old captain mission smokes his weed, sits in mission control and sucks down another el salvadoran beer to slow his brain and cool his heels, it's been a big night, a massive night.
dressed in the glamourous glitter ball outfit and huge high heels, wearing a louis vuitton handbag and sensational bondage boots, well maybe high heels, the incredibly attractive luscious amalia renwick and myself travel across the harbour on our luxury hovercraft, or was it a hot air ballon. we have our photograph taken against the sinking sun that hovers between the harbour bridge and the opera house but the photographer is french and obviously drunk on some kind of pernod flavoured cocktail, she manages to miss the brigde and the sunset and the opera house but she did get a nice photo of amalia and i. we looked pretty good together, a sort of contrasty style, her high class escort look against me looking like some sort of hip priest drug dealer.
we cruise up to the steps of the opera house, under the majestic sails with a selection of exotic vodkas for miss renwick and h20 for my self, being a man of god.
under jewelled skies, soft fading light, surrounded by a very diverse audience, lots of french people, massive attack with their sound.
my brain quickly processing the situation, converting everything down to it's raw form, energy. massive attack make an energy that is what it is, a massive attack, beautifully constructed, elegantly played and masterfully executed we have the incredible light shows, simple bend of ever changing patterns, numbers and configurations and short statements across the screen. amalia and i both see the name, 'BINGLE' across one message.
the band seemed to be enjoying themselves, we were quite far back trading vision for sound.

United Snakes
Babel
Risingson
Girl I Love You
Psyche
Future Proof
Invade Me
Teardrop
Mezzanine
Angel
Safe From Harm
Inertia Creeps

Encore:
Splitting The Atom
Unfinished Sympathy
Atlas Air
Karmacoma

during the show a strange event occurred, a bizarre thing. amalia's bag strap became wedged between the steps of the opera house. and stayed there, despite attempts to retrieve it the opera house was not giving up it's prize. after preforming a small exorcism and banishing ritual i proceeded to pull at the strap but it would not move.
it was not just wedged in there it was being devoured.
we figured that there must be a malevolent spirit that inhabits the steps, a sort of phantom of the opera steps who had taken a shine to amalia and wanted to lure her under. it happened a lot when we hung out in the old days, she would often find herself being the object of desire by hunchbacks, leprechauns, naughty elves, wayward pixies and renegade voodoo love gods. i used to have to rub garlic butter into her skin while she slept just to keep these strange entities and their intentions at bay. of course it had noting to do with my strange sexual practices.

well with broken bag, holding her heels due to vertigo and myself administering benedictions, blessings and sacraments we wandered back with the masses towards the old tug boat that seemed to get to manly without moving.

hip preist home for a quick smoke at spots and el salvadorian beers, some bad tv, a look at the newspapers and a shower and a dream about glitter women with lasers, a new day begins.