As Gladys Arrived at the Grunt & Jive club a band named Latin suicide attack thashed to a thousand adoring fans. This was the beginning of her conversion to Thrash Metal. Gladys had been profoundly deaf for many
years, and Thrash became her salvation. When she was an ample sweater
girl, many years ago, Gene Kilby had been herlheart-throb; his velveteen accapella had filled her with such desire, that constant cold baths were the only solution. Then came the accident at the munitions factory.
"Damn silly name for explosives - Nighty Grisiline, 1 thought it was a stain remover." she later wrote to her sister.
Since her discovery of Thrash Metal, she was grateful of any noise that relieved the constant buzzing she had endured for so long. Her holiest possessions consisted of the latest 200 watt French design power amplifier, custom Gyrodeck and a Quad pre - amp with remote control variable boost
and gain. Driven by the monster Gaullemerde amp, her Tannoy 270 watt per channel speakers took up a large portion of the parlour. This had, in
turn prompted the departure of a succession of neighbors,,who moved to pastures greener, and quieter.
"Letter from Aunt Gladys, Alex ... and she's enclosed a tape." grimaced
Trudy Carter with pencil in one hand and superglue in the other.
"File under B1N." replied Carter moodily. Held been caught too many
times by his Great-Aunts fever for Trash metal (or whatever she
called it ).His tastes were much more conventional, "Oh, and stick Zappa
on again...." The C.D. player whirred into action, "I have been in you... crooned Frank.
The sun made a brief appearance from behind a particularly grim black
cloud, and then thought better of it.
"Have you heard that lovely new tune by Batdroppings and the venom
ridden acid bathers, Maudie?" Gladys continued,"Ooh... it's luverlee !11
A faint twinkle in her dead sisters' eye was enough to prompt a demonstration of one minute and thirty-sevdn seconds of grindcrushing megathrash; which shook the house , breaking a few more antique vases
in the process. "Mrs. Banguit ... yoo-hoo, Mrs. B." shrieked a voice
from the letterbox "Mrs.B... it's Seargent Fopp, Gladys love, open
the door for Godslsake!!!" The last few words rang out like Cathedral
bells, as thrash turned to blissful silence. "Ooh,no need to shout,
I'm not deaf!"scorned Gladys. A short,fat policeman stood on the doorstep,holding a truncheon in one hand and a milk bottle in the
other. "Mrs.B.,llve had a few minor complaints from the vicarage up
the lane dear." reported Ernest Fopp, with the look of a man dragged
through a hedge forwards. "It seems they can't hear themselves think,
never mind pray." he continued.
"Can't see what thats got to do with me lovey, 1 can hardly hear the
music myself you know." she explained, "It's the noise of all that demolition work, and the traffic you see... would you like a nice cup of tea dear?"