Broke the fuck down.

Ok, so, whilst I do hold a strange affliction with our new car - I mean, shit, it's OUR fuckin' car, yo' - it has really let us down at this very moment. Radiator death. That's the new name of our name by the way.

We are about 2 hours from Adelaide, and have to be there in 4. That's ok, I suppose. Parked the car at a mechanic, who happens to be right next door to a bar. Pokies too. So whilst we gamble our lacking band funds (other band name we almost decided on was 'Strapped For Cash' to coincide with our new Pop-Punk direction) we wait to see if Mr. Mechanic man (ie: God or Taxman, depending on result) can fix our car. (brackets for effect).

Shapes are good. XXXX beer is a bit shit, but cold. Pony bar was outrageously uncomfortable for most the night. 

I've honestly never been to a venue with so much impact from its smell alone. It's like hanging a dish cloth out without draining it clean, and then wiping it on your face after a marathon, then on your mate's nuts, the tiny gaps between his girlfriend's toes, soak it in flat beer for a month and then microwave it on medium for 1 minute. Smell it. That's Pony. Not even exaggerating.

Regardless, it's a sweet place with a lot of character. It's kind of like Valve back home. You can feel the love.

Here's a picture of the bar we are currently at:

I look like a fucking idiot, hooked up with my laptop.

If you read this before 7.30pm (it's 3.30pm now), then please, wish us luck for arriving on time. Please car, we love you.

x