The four of us were making our way
there separately. I was taking an earlier flight than Andy and Jon,
who were each travelling in the evening, arriving at Nantes airport
within a half hour of each other. Andy had opted to work a half day
whilst Jon had a different arrangement due him to him being in the
middle of a world tour with Nasum.. Johan, the poor bastard, was
driving down via Paris, with his other band Swarm. They were picking
up Doomriders at Charles De Gaulle, who themselves were playing
Hellfest as we were, before heading off on tour together for about
ten days. They had left yesterday afternoon.. fuck knows when they'd
arrive.
Andy and I had originally agreed to
take the same flight to Nantes, but in my typical rash fashion, I'd
opted at the last minute for an earlier flight. This seemed to amuse
and annoy Andy in equal measure. I'd made up some bullshit about
wanting to take in the sights of Nantes before heading to Hellfest
the day after, but in truth, when booking my flight I just bought the
first one available, all previous correspondence with Andy going
straight out the window. As it turns out though, Andy and Jon won't
get to the hotel in Nantes tonight until eleven thirty pm, so I'd say
with me arriving at six thirty it worked out pretty well.
I was flying via Amsterdam Schipol
airport. The flight to Amsterdam took around an hour and a half and
was as uneventful as I could wish it to be. I'm not a nervous flyer
as long the conditions are smooth, although a bit of turbulence tends
to get my popper flapping, even if I do tend to mask it well. No
such problems on this flight though. The only incident that aroused
my attention was during the safety instructions routine whilst
taxiing. One of the flight stewardesses' approached the passengers
sat at the emergency exit aisles, the ones with all that nice leg
space, situated over the wings. She addressed them personally,
informing them of their obligation to help with any eventual
evacuation, should the plane have to make an emergency landing in the
fucking ocean... She went through the routine with them, knowing
fine well that in the case of such an emergency none of it would
fucking matter a piss. As is routine though, when finished
explaining how these passengers would have to help others out of the
plane before themselves, she asked them if they were ok with the
arrangement. One young guy, some turd sat wearing a trucker cap and
a Pantera t-shirt, said no. My ears pricked up and my eyes took
leave of my book, The Real Football Factories with Danny Dyer, quite
a read, as the stewardess told the idiot that he would have to move
seat. He quickly changed his mind and said he was in fact happy to
help people out of the airplane in case of emergency. Something told
me not to trust the cunt. It was more than sufficient for the
stewardess though and with that she moved along the cabin, attending
to the rest of her pre-flight routine. I frown/smirked and got back
to Dyer.
I had a couple of hours to kill at
Schipol Airport before my connecting flight to Nantes. It's quite an
airport. I'd go as far to say it's the nicest airport I've been to,
and I've been to a few. Schipol looks more like a city centre than
an airport, with shops and restaurants a plenty, terraces, spas and
bars, it even has a park with a tree in the middle of it! There are
worse places to kill a couple of hours.
I was in one of the shops looking for a
toothbrush and some shampoo for the weekend ahead when my eyes met
with those of a bearded, long haired man with a guitar strapped to
his back. My attention had been caught by the sudden thump of him
stopping dead in his tracks. He was stood there glaring at me with a
look of sheer amazement on his puffy, red face. “Fucking hell
man!” He beat me to the exact same phrase by a fraction of a
second. It was my mate Joe from Glasgow! What a fucking small world
we live in.
I haven't seen him for a couple of
years and if he hadn't seen me I may well have walked straight past
him. Last time I saw him he had considerably shorter hair and the ZZ
Top style beard he was now sporting was merely in its primary stage
back then. Joe used to sing in the band Take A Worm For A Walk
Week, who we were lucky enough to have as support on the UK leg of
Speedhorn's farewell tour. They are one of the best live bands I've
ever seen. Certainly the most entertaining. What could be better
than watching four radge Jocks in in full spandex suits playing the
most spazzed out hardcore you've ever heard whilst doing their
damnedest to wind up testosterone fuelled metal heads to the
threshold of rage?
It was good to see Joe again.. Randomly
enough he was playing some art performance show at a church in Riga
with this girlfriend of his. Since Take A Worm he's been doing a
drone solo project called Loss Leader as well as playing in a band
called Remember, Remember. We caught about all of that over a cup of
tea at one of Schipol's many bars. He seemed to be doing well, he's
even been off the booze for a while. Last time I saw him he was
working in a bar in Glasgow and drinking as much as he served. He's
since quit the bar and has been studying for a while, taking a course
in building guitars. I was glad to hear he's doing so well.
Completely chuffed with my chance encounter with an old friend,
giving the usual promises of staying in touch and offering a sofa for
a bed should he ever be in Stockholm, I headed off to board the next
flight.
I'd never been on such a small airplane
as the one as I was now boarding to Nantes. I sat in a seat by the
window in a row of just one. Quite nice really. Across the aisle
from me there were only two other seats. In fact, there was only one
stewardess on board. I sat there waiting to take off on this mini
bus with wings praying that we wouldn't hit turbulence on route.
Thankfully we didn't and the flight was surprisingly enjoyable.
Funny thing is, this tiny plane was boarded almost entirely of hard
rockers that I assume were going to Hellfest. I must have looked
like the odd one out..
I wondered if Andy was taking this same
flight later on and laughed at the thought of the tall bastard
squeezed into this sardine can of an airplane.
I was taking an shuttle arranged by the
festival at five pm, catching a ride with our friends From Ashes
Rise. Nantes airport was tiny and an hour here felt like five at
Schipol. I had nothing to do except chain drink coffee and read my
book. At five I went to the meet point at the decided time to find
the From Ashes guys looking pretty fucked off. They'd flown from
Portland to Amsterdam, then on to Paris before taking a final flight
to Nantes. They'd been awake for the best part of thirty hours and
they'd just been told that half of their gear has been lost on route.
They were missing a guitar, a cymbal case and a pedal board.
Bizarrely enough, the airline had given them each a plastic bag with
a white t-shirt and a few other assorted treats as way of
compensation! Unfortunately they didn't have an answer as to where
in the world their gear was and when they could expect its return.
With so many connections the gear could literally be anywhere... The
journey in the van was a sombre one. Except for Dave, the From Ashes
drummer, who was excitedly babbling on about a certain tomato paste
that they put on the sandwiches here that he hopes he can find to
take home..
I got dropped off at the hotel and said
to the From Ashes guys that I would catch up with them tomorrow,
assuring them that they could lend Victims gear if it come to it.
They were staying at some fancy hotel in Clisson, the small town
where the festival is held, I was staying at a roadside effort,
seemingly situated on the outskirts of an industrial estate in the
middle of nowhere. Shite, I may have miscalculated things here.. I
checked in and went upstairs to the room, frantically searching
through the tv channels in search of the football. It's European
Championships time and there are games on every night for the next
three weeks. Nothing. There were about forty channels on the box
but not one of them were showing the footy. Eurosport was showing
tennis.. Fucking Eurosport, what a dogshit channel! I could almost
feel Andy laughing at me.. What the fuck was I going to do for the
next five hours?
Luckily the hotel had a bar downstairs
and although they weren't showing the Italy game that was on now,
they assured me they'd be showing the Spain game later that evening.
It looked like a pretty decent bar too. Relieved, I decided to take
a walk and see what was around the industrial estate.
As it turns out the small town of Reze,
which is actually a suburb of Nantes, was within walking distance of
the hotel. It was a warm, grey summer evening and I fancied a beer.
I thought I might try and catch the second half of the Italy match
and have a drink with some locals. It wasn't to be though. There
was nowhere showing the game. I walked about the town for an hour
though, gladly stretching my legs and breathing in the night air,
enjoying the quaint little French town.
Apart from the odd pilot staying over
for the night, my hotel seemed to be occupied purely by band members
and crews who were playing the festival. I sat with a pair of pilots
and watched the Spain game, enjoying a couple of pints of beer. The
game was crap but the beer was good enough.
Andy and Jon turned up shortly after
eleven thirty. Jon looked like he'd already had a few beers, Andy
just looked tired. It was good to see them. As much as I love the
chance to spend some time on my own, it was good to be back with the
boys. We got a round in and sat down together, wondering how it was
going for the Johan and the Swarm guys as we supped on our beers.
Andy and I were sharing a room and around midnight we decided we'd
hit the hay. Johan had texted and said he was only an hour away so
Jon decided he'd get another beer in and wait up for them.
I went to bed, looking forward to the
following day. The stage we were playing had a great line up, with
us, Vitamin X, Discharge, GBH, From Ashes and Tragedy. Jen was
coming tomorrow too although she'd miss Victims set, not that that
mattered, she's seen us quite a few times before.. We were going to
hang out at the festival tomorrow and Saturday and then head to Paris
for a few days holiday. Why not? May as well take advantage since
my flight is paid for.. With all that to look forward to I fell
asleep sometime around one thirty, the BBC World News channel saying
something about children being used as human shields by the army in
Syria...
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