Picture if you will, dear reader, the aftermath of the MLP 2011 gig. Allow your computer monitor to go all wobbly and hazy like in the intro to Roald Dahl's "Tales of the unexpected" as we travel forward in time to Dorset in May 2011.............. Frank, dressed head to toe in black, mirrored Ray Bans perched on his nose smokes languidly from a Peter Stuyvasent king size. He sits at a table in the "Light of Asia" Indian restaurant in Bridport High Street. The table isn't actually booked until the following evening but as Frank told Mr Achmed the Manager "I aint's gonna be fwucked overs twice buddy, Capice?!" Meanwhile, back at Haddon House Hotel the MLP members relax after the gig.......... The Kernel, clutching a Martini as dry as his wit sits quietly in a corner practising his pronunciation of the word "Bastard", a difficult nut to crack. Cookie, tanned and chiselled of feature sits resplendent in burgundy satin smoking jacket, cavalry twill trousers and purple velvet slipereens playing Gypsy jazz guitar. His dexterous fingers a-blur the haunting melodies soar into the night sky. Behind him, fresh from her sixth shower of the day, fragrant, lightly oiled and lubricated stands Harmony. She gently massages Cookie's manly shoulders, her heaving bosom rises as............at his feet sitting cross-legged and behaving themselves is MLP's answer to Jedward, young Stowburst and John Beloe. Drudeboy, now a toothless crone, sips intermittently through a straw between a pint of lager and a pureed "all day breakfast" as he explains to Ann Vasco how her husband over strained during a high bend on "Sylvia's Mother" (he played that AGAIN??) and induced a reverse fart resulting in the gusset of his shorts getting sucked up past the small intestine. At that very moment he was in casualty at Bridport Memorial Hospital, his feet in surgical stirrups as a Filipino nurse armed with an industrial stirrup pump attempted to reverse the procedure. BrianGT, his hair in heated Carmen rollers ready for the morning, puts a consoling arm around Ann. Meanwhile, somewhere in suburban Dorset............... Phil, looking like a shadow of shite is knocking on the door of 5, Acacia Crescent, Bridport and asking for a kettle of water (his fifth of the evening) for his overheating Peugeot. He eventually arrives when everyone's fucked off. Meanwhile, back at the venue................. An irate Landlord, having called in the police, watches with some satisfaction as Liam and Flameburst are physically removed from the stage having played "Little Wing" some thirty times. "Oi! Steady on! That's old wood!" cries Liam as he's held in a Scrotum lock. Meanwhile, back at Haddon House Hotel........... Snaresy, having removed the imitation 18th century French Musket from it's anchor above the fireplace in Reception has barricaded himself in his room. Crouched behind the upturned "Corby trouser press", an empty bottle of Smirnoff beside him and his Med's balance off the Richter scale he holds the Musket aloft "No bastard copper's gonna take me alive!!!" he shrieks as a disinterested Albanian chambermaid makes up his room and tidies up his jizz mags.