Hot Pearl Snatch

Last night I came to the conclusion my celibacy is down to the fact that I will never have Poison Ivy. She has ruled my world since I was 16 years old, and if you can't have a girlfriend that sneers, pouts and tosses her hair while looking so stunningly perfect you could die, then really - what's the point?

Last night, on stage at the Astoria, she wore a sparkly little dress with the shortest hemline in the world, her snake-hips wiggled as she played guitar. As Lux Interior worked to entertain the crowd, she nonchalantly prowled the side of the stage, never courting attention, just DEMANDING it.

The first time I saw her I was entranced, I've mentioned before that she curled her lip at me and sent me into spasms of emotion. She was cool, foxy as hell and the ultimate challenge to gender roles. Her appearance is 100% femme, with mini skirts, tight tops and high heels, but there is nothing demure or submissive. She looks like she'd rip you apart.

Cramps gigs used to be crazy affairs- Lux Interior would climb on the speaker stacks, pull down his pants, put the microphone down his pants, cover himself with red wine. Now they're a little older and more sedate, but they still have a rockin' good time.

Last night opened with Mad Daddy and perused across the band's back catalogue. There weren't too many of the hits, I remember Big Black Witchcraft Rock, Caveman, Hot Pearl Snatch ... they closed with Tear It Up and the immortal cry of LET'S GET FUUUUCCKKED UP!!

If only the whole world was like a Cramps gig.