other peoples barbeques going on my washing. Nothing like that had ever really happened to me, but I played the veggie card, and signed off as The Jazz Grandad, my new pseudonym for radio text/phone ins, which i think greatly helped my chances of it being read out on the show. I had left the text written on my phone in case they read it out so as to impress my wife, and slap bang in the middle of our breakfast there it came. I had never been so visually excited in all my life. I showed Sallie the text, we had a high five and The Jazz Grandad was born. Undoubtedly, he will return.

The irony is we went for a walk a bit later, where it seemed the whole world was having a barbeque, whereupon I realised I didn’t mind the smell at all.

Enjoy the summer people, because this is it. It’s the same every May. Thank you global warming.