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The QR code points to: https://qrco.de/bg9sTy Venue The Castle, Aldgate East, E1 1LN. 3 min walk from Aldgate East tube station. Aldgate East is 6 mins on Hammersmith & City line from Liverpool St, 4 mins from Monument station on the District Line. Schedule Pub opens at 4pm Doors open 7.15pm. (Upstairs) 8.00pm Welcome by MC Ashley Tragic 8.10pm Spiral Arm Galaxy 9.00pm Interval 9.25pm Ashley Tragic with Maharaja Blues 9.30pm Maharaja Blues Tickets site https://www.tickettailor.com/events/maharajabluesband/1806521 Tee shirts Maharaja Blues Tee shirts We did go to the venue to check it out first... Our cat did a dry run too. Who are Maharaja Blues? about-maharaja-blues Video Post gig blogs Journey to the gig and photo selection the-chronicle-of-ashley-tragic chronicle-of-spiral-arm-galaxy chronicle-maharaja-blues-in-aldgate Full story index blog-story-category-index

The Chapati Collider: A Tale of Spicy Vengeance

Yet another juicy anecdote from Maharaja Miku, the bard bear bass hack with perhaps a PhD in poetic non physics and a penchant for parathas, whose dreams of a starring role in CERN were dashed by hefty doses of reality, blasted bureaucracy and a suspicious allergy to neutrinos. And thus was born his quest for revenge!! The Chapati Collider: A Tale of Spicy Vengeance AKA, How Miku Flattened the Standard Model with a Rolling Pin Miku the Bard Bear, with a bass in his paw, Strode into CERN with a confident “Haw!” He sang of leptons in lyrical rhyme, And juggled dark matter with impeccable time. But the physicists frowned. “This bear is too bold. His bosons are half baked, his theories too old.” Rejected, dejected, he stormed from the hall Then tripped on a chapati and started to bawl. “Enough!” he declared, with a growl and a glare, “I’ll build my own lab with some flair. No sterile white walls, no Swiss protocol Just chutney, charisma, and a quantum soul!” He hammered and stir...

Croissantstein's Monster

Tee shirt available 🌀 Croissantstein’s Monster: A Tale of Twisted Pastry In the misty hills of Boulangerie Hollow, where the scent of warm dough hangs heavy in the air, lived a reclusive baker-scientist named Dr. Croissantstein. Obsessed with the idea of creating life from pastry, he spent years in his flour-dusted laboratory, weaving strands of croissant dough like sinew, laminating layers with precision, and whispering incantations in the language of patisserie. One stormy night, lightning struck the copper whisk atop his bakery tower. The surge of energy coursed through his creation—a towering figure stitched together from buttery spirals, crescent limbs, and a heart of molten almond paste. It rose from the marble slab, its eyes two glistening cherries, its voice a crackling hiss like steam escaping a proofing chamber. “Je suis… Croi!” it bellowed, knocking over racks of éclairs and sending baguettes flying. But Croissantstein’s Monster was no mindless beast. It had dreams. It want...