Groupie? Ugh, no. [shudder]. Pointless existence, guaranteed to result in disappointment when the deeply attractive, mysterious and wounded guitarist or singer turns out to be a wailing ninny who is incapable of functioning on a daily basis without applause and adoration.
Musician. Studio Engineer. Live Engineer (The Soundman With Tits Earned Honestly Through Hormones and Not Beer). Erstwhile Tutor.
Gainfully employed in facilitating the Offspring of the Parish's desire to make lots of noise. Well, until my notice period runs out (got the letter yesterday). Not entirely certain how they'll manage to make said OotP sound like international superstars instead of half strangled cats in cement mixers without me to work my magic on the knackered equipment, but they seem to think anybody in the office can learn to do it in a couple of hours compared to my twenty years of experience.
Sadly, I have a liking for a real roof over my head and therefore need to find other gainful employment rather than casting caution to the four winds and eking an existence from playing covers to pissed up punters. The one night stand that's still here after six years is out for the weekend doing exactly that and moans incessantly that he'd rather be at home with me.
I did suggest that we swap and he pays the bills for the next six years, but that didn't go down as well as it could have done possibly because I was shrieking it at him, rather than making it seem perfectly reasonable and sensible in the interests of gender equality.