All washed down with some lashings of hot screwdriver...

Family lore has it that when I was a very small boy I was left one day in the tender care of my uncles Dode and James, who were painting my nana's front room. Apparently James, annoyed that I'd knocked his can of beer over or something, smacked me one across the head in retribution and turned to go and get another can from the kitchen.

At which point Dode stabbed him straight through the shoulder with a screwdriver, for 'hitting the bairn'.

It's a touching story, I think, which for some reason popped into my head as I watched Mark E Smith wander round the stage at the Von Sudenfed gig the other night*, so I thought I'd share it.


* Of which, more later.