Flipping the Bird

Welcome to 2012, my lovelies, and I hope that your holiday season was overflowing with joy and alcohol, unlike mine which was overflowing with my plumbing breaking down. Fear not! I expect to return to Second Life in a blaze of brandy in one shake of a cow's bell. In the meantime I shall, as promised so long ago, quickly sketch for you the rather wonderful time I had at The Gypsy Bird shortly before Christmas.

Emma likes balls.

Having been invited to visit by the marvellous Bowie Zeplin, I took my dear friend Emma Nemmerson (paleontologist) with me to explore what's on offer at The Gypsy Bird, which is primarily a live music venue and a friendly hangout area for Bohemian souls. Our visit began with Emma getting stuck in the pond, which she did not aappreciate; she felt better after a good smoke of the hookahs, and her spirits positively soared when she discovered that the beach was populated by very stupid flamingos who have not learned to run away from dogs.

Emma is very safety conscious.

Our explorations also uncovered the presence of hammocks around a pond with a shimmering waterfall and pretty floating lights, a large and noble elephant with a richly decorated face, and of course the stage, to which we returned a few days later to attend concerts by two extremely talented musicians, David Perdu and Voodoo Shilton, both of whom rocked us out while we rolled. Not only did they rock while we rolled, but I was invited to join the dancers in front of the stage, and tipped for not taking my clothes off! Clearly the Gypsy Bird regulars are people of taste and discernment.

Not only do they show taste, but they show a wide and adventurous range of tastes, and after the 2 hours of live music we nestled in the cushions of the comfortable villa and were introduced to the (hitherto unknown to me) genre of Viking Metal, including examples of Irish and Celt Folk Metal, from DJ Iscabox Flux. Naturally this went along with a local chat which flowed with wit, banter, and a few snippets of history, which my humble powers cannot do justice to this evening as the holiday season has quite sucked my brains clean with its Clausian tentacles and prickly spikes from Christmas trees that get stuck up your nose at the most inconvenient of moments. I did make a note for myself, however, to remember to credit Bryndis Madrigal with the creation of my favourite ever musical genre, in her suggestion of Morris Dubstep. I also recall insights regarding Viking versions of The Wire, and, earlier, coded references to wife-swapping.

And then - and then!! - DJ Iscabox Flux topped the whole evening off by playing the single best cover of Boney M's song Rasputin (Ra-Ra Rasputin, you know the one) that could possibly be imagined. Viking Metal Rasputin, by Turisas.

For this, there are no words.

Bowie Zeplin, Voodoo Shilton, Arella Rage, and Bob McBoint, all not naked.

Alas! Shortly after posting this entry I discovered that the Gypsy Bird has fallen victim to the curse of global capitalism, and is no longer around for you to visit. But it will live forever on the Blog of Bob.