Big Blues at the Gov - rilly BIG
Wednesday, 06 June 2012

And it’s Happy Birthday to the Queen and Happy Strawberry Jujube! Or something.  Yes, it’s the Queen’s Birthday long weekend and the occasion of the formerly fun and exciting Sea and Vines festivities, now watered down to a typically South Australian slippers and cardigan retirement social. You may taste some wine but … don’t have fun!


Sample ImageSo…. Friday June 9: we have Sweet Baby James and Rob Eyers at the Whitmore Hotel, doin’ the ol’ Double Voodoo Blues.








Sample ImageFriday June 9: Shades of Blue at Bacchus Bar, Henley Beach. 8.30 kick off.







Sample Image Friday June 8th 7:30 The Beggars at The Acoustic Peacock Lot 80, Norman Rd, Willunga





Sample ImageSunday June 10:  Michael Hill will be at Maxwells Winery McClarenvale so get on down and keep him company.





Sample ImageSunday June 10 at the Whitty: Big Daddy and the Preacher at the Whitmore Hotel – 4.30 to 7.30. They is a grouse duo…





Sample ImageMonday June 11:  pan!c returns to Maxwells Winery McClarenvale for a long haul… 11 am to 5 pm (almost like a real job, eh?), so make sure you drop in to see the boys. As they say: When all else fails… p**!c









Sample ImageTuesday June 12:  Blues Avenue Trio cuts sick at the Showgrounds but I think it’s a “private/corporate” affair and you’re not allowed to go to it.  Unless you’ve been invited, in which case: I’ll see you there.






Sample ImageThursday June 14:  Sweet Baby James and Rob Eyers at the Gilbert Street Hotel. The best Buffalo wings this side of the Goyder Line and the best in Double Voodoo Roots music.  Early start: 7 pm. You may have to book for your bowl of Gilbert Street Buffalo Wings – they are ‘popular’! go here: … or phone here: 8231 9909.






Sample ImageNow for the biggie….. Friday June 15 at the Gov:   the Big Blues Night with 2 Katz, The Steve Brown Band and the mighty Dave Blight and the Flyers.

Doors open at 7.30, get yourself some tickets early, pre-book/purchase here: …  and get loaded up with information about the gig and the bands.    The line-ups are impressive and will ensure a fine Sample Imageevening of Roots and Blues music. The line-up in The Flyers alone is a Who’s Who of South Aussie rocken blues music (See te gov. site). Plus you'll get Big Daddy (whoever the fuk he is) and Steve Brown (we all know who he is) and all his brown band, and many more.


Get in for the Big Blues Night at the Gov.





 Looking Ahead even further:


Sample ImageSaturday 23rd June 2012: HOLLYWOOD GUN CLUB - rock till yer ears bleed, just like to olden days!!!! MAYHEM presents - LIVE - "A Night Of Classic Hard Rock & Metal" at ENIGMA Bar - 173 HINDLEY STREET. With Matterhorn. Is that a question to Stevo? What's the matterhorne?

for information go here: and here: (08) 8212 2313




Sherluck fukken Holmes and the royal solution


“Watson, I have in my hand a note that informs me that we, in a few minutes, we will be visited by the Right Hon Sir Reginald Rectum-Visage.... What is it Watson?  You look a little concerned…”

“It’s nothing, Holmes, I just thought you said Reginald Bumface was coming here... But perhaps I was mistaken…”

“No, Watson, you were not mistaken. In fact, here he is now! Come on in, Sir Reginald.  What can we do for you?”

“Well, Ahem.... Mr Holmes, It’s ... more of a matter of what can YOU do.”

“Come, come my good man, speak up.”

“Well, Holmes,” Sir Reginald mumbled while rolling his eyes towards the part of the room where Watson was seated. “I hope you will understand when I say that perhaps I should speak to you in private….”

“Reggie, old son, anything that you have to say to me can be freely uttered in front of my dear friend and colleague, John Watson. He is my associate and indeed, in some ways, my other half, so to speak.”

“If you insist, Holmes, but, you see,  it’s rather a delicate matter….”

“Please, Sir Reg, just let it all hang out!”

“Rightey-ho, then.  Watson is a turd! In fact... he’s a dirty big turd!”

“I say, Sir Reg, that’s certainly digging up the spuds, isn’t it? Is there an explanation for your attitude towards my dear friend?”

“There most certainly is, Mr Holmes…  I came home from my job at the Houses of Parliament the other day and caught him with his hand up my wife’s skirts!”

“Ha! Ha! Well, Sir Reg, that can be explained very easily: John Watson is a medical doctor and was no doubt engaged in a consultation with your wife in regard to her ...well, her ladies' lower bodily parts, which are not things with which I am familiar, but - I am sure - are regions to which Watson, being medically trained and certified as such, can administer succour.”

“Quit so, Holmes, quite so…” huffed Watson. “Administering succour and…. ah… Doctors’ business.”

“So, you see, Reg;  there is a simple explanation for the situation you perceived and I can also vouch for Watson's skill as a quack and will hasten to assure you that the prognosis of your wife’s condition – whatever it is - in the hands of this very good fellow will be sterling; his success rate is above average. Somewhat, I believe.... for a quack in these dark, Victorian times.”

“All right, then. If you say so, Holmes.”

“I do. You may rest easily in regard to this enquiry, Sir Reginald. Now fuk off to whatever snobby club you and your fellow political parasites infest and leave me alone; I want to take some drugs and play my guitar. Cheerio.”

After Sir Reginald's departure, Watson turned to Holmes.... “Whew, Holmes; that sailed a bit close to the rocks!”

“Yes, Watson. There was a risk that Arseface might have had you struck off.”

“Mmmm, there was that,” conceded Watson. “Could have been worse, though. If Sir Reg had come home ten minutes later that day he‘d've caught me up to me plums in Lady Bumface's pudding!”

“Watson!  Are you saying you are having intimate relations with Lady Bumface???”

“If you mean that I’m feeding wood to her beaver you’ve whacked the naughty pupil right on the date, mate! And she’s torrid for it, too!”

“Watson, I don’t know how you can do it; I can't think of anything more bizarre than ladies and chappies rubbing their urological outlets together.  However, this affords us an ideal segue to demonstrate my current project...”

With that and a great flourish, Holmes flung back a curtain to expose benches and racks of scientific equipment.

“It - my Dear Watson - is a chemical lobotomy.”

“Holmes, I’m surprised at your error. Isn’t it a chemist’s laboratory?”

“There are no flies on you, Watson, and yet… there are, as well. In my chemists’s laboratory I have been developing a chemical lobotomy! Sort of.”

“I say, Holmes…”

“And you can say it again, you dirty little fukker, but that is the essence of my current work.”

“But what is it all in aid of, Holmes?”

“It is to aid the future generations, Watson.  It is no secret that out royal family is ... well, to put it in in a scientific way ... our royal family has a tendency to keep dipping its toes in its own gene pool and as a man of science you may quickly foresee trouble in future generations through inbreeding.”

“I should say so, Holmes! One has to only look at history to see the effects of such fellacious filial fornication. So… what have you developed to negate this worrying issue, my good fellow?”

“Here it is, Watson.... It’s a special liquid that I have invented and put in an aerosol spray.... It's called Incest-icide!”

“Good Lord, Holmes!”

“So some say, Watson, but I doubt it. However… I intend to dress up as the Flick man and approach The Palace with a superficial agenda to free the kitchens and bedrooms of plague-carrying pests but I will in fact be there to spray all their underwear and foodstuffs with my incest-icide and knock this intra-family frolicking on the head.”

“Holmes... the future will thank you.”

“I fukken hope so, Watson. I’m not doing this for nothing!”

Later, Holmes returns from his errand in disgust and flings himself on the sofa.

“Fuk it Watson.   That dirty Professor Moriarty had got there before me and stitched them up with a bunch of ‘love your brother - love your sister’ hippie-shit propaganda. They were shagging like fukken rabbits when I arrived and they told me to stuff my spray gun up my arse.”

“I say, Holmes; that was a bit off colour. What will happen now...?”

“Watson, through no fault of mine but because of that devil Moriarty, the future I see for an incestuous royal family is one of horse-faced women with donkey teeth who allow themselves to be smothered in dogs, and dotty men who lean towards tree-hugging and wearing plaid skirts in public while harbouring desires to become feminine hygiene products. This would be offset by raging eccentrics with vivisectionist tendencies, a love of shooting things with a nancy-boy or two tossed in the mix as well. And they’ll be harder to dislodge from the throne than a greasy skidmark on the dunny bowl.  In short Watson I see the royal family in a hundred years as nothing more than a side-show to Piccadilly Circus and barely more than a curiosity for tourists.”

“It makes me want to cry in the future, Holmes; is there nothing we can do?”

“I’m giving up on it, Watson. I believe there is nothing more I can do. But here is something you can do Watson, for me....”

“Anything, Holmes.”

“Well…. can you tell me what a ladies’ bodily treasure looks like and why it is such a magnet to a chappies' drainpipe?”

“Well, Holmes;  can you imagine the Battersea funfair with a thrilling scenic railway and a huge bouncy castle, all surrounded by cuddly brown bears but filled to the brim with bad-tempered alligators and deceitful, deadly snakes.....”

“Good Gracious, Watson! No!!!”

“Ha, Ha! That’s right, Holmes; it's nothing like that! But you can start by imagining something that looks like a Scotsman's sporran.... “

“Excuse me, Watson… If I have to start there I’m going to need some help before we go any further. Please pass that bottle of rum and a slipperful of cocaine!”