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British man decides that in event of nationwide power cut he would get pissed

A MAN has looked at the power cut across Spain, considered his options, and decided that in similar circumstances in the UK he would get pissed. 

Nathan Muir of Hitchin contemplated those trapped in cities, sleeping on airport floors, abandoned on rural train routes or merely seated in dark homes and concluded alcohol would be advisable in every case.

He continued: “Whether this is a cyberattack, net zero or Putin, the future is clear: I need to start carrying a hip flask.

“And cash, of course, and I need to replenish the emergency beers I keep under the bed in the spare room. I’ve let myself get slack since lockdown ended.

“Imagine being in a completely dark Madrid, gathered at a bar, sinking Estrellas by candlelight before bunking down in the back room. Does that sound like a legendary night to anyone else?

“And nothing aids sleeping on a concrete train platform than being absolutely paralytic. Trust me. I speak from experience.”

He added: “Ideally, the power would come back on the next morning while I was urinating on an electrified rail, sending 25,000 volts up my cock and me flying backwards to cheers from the crowd. I wouldn’t be hurt because I’d still be drunk.”

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Jarvis Cocker, and other frontmen who speak lyrics because they can't really sing

GOT charisma? Can’t sing? Don’t let it stop you stepping up to the mic for a lengthy career. When the tune gets too tricky just talk your way through, like these legends: 

Jarvis Cocker, Pulp

Cocker’s sardonic storytelling was a breath of fresh air in the cartoonish world of Britpop. Until the next album, when it became apparent that monotone delivery was disguising a failing not even suffered by John Powers of Cast. The advantage? As he makes his sexagenarian comeback, nobody’s worried he’s lost his voice.

David Byrne, Talking Heads

Given his band’s name, can hardly be accused of breaching the Trade Descriptions Act. His vocal style is the opposite of autotune, where a soaring melody is digitally transformed into a one-note robotic chant. When he’s not speaking like an android, mixes things up by yelping which doesn’t count as singing either.

Nick Cave, The Birthday Party, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Grinderman

Cave deserves credit for proving that not all Australian music is Angry Anderson. However, always eager to share his profound meditations on the state of the human condition, his vocal performance leans towards the trope of the demented preacher. Sometimes it’s okay to sacrifice your clever lyric for a decent tune.

John Lydon, the Sex Pistols, Public Image Ltd

You can get away with being a terrible singer if you surround yourself with terrible guitarists, a terrible drummer, write terrible songs, and make being terrible the entire point of your band. Supposedly flicking Vs to the establishment, Lydon normalised making a living by being incompetent, setting an example to all subsequent governments.

Lou Reed, The Velvet Underground

Whether backed by squawking feedback or a 1930s German cabaret band, Lou Reed’s deadpan vocals have the charm of a bluebottle that can’t find an open window. His drone turns tales of depravity and drug abuse into a chartered accountant going through an invoice. The perfect combination of transgressive and unimpressive.

Mark E Smith, The Fall

Dropping all pretence of being an actual singer, Mark E Smith’s vocal work was carefully designed, with the aid of multiple pints, to be even more ramshackle than his band. Achieving success by becoming an ‘anti-singer’ is a strategy that wouldn’t work in any walk of life. Try working in a surgery as an ‘anti-doctor’ and you’d get struck off.

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