Dear Nessi

We here at mono-nad like a good gossip. Even though its not interesting to readers who don't know who we're talking about (apart from obscure cult figures whose pseudonyms only Mr Richardson can detect). But last night was a gossip moment...me and you trying to talk about how you had to work 'til 11 p.m. Friday night, while directly behind me were two of my band members taking a very long kiss goodnight. Hm...(I'm in 3 bands, remember, so this isn't really giving anything away...)

And while we're gossiping (no relation to above paragraph), Power Pack and I are wondering what happens when the Scuba Diver goes through metal detectors at airports... I only know this because that's how he's identified at scuba school in Egypt - say his name and no one remembers him - say "guy with the tools" and they all know who you mean. Most divers are ex-bankers and businessmen, and don't tend to have bolts through theirs knobs.

Anyway, last night was the last Succulent Singles gig in London (we have one more in Kingston in 2 weeks). That's the band that Power Pack and I have had for 5 years. A record for him. The Crotchless Underpants only lasted a year, same as the Sensational Power Pack Band who later had more success without my husband, as Twenty Marlborough (will they have to change their name now that cigarette ads are banned?).

So...I was ill yet again, this time with mysterious nausea. I had had only 2 pints in Heaven's Waiting Room the night before. It was like having motion sickness every time I moved my head even a fraction of an inch. The only cure was to smoke joints. Not a smart thing when doing a gig but I made it ok and finally, after we played, stopped feeling so sick.

The Clapham Kid and Vodkaman were first on, then Mr Flea and his band of a violinist, a bass player borrowed from the Lion Roses (who Mr Flea detests by the way - well, he hates the singer - Power Pack and I suspect jealousy) and drummer from the Rogues. I was working the door and some cheeky group of guys didn't want to pay - if you stood by the door, before my table, you could watch without paying. They warmed to Mr Flea and ended up all paying, dancing around, and then asking me about the band. Mr Flea seemed more miserable than usual, somehow more bitter. Maybe he was thinking about Mr Lion Roses playing 10 sold out nights at the Barbican and then going to Greece to play for the circus for 6 weeks. Not bad for some. But touring is not all glamour, as I know from the Juju Princesses days.

Anyway, time for the Succulent Singles. Mr Flea had left this yellow light in front of the stage, which was really nice, gave things a more theatrical feel than just a pub back room. The floor was wood and the atmosphere cosy. We had a lot of f*ckups mainly to do with my keyboard not working. You'd think it was our first gig, not our last. Power Pack then broke a string, and we borrowed Vodkaman's keyboard. When we were playing we played well, anyway.

It was my first time totally organising a gig myself. I think it all went well overall, though a few more people would have been good. It was full enough; it just would have been nice to have a bit more money. I think Mr Flea has to pay his drummer. The bassist does it for enjoyment, he says.

Cancelled everything I had to do today to rest instead. The last weeks have been way too hectic. Maybe a whole day in and I will start to really recover...

I don't think I'll make the pub tonight, though you're not too enthusiastic about this birthday anyway. I send my best wishes. We will have a drink when I am feeling better...

Petra