We booked this show a few months ago. The people who run the club have been asking us for a while but to be honest I’m not always that bothered about playing shows in Stockholm. Not that there’s anything wrong with our hometown but it’s always a pretty stressful affair whenever you play in your own back yard. The phone never stops for one thing, even when it’s free entry before eight...
Still, it’s been a while since we played here. The last Stockholm show was at this same venue, supporting Poison Idea a couple of years ago. Actually, Victims shows have been somewhat sparse of late, there has been a lot of child making going on. This is only the third show in two years I think, and one of them was Jen’s birthday party. It’s funny, there was a couple of people I go to school with who were talking about coming tonight, people who come from a completely different scene but are a little intrigued by this thing that I do, this little world of ours. A week ago they were really psyched about it but in the last couple of days the doubts have crept in, “Thing is I have this party.. I might not make it, when are you guys playing next? I´ll definitely make it next time”. It’s hard to explain sometimes... These are nice people I go to school with but it’s okay, they don't have to come see my band play, they wouldn’t like the music anyway. I like that this thing we do is not something everyone can understand. When I got involved with this music twenty years ago I understood very well that it’s not to everyone’s liking, which was a big part of the appeal if I’m honest.
Anyway, if Victims shows are sparse then DS-13 shows are like lunar eclipses. There’s been a bit of excitement about the fact they’re playing tonight, and some nerves around the DS-13 camp too. Christoffer has been in touch with Andy, debating whether they or we should play last. Playing second of three is always my preferred position on the bill since you have time to relax with a beer and relax whilst watching the final band instead of having to pack down and get out, or at least deal with whatever needs to be dealt with after the gig. We’re all in agreement that they should play last since it’s their first gig for a long, long time and people are psyched but Christoffer is nervous they’re going to look crap and unrehearsed compared to us. Don’t know where he gets that from... This issue is soon put to rest anyway. As I’m driving over to the venue with Andy in my car and a load of gear in the back his phone starts to ring. I can tell immediately from Andy’s tone that it’s a: Christoffer and b: something is up.
Fredrik, DS-13’s vocalist is sat on the bog at Umeå airport and won’t be leaving anytime soon. He’s contracted an acute stomach virus and in a valiant attempt has made his way to the airport in the hope that things will settle down. But no, he’s just called Christoffer direct from the pan, it’s simply not happening. Christoffer is broken. This was to be a one off gig. That’s it. No reunion, just this one night. They’d even printed a bunch of shirts with the date of the gig on the back to commemorate the occasion. Bummer. Literally...
Andy tells Christoffer to call the promoter and to wait at the venue but by the time we get there he’s gone, saying he can’t handle the anxiety. We meet Jonas the guitar player outside the venue who looks a picture of shellshock too. He tells us he has friends from Germany who have flown in to see the show and even worse he’d received a message from a guy from Indonesia earlier in the afternoon, wondering if they’d have any merch on sale. You simply couldn’t make it up.
After a while Christoffer comes back, he’s decided that he’ll hang out for the show and that they’ll still sell their merch. What else are they going to with it really? I’m glad he’s returned though, would have been shit to just let the thing defeat him and send him into hiding. What can you do? It’s just one of those things. Shit timing. Literally... We’re talking about the possibility of DS rescheduling their show for another occasion, but Christoffer is doubtful, “That would make it seem like we’re back together and we’re really not.” I guess once the wound heals they might feel differently though.
Of course, word has spread pretty quickly, Christoffer is addicted to Twitter and has a big following there so it’s not long until the comments start coming in. There are people travelling to this show so it’s only fair to let them know. We’re sat around wondering if we can get anyone else to hop in and play last minute, I’m very doubtful anyone will be up for it at this late notice, names like Damaged Head and Neu-Ronz are bandied about but incredibly Johan who plays in the opening band Iron Lamb has sorted it in no time. Massgrav have stepped up to the plate. Heroes. The mood lightens considerably. I guess that means we’re playing last though...
For once there seems to be little in the way of nerves surrounding the show tonight. Fatherhood must have chilled Johan out, he’s normally on edge when we’re playing on home turf. The mood is very relaxed though and soundcheck feels really good. I can’t really imagine us filling out this big venue but hopefully a lot of the travellers coming for DS have decided to carry on with their journey. Or maybe we’re underselling ourselves a little..
Johan heads home after soundcheck but the rest of us decide to stay. Doesn’t feel like there’s much point heading anywhere at this hour. I understand Johan though, little Billy is only a few months old. I remember how it was when Polly was that age. All of fourteen months or so ago. A lot happens in that time though. Anyway, whilst sat around waiting for the doors to open we find ourselves in the backstage room, us, the Iron Lamb and Massgrav guys and the guy who’s running the club tonight. Of course we soon get onto tour stories but it’s slightly darker tone tonight being that the head subject is van crashes. I’m happy to say that so far I’ve never been involved in anything major, the odd prang here and there but there have been a few near misses, some so close it makes me shudder just thinking about it.
One that always stays with me was a time when we were out on our first UK toilet tours and American George was driving. We’d stayed at his Uncle Harry’s place in Torquay and we’re driving along the windy roads of Dorset heading to the next gig, Southampton or somewhere I guess. We’d been stuck behind a slow moving truck for what seemed like forever and Roddy and a couple of others were egging George on to overtake. With the roads being so snakelike it was no easy task and every time he edged out into the middle of the lane my heart sank a little. I’d been involved in a car crash that ended with us in a ditch a short while earlier and was a very nervous passenger at the time. Eventually George decides to go for it when a long stretch of clear road opens up. But the stretch has a slight incline, enough to slow the heavy van down. Immediately it feels wrong. And then a car appears from around the bend at the top of the slope, must be three of four hundred meters ahead. We’re level with the lorry, blocking both sides of the lane, a steep ditch to the left of us, an articulated lorry to the right. And this car coming at us doesn’t seem to be slowing down any. Everyone goes quiet except for Frank, “Come on George” he urges quietly. The car is getting closer. Everyone wide eyed and silent now, until George lets out a scream, “Shiiiiiiiitttttt!” We make it by what feels like the width of a cock hair. Looking back on it I have no fucking idea what the person in the car was playing at. Like a scene straight out of the film Duel. Fucked up.
Jens and the guys have some other tales to share, some ending on a happier note than others. We of course think about our dear friend Stachel who had a bad smash a few years back where he was thrown from the van and fucked his arm up pretty bad and then there is our friends in Baroness who last year were involved in a crash bad enough it forced two of the guys in the band to quit. Touring isn’t always fun and games.
It’s free entry tonight before eight, even so I’m surprised by the amount of people streaming through the doors. I spend most of the evening stood at the merch table where I’m kept pretty busy. I realise how fun selling merch is, at least when you’re selling, since it’s where you meet most people. The two hours I’m stood there selling shirts and chatting to various mates and acquaintances turns out to be one of the most fun nights I’ve had out in ages. Vik, Luk and Anja turn up after having been at a pre party with a gang of our friends. I get the feeling Stix has had a few since he has a cheeky grin on his face and immediately starts giving me shit about the way I look. I have my hood pulled up over my head. Mainly because the merch table is stood next to the door and there’s quite the draft. “Look at this Sofo gangsta!” and other such nonsense comes my way. He looks chuffed. Jen and Jempa arrive a while later, they’ve been on the Hot Shots at our place, Polly is at her Grandma’s house so we have a license to party tonight, although there is always the hangover the next day to think about…
There is a really nice buzz about the place by the time Massgrav step on to that high stage. The place is pretty full. Chuffed with the turnout. I met Johan a while back at a party at Snövit bar through our mutual friend Daniel, or Dödsrunan as our black metal circle used to call him, which consisted of me, Daniel, Tim and Bonden from Sound Pollution, my friend Rasmus and a few others, consistently talking about doing a band called Drep de Kristne. During the couple of years we spoke about it we practiced twice I think. Maybe thrice. Anyway, I met Johan at this party and Daniel said then that he thought it strange we’d never played a gig together. The thought crossed my mind as I stood and watched Massgrav pummel the audience for twenty minutes, both musically and verbally. I love the way they take the piss out of everything and everyone. Johan and Ola the bass player proudly state that they stepped up and took this gig at the very last minute, menacingly punctuating to the crowd that such a thing would never happen in Göteborg or Umeå, that in Stockholm this is how we do things, we have each others back. I can’t work out exactly who they’re taking the piss out of but it cracks me up all the same. And then they blast into a song taking the piss out of the DIY punk scene with lyrics as blunt as a butter knife. Love it. It worked out great that they could take the show tonight. And I’m glad we finally got to play together.
Iron Lamb are up next but I miss most of the show since I’m back on merch duty and from where I’m stood you can barely hear or see the band. It’s a strange venue where the sound doesn’t carry too well, although it has gotten better since Debaser took over the place. I was here once with Jen at a Sleep show and it was fucking rammed. They’d sold probably two hundred tickets more than necessary and yes, we turned up just before they went on but we ended up stuck behind a concrete pillar and despite the fact we were stood within ten meters of the stage where one of the “world’s loudest bands” were playing, you could hold a conversation like you were sat at a hotel bar. Not that we were talking but most of the fucking poseurs around us were. Infuriating. And Sleep were boring as shit too.
It’s a nice feeling to walk on to a big stage at a club in your home town, where the room is pretty full and there isn’t an ounce of nerves in the system. It doesn’t happen very often but tonight I feel confident. With DB there is always the feeling that anything can happen, there is a lot more chaos involved, which is part of the charm, but Victims is pretty controlled. I love playing on both bands for varying reasons but there’s been a lot more DB of late and I’m ready for this gig. The sound on stage is top notch, everything is set. The only smudge on proceedings is the fact there is one of those daft red curtains across the front of the stage and me and Jon have to grab it from either end and pull it aside. Feel like a bit of a cunt but that aside it’s all good.
It’s one of those gigs where from the first chord you know you’re safe. The crowd is up for it, the hands are flowing and you can hear everything on stage perfectly. I can even tell that I’m not breaking a string tonight. In the fucking zone! The crowd has faces of various friends dotted about it and eventually to the left hand side of me I notice Vik, fists pumping the air, singing along. It’s a great feeling having one of your best mates that you play in another band with supporting you to the tilt, despite the piss taking. That’s what a scene is all about. Supporting each other. On that note, Jon dedicates the We're Fucked to Fredrik from DS13, after explaining the situation with his arse.
Afterwards I meet up with Vik, he’s chuffed with the gig. He’s laughing about the fact he noticed I was a little wilder on stage tonight with Victims than I’ve been with DB of late, but then it hit him just how much faster DB is. It’s true enough, DB makes playing in Victims a most relaxing experience in comparison. Which is nice. Fuck, after the first show I ever did with Victims I was on the verge of collapse. It felt like the longest twenty five minutes of my life. I was nervous as fuck which didn’t help but more than that I just wasn’t used to playing that fast. I was used to the one hour, pissed up ramble that was a Speedhorn show and thought twenty five minutes would be a breeze. How wrong I was. Just as I was a few years later about DB’s fifteen minute set.
Anyway, everyone is chuffed with the gig, band members and friends alike, Jen is grinning like a Cheshire cat that got it’s hands on some coffee, whipped cream and Galliano, and Jempa, equally as chuffed is showing me a bunch of pics she took of the gig. We’ve sold a shit load of merch tonight too, which is fucking wonderful since I’m in dire need of the money this month. It would be perfect to play one of these shows every month, would keep the student budget topped up just nicely…
After a bout of mingling we take ourselves down to the quieter bar at the bottom end of the club. Jen has headed home but I’m in desperate need of a quality beer and some peace and quiet away from the dancefloor where Christoffer’s girlfriend is keeping the party going. The four of us in the band enjoy a pint of Pale Ale and a chat. Actually, the beer isn’t that enjoyable, weird aftertaste. Still, it’s the first time I’ve shared a beer at a bar with Johan since they had Billy. Not that I spend a lot of time in bars in Stockholm these days. After the one he’s off though, very disciplined. It is actually one-thirty though. He asks me if want to share a cab and although I know I should take advantage and avoid taking the tube back, I know that I won’t regret staying for one more beer. You only ever regret the last beer if it’s the last in a long line. But tonight I’m sober, I’m enjoying a chat with Andy and Benke Nitad and Polly is staying at her Gran’s house and I feel like another. I do only have the one though. And a shot that my friend Ebba who’s working in the bar gives me which I drink because I’m too polite to decline. But that’s it. I take the train home around three, happily listening to Brainbombs whilst watching the young generation of Stockholm making their way home in a drunken haze and wondering how many pints of regret have been drunk this last hour.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
Monday, November 17, 2014
Eindhoven
“Have you checked in yet?” asks Lucas.
We're stood at the check-in desk for Brussels Airlines at Bromma Airport and being that it's the “check-in desk” I'd assumed that this is where we'd be fucking checking in. Obviously I've made some sort of howling mistake. The friendly looking woman attending us is sat behind her desk and is on the phone, and amidst the confusing conversation I've now embarked on with Luk and Viktor I hear her saying something about "standby list" and "overbooked". And for a moment I have that sinking feeling in my stomach. We’re flying down to Holland via Brussels to play Bloodshed Fest in Eindhoven tomorrow and I do not want to miss this fucking flight! There are a lot of friends bands playing this evening, so for a start that’s going to be a good crack, but first and foremost we’ve paid for these flights ourselves and my student budget won’t stretch to flights being tossed in the can. And then there’s Kev, who has already been on the go since cack o’ clock this morning and is probably already in Eindhoven and we can’t just leave him there. Like your life flashing by you in the space of a few seconds as you face the final curtain so are these thoughts whizzing about my head, and then I’m pulled back from the brink by the friendly looking woman, “Okay, we’re upgrading you guys to business class”. Dancer.
Chuffed, we make our way through security and head to the bar whilst we await our flight. Stix is on the beer but I’ll be fucked if I’m paying sixty odd kronor for a pint of Carlsberg, so opt for a ridiculously expensive mug of filtered coffee instead. Airports seem to have an inflation rate all of their own. Of course, once on board we take full advantage of the complimentary service, laughing our asses off at the thought of Kev crawling out of bed at three in the morning to catch that soul destroying Ryanair flight out of Stansted Airport as we sit there swigging free drink and eating our pasta pesto. I’m sure our fellow business class passengers have clocked that we’re not supposed to be here. “Just because you’re in business class does not mean that you are business class” quips Lucas.
We land in Brussels, which is a huge airport and walk for what takes about twenty minutes to the baggage hall. So nice not to be carrying anything, we’re lending all our gear from the Hårda Tider and Night Fever guys. I have no idea who is picking us up but before we even have time to look around our lift has spotted us. We walk about one huge car park followed by another until we find our van, our driver for the day, Koen, can’t remember where he left it, such is the magnitude of this place. We eventually locate the splitter though and we slowly make our way for the exit, the van roof scraping along the low concrete ceiling as we go. “It’s only rented” Koen assures us.
The drive to Eindhoven takes an hour and a half and it’s around four pm by the time we arrive. Kev has already texted us, telling us he’s found the hotel and he’s gone to bed for a bit. The poor fucker had put on a Dry Heaves gig at the Nest last night so has probably only slept a couple of hours. That he can be arsed continually inspires me.
The venue isn't the usual punk house you'd find on the DB tour circuit. It's more a complex than a venue, with several floors, one of which houses the production offices alone. There are two stage rooms, one in the basement where we're playing and then the big one, which has a big high stage and looks like a school assembly hall. The lobby is where all the merch tables are set up, as a well as the kitchen and a bar. Whilst waiting for our passes and fee, which luxuriously enough we're picking up before we even play, I make a right cunt out of myself. One of the big outer walls is made entirely of glass and the sun is blasting mercilessly through it, heating the entire lobby area up with it's rays. I spot who I think is my mate Stijn from the band Reproach stood by a merch table in front of this glass facade but with the insane amount of backlight it's a little hard to decipher whether it's him or not. I look over a couple of times, and then, despite the fact he seems to have grown a grey beard, I decide it is indeed Stijn and slowly make my way over, squinting in the light, hoping that before I get to him his face will be revealed. The venue is not open yet and there aren't many other people around so me shuffling slowly across to him is hardly inconspicuous. When I finally reach him I put my hand on his shoulder and with a big smile greet him, "Hey man, how are you doing?" I've clocked that it's not Stijn before I even ask the question but can't seem to stop myself. Grey Beard, very confused, shrugs his shoulders, "Yeah, I'm good". I offer a pathetic, "Sorry, I thought you were a friend of mine".. he nods, obviously getting that fact, and I shame walk away. Luk is right behind me, "That was a bit embarrassing". Yep, thanks for pointing that out buddy.
The whole debacle reminded me of another disastrous episode when I was a kid and I thought I'd spotted my cousin Ian up the town centre. I was walking about fifty yards behind this guy with long hair who I was certain was Ian even though my best mate Neil assured me it wasn't. I ran up behind him and playfully kicked him up the ass only to recoil in horror when this total stranger turned around with a look on his face that suggested he was about to destroy me. Fuck knows how I got out of that one unscathed...
I’m so fucking glad we decided to book a hotel, anyway. We got a mail from the festival production manager a few days back informing us that the accommodation provided this year would consist of a wooden floor in the gym hall on the third floor of the venue, and it would be a good idea to bring an inflatable mattress. Obviously haven flown in with only hand luggage allowance this wasn’t an option, as neither was a sleeping bag, so we were faced with a couple of very rough night’s sleep that I’m not sure I could still handle. For some reason it would have felt more manageable, both physically and psychologically if we’d been on tour since when you’re on tour you’re pretty fucked up anyway, but just coming down for the weekend, taking a couple of days out of my regular life of early mornings and sleepless nights with Polly, I just couldn’t handle the thought of coming back an utter wreck on Sunday night, because obviously, if I’m going to crash on a wooden gym floor with no sleeping bag then I’d have to be completely fucking boats to do so...
“There was a bit of a mix up with the booking so we’re upgrading you to a deluxe room”, the friendly looking woman at the hotel desk informs us. This seems to be our day! We head up to the rooms, one of which Kev is sleeping in. Luk and Vik think they're being a pair of wise cunts by telling me I'm staying with Kev and claiming the upgrade room for themselves but when I follow them along the corridor it turns out their room is exactly the same as the other one and that both our rooms must be the deluxe upgrade. "Fuck me, I can't imagine what the normal rooms are like then" laughs Kev from underneath his quilt when I update him on the crack. Indeed, the deluxe room's "added extras" seem to consist of a fat back tv with one barely decipherable channel on it and a kettle. Still, better than that fucking gym floor any day of the week.
After a quick shower we decide to head into town and get some grub. We'd been talking about buying a couple of cans from a shop and hanging out in the hotel room for a while, instead of hitting a bar, budget limitations again coming into play, but decide against that plan almost immediately. It's a nice, sunny evening, way warmer than back home and this counts as holiday for me, I'll be fucked if I'm spending it sat in a hotel room drinking cans like a fucking alchy. I've been banging onto the guys about the legendary chips and peanut butter sauce since we left this morning, and I'm starting to get on their tits with it. I do tend do go on a bit if I'm excited about something though, especially food. We hit one of the many chippies along the way and I delve into the heavenly snack. The other guys look at me like I'm a fucking wanker.
The street we're on, which is a pedestrianised stretch of alley between our hotel and the venue is lined with mostly horrible looking bars, even worse looking clubs and fast food joints. It's relatively quiet now but you can tell it's not going to stay that way. We do find this one little place though that seems to be pretty quiet and has a load of decent beers on sale, a little bit more expensive maybe than the other places but that's probably a good thing. We sit there for an hour or so enjoying a couple of select picks from the bar. Kev as usual hasn't got a fucking clue and just follows Viktor's lead. Vik likes his strong Belgian beers and jumps at some blonde 8,3 percenter. You can see the look of disgust on Kev's coupon as soon as he sips on it, "Tastes like fucking paint stripper". Vik ends up polishing Kev's off and Kev opts for an Amstel or something similarly uncouth. A little warm from the beer, we head along to the venue where we meet up with some of the Deptford crew, Jamie, Viv and Wayne. They've made the trip in Jamie's car. Kev could've just as well have made the trip with them. Jamie's brought a box of our merch for us too, great lad.
I don't really catch that many bands during the evening, we spend most of the time hanging out upstairs in the merch room with the guys from Hårda Tider, Night Fever and Dogmatist, as well as our friend Jos from the legendary bands Lärm and Seein' Red, who's taken the train down after work to hang out. The tiny little beers you get to buy for your beer tokens here fly down the neck at a steady rate but they have little effect being that it's pretty weak lager. Probably just as well, I don't really feel like getting too fucked up, I don't want to waste a good nights sleep in a hotel bed.
The first band I watch is Systematic Death from Japan. Our friend Ronald is driving them around, who also have the Citizen's Patrol guys on tour with them. Lucas told me that he'd spotted them earlier when they arrived in the van and they literally jumped out the back of the van and began taking photos of everything, totally chuffed. I love the Japanese, wonderful people. And fuck me, can these old guys still play. I hope I can perform at that level in twenty years time. The drummer is like a fucking machine, hits the shit out of his snare drum at full speed. They were absolutely great, loved watching every second of them, and by now the beer was just starting to work it's magic, just a little.
Night Fever played after them on the main stage by which point I was really starting to zone into party mood. Night Fever are the perfect band for that. Solomon flying about the stage with his fingerless, leather gloves on, mixing up his hardcore ranting with the old Danzig style warbling. Sounds like a horrible mix I know but somehow Solomon makes it work. This is party hardcore. They work the big stage really well too. I have to say that I'm a little surprised there aren't more watching them, although there is still a good crowd in, but maybe the festival in general feels a little calmer than last time I was here with Victims. I'm stood near the front with Viv and Viktor, enjoying the show drinking one of the little beers when some kid comes running across the stage and dives right into the section of crowd I'm in. I have to laugh as I and a few others around me immediately scuttle off to the side, beers held above our heads and away from the danger of being spilled as the diver hurtles towards the ground. Old cunts.
Talking of old cunts, Varukers play last on the main stage. Fuck me. I clocked Biff earlier on in the evening, sat behind their merch table, his eyes and mouth rattling about all over the place. Apparently they'd driven all the way from the UK just to play the one show here tonight, no doubt off their tits the entire journey. They can still play but "can" and "why" are two very different sides of the coin. I just don't get it. There will always be the hardcore fanbase down front loving every second of it but I can only stomach a couple of songs.
The first night of the Fest done, I'm really in the mood to go and grab a nice quiet beer somewhere and just chill out for a while before heading to bed. There is talk of an after party where there are some bands playing, one of whom are friends with Kev, and for a minute it sounds like it could be fun. The place is in some tiny squat, it costs five Euros to get in and then it's a free bar after that. But then Kev says, "Twenty minute walk" and any thoughts I had of going are immediately extinguished. Kev and the Deptford guys head off whilst me, Vik and Luk head back to that small bar we were in earlier, via another chippy.
The street is now absolute chaos. Hundreds and hundreds of people on the piss, it feels more like Ibiza than Eindhoven. We make our way to the seclusion of our little bar but even in there it's pretty packed, although with a substantially older and calmer clientel. Luk soon succumbs to tiredness and heads back to the hotel through the masses in the alley whilst Vik and I stick around for another couple. Vik is talking a lot and doing it enthusiastically and I can tell he's pretty drunk, not surprising considering he's back on the paint stripper Pale Ale. We eventually decide to call it a night, although not before we grab some more food, this time a falafel joint being the preference. The falafel is dog shit. No sauce, no salad. When I ask for some accompaniment the guy squirts some garlic mayo into the bread and hands me a small pot of sweet chilli sauce. That'll teach me to stray from the old pommes frites whilst in the Netherlands... We sit at the falafel place for almost another hour, Vik banging on about this and that, the volume increasing steadily. It's past four by the time I get to the hotel room. Kev's bed is empty.
I wake with the slightest of headache's. Nothing major, just enough of it in the background to annoy you. My phone buzzes, it's Lucas asking if Kev and I are ready to go get some breakfast. I look over my shoulder at Kev's bed. It's still empty. I lie in bed watching Amy Schuler standup on the fuzzy tv channel for a half hour, before rustling up the energy for a shower. Kev rolls in about half hour later, bright as a button, although he claims his head is a little sore. He says he ended up sleeping at the hotel the Deptford crew were in, although he didn't get there until six am. According to him the after party was an absolute blast, this really small little squat and it was indeed free booze after the initial five euro entry fee. His mate's band, Terror Defence were awesome by all accounts, and the crowd, which was full littered with Scando pissheads kicked off big time. I kind of wished I'd had the energy to go along but I was knackered, and I can only imagine the hangover I'd have now if I had. Fuck knows how Kev is in such a relatively healthy state! "I was fucked when I got to the hotel, but I've slept for five hours now so I'm okay". Wanker.
We meet the guys outside the hotel reception and head down to a breakfast place Kev had found the day before. It's another glorious day. Summer has stuck around late here in Eindhoven. The breakfast place has good coffee and their freshly baked bread hits the bullseye. Good start to the day. We head along to the venue around mid day, the chaos street sleeping once again. When we get to the venue we find Hasse who plays guitar in Night Fever and drums in Dogmatist slumbered on the pavement, hood up over his head, cradling a kebab in his hands. He looks like he's been sat there all night. Vik is delighted to see him. "Heeeey Hasse! How's it going?" Hasse looks up, eyes swollen red, "Naij! Fucking shit!" We burst into laughter. He looks absolutely fucked! It turns out he's only slept an hour and he doesn't really know where he is right now. Poor fucker, Dogmatist are first on, in about an hour and half.
We head in and set up the merch that Jamie has brought with him from the hotel. We hang around there for a while, looking forward to the day ahead. We're on after Dogmatist so it's an early start. Kind of nice in way, get the show over and done with, but I do wonder if there's going to be anyone in the building by that time. Kev tells me he met a lot of people at the party last night that had said at five am that they really "hoped" to come check us out but couldn't promise anything. I'd be amazed if anyone from there made it to see us at three-fifteen this afternoon. As we're sat there chatting with Jakob Adult Crash, who is out driving Night Fever, shaking his head recalling last night's partying, we hear Hasse somewhere off in the distance, "Naaaaij!". Five minutes later he's got a beer in his hand. I think that might actually be his only way out of this. Nikolaj, their bass player, looks on unconvinced... Luk isn't doing too well either, he's been complaining about a headache all morning, insisting it's nothing to do with the booze. He's got a couple of asprins from somewhere anyway and headed to the bar to ask for some water when suddenly the room is drowned in insanely loud grindcore, some wise cunt obviously hasn't checked the volume when putting the stereo system on. Luk turns around, his shoulders hunched up to his ears and his eyes squinting in pain, as if he's just had a sharp rod inserted up his rhana. This amuses me no end.
Dogmatist play just after two pm. Hasse is smiling his ass off before the start, there's a hint of shock and resignation in his smile though. It starts off okay but it doesn't take long before the cracks start to appear. A dropped fill here, a missed snare there, Hasse huffing and puffing, shaking his head but all the while grinning to himself. Apparently they drop a few of the faster songs in the set to accommodate the situation. At one point Hasse drops a stick and for a split second it seems like he's going to keep the beat going whilst he recovers a pin but then he just stops playing, unable to manage two things at once. Brilliant. They're a great band though and you can't help but enjoy the show, this is punk rock after all, not fucking Deep Purple. And Hasse had warned of the dangers of them playing first after Night Fever's show the night before.. Still, their last lp is one of my favourites of the last six months and it's great to see them play. Lucas is going about how much he loves the singer's high screeching style, Luc calls him The Witch and imagines him flying onto the stage on a broomstick that turns into a guitar and then flying off again when he's done. Luc then does a little re-enactment of how he sees this scene in his head.
We're up next on the stage, although there's something else going on the main stage whilst we set up. Peter from Hårda Tider has literally lent me everything, even his guitar. He's such a nice guy, I can't thank him enough, although he continually assures me it's no problem. I lent this very same Gibson SG a few years back when Hårda Tider played with Victims in Potsdam and I liked the particular model so much I bought one. Anyway, our show goes pretty much to plan. For once we're playing a stage with an actual monitor set up and you can actually hear everything pretty clear. Sometimes that has the opposite effect to that you're after, since our set is based on it being a little chaotic but if the truth's told, it's nice to be able to hear everything now and again. There are maybe fifty, sixty people in the small room, enough to make it feel pretty good at least. Funny thing is, my legs are tense as steel rods for the first couple of songs and it makes it hard to get into the gig, but after taking a swig of beer after the first block of songs I start to relax and enjoy myself. Feels like we get a pretty good reaction and we play pretty tight. When we go into the final section of I'm Still Drowning, the slow section, I notice Linus HT starting to get a stomp on. He loves that stuff. He's right up to us afterwards beaming about the show. The stage is hot as fuck with all the lights and I'm drenched by the time we're done. I stand there chatting with Jos for a while afterwards, before packing down. He's telling me about his spoken word thing he did here at Slowend Fest a while back and about his book that he's bringing out in the near future. I'm really looking forward to reading that.
Afterwards, when all is sorted, we head out in search of a bar selling quality beer, needing a break from the little cups of foam you get from the bar at the venue. The Deptford crew and Jos join us. It's Saturday afternoon and of course, Chaos Alley is brimming with footy fans going to the PSV game. We steer clear and end up in some modern looking bar, loads of space and a long table, kind of has that new hipster bar feel to it that a lot of the places have these days. It's just the ticket though, sitting there with friends and a couple of quality ales,
recounting stories old and new. Can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon. Of course, quality beer usually means higher alcohol percentage, and after a couple of IPA's I'm already feeling that warm glow inside. It's only five pm, it's going to be a long day.
Viv and Wayne are telling me about the party last night and how crazy the gig was at the squat. Viv says she knew it was time to leave though when it got to around six am and a large section of the males in attendance started taking their tops off and chest slamming into each other. Wayne adds that it was sweaty as hell in the small room, of course, he had kept his leather jacket on the whole time...
We head back in time to watch Hårda Tider down in the basement. There's a fairly decent crowd but I'd imagined that the pace would be packed since there is a bit of buzz about the guys right now. Luc was telling me last night though that the Fest was a little calmer this year than it had been in previous years. Still.. The HT guys seem to enjoy the gig anyway. It's not totally my thing but what they do they do really well and Erik the singer is always fun to watch, he never stops moving, between songs he gets into these little rants and just paces back and forth across the stage like a kid who has got their hands on a lot of the old E numbers.
After the gig we head back upstairs and I bump into the guys from Reproach who had arrived right after we'd played. Typical. Great to see them all the same, really nice guys. And I realise that Stijn really does look nothing like Grey Beard. Iron Lamb have arrived too, strange hanging out with Johan here when we normally meet at the play park or at nursery with our kids. The Night Fever guys are all looking pretty sauced, the drummer is spread out on the merch table, half asleep, Solomon has an intense vibe going on, apparently he hasn't slept at all since they came back from the squat last night, and Hasse has apparently just gone back to pissed up again. He doesn't even remember meeting us this morning outside the venue. Those Danes sure know how to party.
We head back downstairs to watch Cardiac Arrest. They're fucking great, proper good American hardcore. Wayne is in his element, down the front the whole show, leather jacket sitting proudly on his torso, finger resolutely pointing at the singer, every now again he's on the mic chanting along. Great seeing Wayne bouncing about with these taller hardcore guys, impervious to everything except the Cardiac Arrest vocalist. Viv prods me now and again, nodding in Wayne's direction like a proud mum. Vik gets chatting to their singer afterwards, they know each other from when Nitad played with them over in the States, seems like a good guy. They're playing out in the suburbs in Stockholm next weekend but I already have tickets for the Shellac show. Would have been a fun gig to try and get on otherwise.
There's not really much else I'm want to see today except Voorhees so we start talking about heading out to another bar again. Good to take a break from this place. Solomon is still going strong, well, he's still standing anyway but he is starting to look a little tired, not surprising since he's been up since yesterday. He's up for going to another bar with us and duly leads Vik, Luk and I to the closest bar to the venue, just across the street. The area is starting to buzz again and Chaos Alley is already brimming with people. Solomon marches straight into this bar, which I think in actual fact is more of a restaurant, a pretty chilled out one at that, and orders four vodkas. Straight. No ice. Who can argue with that? The girl behind the bar, who turns out to be the proprietor, looks a little taken aback by Solomon's abrupt style. Vik offers to pay for the round and we all line up to collect our drinks, I motion quietly to the barmaid that I would very much appreciate a little ice in my drink. We take a table outside and Vik asks if we can sort him out with money for the drinks. I had a feeling he'd jumped the gun a little. We sit there sipping from our glasses, Luc looking a little tortured as he does so, I actually quite like vodka on the rocks, whilst Solomon knocks his back. Some guy, a friend of the owners, approaches us and starts with some small talk. I can tell he's checking us out to see if we're going to be any trouble, it's pretty obvious. Solomon loses interest immediately and leaves whilst we three engage him and end up having a pretty good talk. We chat for a while and when he's satisfied that we're normal guys he makes his excuses and leaves us to it.
Once the voddy is polished off, I finish Luc's for him, we head for yet more chips and sauce. Viv and a couple of the others tag along. We meet Hasse there who is by now well into party mode once again. He's a little intrigued by my peanut butter sauce so I offer him some. At first he seems to like it but then his face changes, "It's pretty dry... It's really fucking dry! Isn't sauce supposed to make the foot wetter?" Seems like I'm on my own.
We get back in time for the Voorhees show. Me and Jos get chatting again for a while, just general stuff about life, family, work and so on before he heads off to catch his train home. It's always great to see him, a genuine gent of the scene. I then catch up with Acko from Voorhees, he's still spouting the Charlie Manson look, he pulls it off though. He's another one it's always fun to catch up with. We follow them down to the basement and now, with a good amount of beer and some voddy in me, I'm ready to get down to business. Again there isn't a huge amount of people in the room but enough to create an atmosphere and when they kick into the first song I'm beyond caring anyway, me and Kev are straight into the pit. We're followed shortly thereafter by Vik and Luc, the whole of DB moshing to Voorhees. Brilliant. Wayne is right there with us too. In all honesty it's more fun for the nostalgia aspect than anything else. I mean, it's pretty good but not great by any means. But I really don't care, it's eleven pm, I've been drinking since two pm and it's Voorhees. Fucking worse ways to spend an evening.
Stijn and the Reproach guys are doing their best to entice me to another after party at the squat again but I'm not even close to being tempted this time, far too knackered. I know fine well I'd get there and crash out straight away. Better to do that in a bar nearer the hotel. Of course, we end up back at our favourite place. We're all pretty fucking sauced by this point. The bar is pretty busy too. The Deptfords come along for a bit but one by one they drop off. Kev says he's taking the merch bag back to the hotel room but doesn't return, Vik is just pure boats and fucks off, leaving just me and Luc. More chips. The last I really remember is being stood outside amongst the chaos of that fucking street, eating chips and banging on to Luc about how I'm willing to go for another beer with him, that it's something I'm prepared to do for him. We end up lurching back to the hotel, just a vague memory of thrashing my tooth brush around my gob before collapsing into bed.
I wake up a few hours later with the feeling in my stomach that tells me I'm going to vom. But it never arrives, just lurks around in the background the whole fucking day, plaguing me. Vik looks like cack so that helps. Kev seems to be fine again. Don't fucking get it. He tells us though that when he was making his way back to the hotel last night he couldn't make his way through the packed alley so decided to sit down on a bench for a while where he ended up falling asleep with the merch bag beside him. He woke up about half hour later, not knowing what the fuck was going on.
Kev is catching a lift back in Jamie's car anyway, can't say I blame him. His flight is a ten tonight which sounds very boring. If he travels with Jamie and the guys he'll make it home about four hours before his flight even lands at Stansted. No brainer. We say bye to him and walk off in search of breakfast, via checking in with the venue where we're meeting Luc Bloodshed who is giving us a ride to Brussels. We meet Kalle HT there who is waiting with their van. Apparently the fucking guards had kicked out all of the bands who were sleeping in the venue at eight this morning! Wankers! I'm so relieved we weren't there. I think if I'd been in that situation I would have fucking cried. We bump into Peter, Linus and Erik from Hårda Tider who tip us off about a great bagel place they found. We laugh about all the chips and sauce we've eaten this weekend, I really need something healthier. Feels right now like I'll never eat another chip again, but that's obviously nonsense, much like the many occasions I've sworn myself off the booze. Peter tells us about this sauce they have in Holland they call War Sauce, apparently it's a mixture of brown and white sauce and they derive the name from that. Fucking mad. Lucas is outraged.
The bagel place is indeed top notch, although I wish I was in a fitter state so I could truly enjoy it. The Deptfords end up walking in just as we're finishing up so we get to say goodbye all over again. We end up waiting for ages outside the venue, Luc has been dealing with a lot of shit due to these arsehole guards at the venue.. We finally get going around one pm, so there's still plenty of time to catch our flight, although we don't have much margin for unforseen fuck ups. I feel mildly nauseous the whole trip, not helped by Luc's girlfriend's tub of noodles that she's brought along, but the vom is kept at bay. Despite the fact I feel pretty shite we still manage to have a good gab with Luc and his girlfriend which helps the journey no end. Nothing like a few rib tickling tales to keep your mind off the hangover.
Amidst all this joviality the game nearly comes to a very sudden stop. Luc is in the fast lane and the traffic is pretty light. Out of fucking nowhere some asshole comes from behind us and barges right into our lane, not just cutting Luc up but very nearly smashing him and us into the central reservation. We'd been on the verge of overtaking a lorry and I can only imagine that this half wit had just come off the slip road we passed and simply not seen us because as Luc's girlfriend put it, "Nobody is that much of a twat!" Luckily Luc was aware and hit his breaks whilst avoiding a skid. We're all a little shaken though. I'm sat in the middle seat in the back, cramped into the tiny car but with no seatbelt, if we'd crashed I wouldn't have stood a fucking chance. The gig would have been up in the blink of an eye. Fucks you up a bit if you start getting too deep into that frame of mind. The whole episode seems to have woken Vik up anyway, he'd been sat there until now, eyes closed, no doubt trying to shut out his own hangover.
We arrive at Brussels airport without further drama. I'm very glad to get out since I'm really starting to feel sick again and after bidding farewell to the guys we make a beeline for the bogs where I wash my face with tepid tap water. The flight home is smooth enough although this time we're sat where we belong. Lucas comments on how it's hard going back to economy once you've experienced the upper echelons of business class. I'm just glad to be on my way home. I sit there contemplating how utterly and pathetically predictable this hangover is. I remember thinking on the flight over how well I felt, sat there with my free pasta pesto and coffee and knowing then that I'd most likely feel shite on the return journey. As if there's no way I can actually effect this outcome...
One of these days I might just give up drinking. I mean, why not really. I'm sure I could live without it if I really chose to. One thing is for fucking sure though, I won't be eating any chips for a while.
We're stood at the check-in desk for Brussels Airlines at Bromma Airport and being that it's the “check-in desk” I'd assumed that this is where we'd be fucking checking in. Obviously I've made some sort of howling mistake. The friendly looking woman attending us is sat behind her desk and is on the phone, and amidst the confusing conversation I've now embarked on with Luk and Viktor I hear her saying something about "standby list" and "overbooked". And for a moment I have that sinking feeling in my stomach. We’re flying down to Holland via Brussels to play Bloodshed Fest in Eindhoven tomorrow and I do not want to miss this fucking flight! There are a lot of friends bands playing this evening, so for a start that’s going to be a good crack, but first and foremost we’ve paid for these flights ourselves and my student budget won’t stretch to flights being tossed in the can. And then there’s Kev, who has already been on the go since cack o’ clock this morning and is probably already in Eindhoven and we can’t just leave him there. Like your life flashing by you in the space of a few seconds as you face the final curtain so are these thoughts whizzing about my head, and then I’m pulled back from the brink by the friendly looking woman, “Okay, we’re upgrading you guys to business class”. Dancer.
Chuffed, we make our way through security and head to the bar whilst we await our flight. Stix is on the beer but I’ll be fucked if I’m paying sixty odd kronor for a pint of Carlsberg, so opt for a ridiculously expensive mug of filtered coffee instead. Airports seem to have an inflation rate all of their own. Of course, once on board we take full advantage of the complimentary service, laughing our asses off at the thought of Kev crawling out of bed at three in the morning to catch that soul destroying Ryanair flight out of Stansted Airport as we sit there swigging free drink and eating our pasta pesto. I’m sure our fellow business class passengers have clocked that we’re not supposed to be here. “Just because you’re in business class does not mean that you are business class” quips Lucas.
We land in Brussels, which is a huge airport and walk for what takes about twenty minutes to the baggage hall. So nice not to be carrying anything, we’re lending all our gear from the Hårda Tider and Night Fever guys. I have no idea who is picking us up but before we even have time to look around our lift has spotted us. We walk about one huge car park followed by another until we find our van, our driver for the day, Koen, can’t remember where he left it, such is the magnitude of this place. We eventually locate the splitter though and we slowly make our way for the exit, the van roof scraping along the low concrete ceiling as we go. “It’s only rented” Koen assures us.
The drive to Eindhoven takes an hour and a half and it’s around four pm by the time we arrive. Kev has already texted us, telling us he’s found the hotel and he’s gone to bed for a bit. The poor fucker had put on a Dry Heaves gig at the Nest last night so has probably only slept a couple of hours. That he can be arsed continually inspires me.
The venue isn't the usual punk house you'd find on the DB tour circuit. It's more a complex than a venue, with several floors, one of which houses the production offices alone. There are two stage rooms, one in the basement where we're playing and then the big one, which has a big high stage and looks like a school assembly hall. The lobby is where all the merch tables are set up, as a well as the kitchen and a bar. Whilst waiting for our passes and fee, which luxuriously enough we're picking up before we even play, I make a right cunt out of myself. One of the big outer walls is made entirely of glass and the sun is blasting mercilessly through it, heating the entire lobby area up with it's rays. I spot who I think is my mate Stijn from the band Reproach stood by a merch table in front of this glass facade but with the insane amount of backlight it's a little hard to decipher whether it's him or not. I look over a couple of times, and then, despite the fact he seems to have grown a grey beard, I decide it is indeed Stijn and slowly make my way over, squinting in the light, hoping that before I get to him his face will be revealed. The venue is not open yet and there aren't many other people around so me shuffling slowly across to him is hardly inconspicuous. When I finally reach him I put my hand on his shoulder and with a big smile greet him, "Hey man, how are you doing?" I've clocked that it's not Stijn before I even ask the question but can't seem to stop myself. Grey Beard, very confused, shrugs his shoulders, "Yeah, I'm good". I offer a pathetic, "Sorry, I thought you were a friend of mine".. he nods, obviously getting that fact, and I shame walk away. Luk is right behind me, "That was a bit embarrassing". Yep, thanks for pointing that out buddy.
The whole debacle reminded me of another disastrous episode when I was a kid and I thought I'd spotted my cousin Ian up the town centre. I was walking about fifty yards behind this guy with long hair who I was certain was Ian even though my best mate Neil assured me it wasn't. I ran up behind him and playfully kicked him up the ass only to recoil in horror when this total stranger turned around with a look on his face that suggested he was about to destroy me. Fuck knows how I got out of that one unscathed...
I’m so fucking glad we decided to book a hotel, anyway. We got a mail from the festival production manager a few days back informing us that the accommodation provided this year would consist of a wooden floor in the gym hall on the third floor of the venue, and it would be a good idea to bring an inflatable mattress. Obviously haven flown in with only hand luggage allowance this wasn’t an option, as neither was a sleeping bag, so we were faced with a couple of very rough night’s sleep that I’m not sure I could still handle. For some reason it would have felt more manageable, both physically and psychologically if we’d been on tour since when you’re on tour you’re pretty fucked up anyway, but just coming down for the weekend, taking a couple of days out of my regular life of early mornings and sleepless nights with Polly, I just couldn’t handle the thought of coming back an utter wreck on Sunday night, because obviously, if I’m going to crash on a wooden gym floor with no sleeping bag then I’d have to be completely fucking boats to do so...
“There was a bit of a mix up with the booking so we’re upgrading you to a deluxe room”, the friendly looking woman at the hotel desk informs us. This seems to be our day! We head up to the rooms, one of which Kev is sleeping in. Luk and Vik think they're being a pair of wise cunts by telling me I'm staying with Kev and claiming the upgrade room for themselves but when I follow them along the corridor it turns out their room is exactly the same as the other one and that both our rooms must be the deluxe upgrade. "Fuck me, I can't imagine what the normal rooms are like then" laughs Kev from underneath his quilt when I update him on the crack. Indeed, the deluxe room's "added extras" seem to consist of a fat back tv with one barely decipherable channel on it and a kettle. Still, better than that fucking gym floor any day of the week.
After a quick shower we decide to head into town and get some grub. We'd been talking about buying a couple of cans from a shop and hanging out in the hotel room for a while, instead of hitting a bar, budget limitations again coming into play, but decide against that plan almost immediately. It's a nice, sunny evening, way warmer than back home and this counts as holiday for me, I'll be fucked if I'm spending it sat in a hotel room drinking cans like a fucking alchy. I've been banging onto the guys about the legendary chips and peanut butter sauce since we left this morning, and I'm starting to get on their tits with it. I do tend do go on a bit if I'm excited about something though, especially food. We hit one of the many chippies along the way and I delve into the heavenly snack. The other guys look at me like I'm a fucking wanker.
The street we're on, which is a pedestrianised stretch of alley between our hotel and the venue is lined with mostly horrible looking bars, even worse looking clubs and fast food joints. It's relatively quiet now but you can tell it's not going to stay that way. We do find this one little place though that seems to be pretty quiet and has a load of decent beers on sale, a little bit more expensive maybe than the other places but that's probably a good thing. We sit there for an hour or so enjoying a couple of select picks from the bar. Kev as usual hasn't got a fucking clue and just follows Viktor's lead. Vik likes his strong Belgian beers and jumps at some blonde 8,3 percenter. You can see the look of disgust on Kev's coupon as soon as he sips on it, "Tastes like fucking paint stripper". Vik ends up polishing Kev's off and Kev opts for an Amstel or something similarly uncouth. A little warm from the beer, we head along to the venue where we meet up with some of the Deptford crew, Jamie, Viv and Wayne. They've made the trip in Jamie's car. Kev could've just as well have made the trip with them. Jamie's brought a box of our merch for us too, great lad.
I don't really catch that many bands during the evening, we spend most of the time hanging out upstairs in the merch room with the guys from Hårda Tider, Night Fever and Dogmatist, as well as our friend Jos from the legendary bands Lärm and Seein' Red, who's taken the train down after work to hang out. The tiny little beers you get to buy for your beer tokens here fly down the neck at a steady rate but they have little effect being that it's pretty weak lager. Probably just as well, I don't really feel like getting too fucked up, I don't want to waste a good nights sleep in a hotel bed.
The first band I watch is Systematic Death from Japan. Our friend Ronald is driving them around, who also have the Citizen's Patrol guys on tour with them. Lucas told me that he'd spotted them earlier when they arrived in the van and they literally jumped out the back of the van and began taking photos of everything, totally chuffed. I love the Japanese, wonderful people. And fuck me, can these old guys still play. I hope I can perform at that level in twenty years time. The drummer is like a fucking machine, hits the shit out of his snare drum at full speed. They were absolutely great, loved watching every second of them, and by now the beer was just starting to work it's magic, just a little.
Night Fever played after them on the main stage by which point I was really starting to zone into party mood. Night Fever are the perfect band for that. Solomon flying about the stage with his fingerless, leather gloves on, mixing up his hardcore ranting with the old Danzig style warbling. Sounds like a horrible mix I know but somehow Solomon makes it work. This is party hardcore. They work the big stage really well too. I have to say that I'm a little surprised there aren't more watching them, although there is still a good crowd in, but maybe the festival in general feels a little calmer than last time I was here with Victims. I'm stood near the front with Viv and Viktor, enjoying the show drinking one of the little beers when some kid comes running across the stage and dives right into the section of crowd I'm in. I have to laugh as I and a few others around me immediately scuttle off to the side, beers held above our heads and away from the danger of being spilled as the diver hurtles towards the ground. Old cunts.
Talking of old cunts, Varukers play last on the main stage. Fuck me. I clocked Biff earlier on in the evening, sat behind their merch table, his eyes and mouth rattling about all over the place. Apparently they'd driven all the way from the UK just to play the one show here tonight, no doubt off their tits the entire journey. They can still play but "can" and "why" are two very different sides of the coin. I just don't get it. There will always be the hardcore fanbase down front loving every second of it but I can only stomach a couple of songs.
The first night of the Fest done, I'm really in the mood to go and grab a nice quiet beer somewhere and just chill out for a while before heading to bed. There is talk of an after party where there are some bands playing, one of whom are friends with Kev, and for a minute it sounds like it could be fun. The place is in some tiny squat, it costs five Euros to get in and then it's a free bar after that. But then Kev says, "Twenty minute walk" and any thoughts I had of going are immediately extinguished. Kev and the Deptford guys head off whilst me, Vik and Luk head back to that small bar we were in earlier, via another chippy.
The street is now absolute chaos. Hundreds and hundreds of people on the piss, it feels more like Ibiza than Eindhoven. We make our way to the seclusion of our little bar but even in there it's pretty packed, although with a substantially older and calmer clientel. Luk soon succumbs to tiredness and heads back to the hotel through the masses in the alley whilst Vik and I stick around for another couple. Vik is talking a lot and doing it enthusiastically and I can tell he's pretty drunk, not surprising considering he's back on the paint stripper Pale Ale. We eventually decide to call it a night, although not before we grab some more food, this time a falafel joint being the preference. The falafel is dog shit. No sauce, no salad. When I ask for some accompaniment the guy squirts some garlic mayo into the bread and hands me a small pot of sweet chilli sauce. That'll teach me to stray from the old pommes frites whilst in the Netherlands... We sit at the falafel place for almost another hour, Vik banging on about this and that, the volume increasing steadily. It's past four by the time I get to the hotel room. Kev's bed is empty.
I wake with the slightest of headache's. Nothing major, just enough of it in the background to annoy you. My phone buzzes, it's Lucas asking if Kev and I are ready to go get some breakfast. I look over my shoulder at Kev's bed. It's still empty. I lie in bed watching Amy Schuler standup on the fuzzy tv channel for a half hour, before rustling up the energy for a shower. Kev rolls in about half hour later, bright as a button, although he claims his head is a little sore. He says he ended up sleeping at the hotel the Deptford crew were in, although he didn't get there until six am. According to him the after party was an absolute blast, this really small little squat and it was indeed free booze after the initial five euro entry fee. His mate's band, Terror Defence were awesome by all accounts, and the crowd, which was full littered with Scando pissheads kicked off big time. I kind of wished I'd had the energy to go along but I was knackered, and I can only imagine the hangover I'd have now if I had. Fuck knows how Kev is in such a relatively healthy state! "I was fucked when I got to the hotel, but I've slept for five hours now so I'm okay". Wanker.
We meet the guys outside the hotel reception and head down to a breakfast place Kev had found the day before. It's another glorious day. Summer has stuck around late here in Eindhoven. The breakfast place has good coffee and their freshly baked bread hits the bullseye. Good start to the day. We head along to the venue around mid day, the chaos street sleeping once again. When we get to the venue we find Hasse who plays guitar in Night Fever and drums in Dogmatist slumbered on the pavement, hood up over his head, cradling a kebab in his hands. He looks like he's been sat there all night. Vik is delighted to see him. "Heeeey Hasse! How's it going?" Hasse looks up, eyes swollen red, "Naij! Fucking shit!" We burst into laughter. He looks absolutely fucked! It turns out he's only slept an hour and he doesn't really know where he is right now. Poor fucker, Dogmatist are first on, in about an hour and half.
We head in and set up the merch that Jamie has brought with him from the hotel. We hang around there for a while, looking forward to the day ahead. We're on after Dogmatist so it's an early start. Kind of nice in way, get the show over and done with, but I do wonder if there's going to be anyone in the building by that time. Kev tells me he met a lot of people at the party last night that had said at five am that they really "hoped" to come check us out but couldn't promise anything. I'd be amazed if anyone from there made it to see us at three-fifteen this afternoon. As we're sat there chatting with Jakob Adult Crash, who is out driving Night Fever, shaking his head recalling last night's partying, we hear Hasse somewhere off in the distance, "Naaaaij!". Five minutes later he's got a beer in his hand. I think that might actually be his only way out of this. Nikolaj, their bass player, looks on unconvinced... Luk isn't doing too well either, he's been complaining about a headache all morning, insisting it's nothing to do with the booze. He's got a couple of asprins from somewhere anyway and headed to the bar to ask for some water when suddenly the room is drowned in insanely loud grindcore, some wise cunt obviously hasn't checked the volume when putting the stereo system on. Luk turns around, his shoulders hunched up to his ears and his eyes squinting in pain, as if he's just had a sharp rod inserted up his rhana. This amuses me no end.
Dogmatist play just after two pm. Hasse is smiling his ass off before the start, there's a hint of shock and resignation in his smile though. It starts off okay but it doesn't take long before the cracks start to appear. A dropped fill here, a missed snare there, Hasse huffing and puffing, shaking his head but all the while grinning to himself. Apparently they drop a few of the faster songs in the set to accommodate the situation. At one point Hasse drops a stick and for a split second it seems like he's going to keep the beat going whilst he recovers a pin but then he just stops playing, unable to manage two things at once. Brilliant. They're a great band though and you can't help but enjoy the show, this is punk rock after all, not fucking Deep Purple. And Hasse had warned of the dangers of them playing first after Night Fever's show the night before.. Still, their last lp is one of my favourites of the last six months and it's great to see them play. Lucas is going about how much he loves the singer's high screeching style, Luc calls him The Witch and imagines him flying onto the stage on a broomstick that turns into a guitar and then flying off again when he's done. Luc then does a little re-enactment of how he sees this scene in his head.
We're up next on the stage, although there's something else going on the main stage whilst we set up. Peter from Hårda Tider has literally lent me everything, even his guitar. He's such a nice guy, I can't thank him enough, although he continually assures me it's no problem. I lent this very same Gibson SG a few years back when Hårda Tider played with Victims in Potsdam and I liked the particular model so much I bought one. Anyway, our show goes pretty much to plan. For once we're playing a stage with an actual monitor set up and you can actually hear everything pretty clear. Sometimes that has the opposite effect to that you're after, since our set is based on it being a little chaotic but if the truth's told, it's nice to be able to hear everything now and again. There are maybe fifty, sixty people in the small room, enough to make it feel pretty good at least. Funny thing is, my legs are tense as steel rods for the first couple of songs and it makes it hard to get into the gig, but after taking a swig of beer after the first block of songs I start to relax and enjoy myself. Feels like we get a pretty good reaction and we play pretty tight. When we go into the final section of I'm Still Drowning, the slow section, I notice Linus HT starting to get a stomp on. He loves that stuff. He's right up to us afterwards beaming about the show. The stage is hot as fuck with all the lights and I'm drenched by the time we're done. I stand there chatting with Jos for a while afterwards, before packing down. He's telling me about his spoken word thing he did here at Slowend Fest a while back and about his book that he's bringing out in the near future. I'm really looking forward to reading that.
Afterwards, when all is sorted, we head out in search of a bar selling quality beer, needing a break from the little cups of foam you get from the bar at the venue. The Deptford crew and Jos join us. It's Saturday afternoon and of course, Chaos Alley is brimming with footy fans going to the PSV game. We steer clear and end up in some modern looking bar, loads of space and a long table, kind of has that new hipster bar feel to it that a lot of the places have these days. It's just the ticket though, sitting there with friends and a couple of quality ales,
recounting stories old and new. Can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon. Of course, quality beer usually means higher alcohol percentage, and after a couple of IPA's I'm already feeling that warm glow inside. It's only five pm, it's going to be a long day.
Viv and Wayne are telling me about the party last night and how crazy the gig was at the squat. Viv says she knew it was time to leave though when it got to around six am and a large section of the males in attendance started taking their tops off and chest slamming into each other. Wayne adds that it was sweaty as hell in the small room, of course, he had kept his leather jacket on the whole time...
We head back in time to watch Hårda Tider down in the basement. There's a fairly decent crowd but I'd imagined that the pace would be packed since there is a bit of buzz about the guys right now. Luc was telling me last night though that the Fest was a little calmer this year than it had been in previous years. Still.. The HT guys seem to enjoy the gig anyway. It's not totally my thing but what they do they do really well and Erik the singer is always fun to watch, he never stops moving, between songs he gets into these little rants and just paces back and forth across the stage like a kid who has got their hands on a lot of the old E numbers.
After the gig we head back upstairs and I bump into the guys from Reproach who had arrived right after we'd played. Typical. Great to see them all the same, really nice guys. And I realise that Stijn really does look nothing like Grey Beard. Iron Lamb have arrived too, strange hanging out with Johan here when we normally meet at the play park or at nursery with our kids. The Night Fever guys are all looking pretty sauced, the drummer is spread out on the merch table, half asleep, Solomon has an intense vibe going on, apparently he hasn't slept at all since they came back from the squat last night, and Hasse has apparently just gone back to pissed up again. He doesn't even remember meeting us this morning outside the venue. Those Danes sure know how to party.
We head back downstairs to watch Cardiac Arrest. They're fucking great, proper good American hardcore. Wayne is in his element, down the front the whole show, leather jacket sitting proudly on his torso, finger resolutely pointing at the singer, every now again he's on the mic chanting along. Great seeing Wayne bouncing about with these taller hardcore guys, impervious to everything except the Cardiac Arrest vocalist. Viv prods me now and again, nodding in Wayne's direction like a proud mum. Vik gets chatting to their singer afterwards, they know each other from when Nitad played with them over in the States, seems like a good guy. They're playing out in the suburbs in Stockholm next weekend but I already have tickets for the Shellac show. Would have been a fun gig to try and get on otherwise.
There's not really much else I'm want to see today except Voorhees so we start talking about heading out to another bar again. Good to take a break from this place. Solomon is still going strong, well, he's still standing anyway but he is starting to look a little tired, not surprising since he's been up since yesterday. He's up for going to another bar with us and duly leads Vik, Luk and I to the closest bar to the venue, just across the street. The area is starting to buzz again and Chaos Alley is already brimming with people. Solomon marches straight into this bar, which I think in actual fact is more of a restaurant, a pretty chilled out one at that, and orders four vodkas. Straight. No ice. Who can argue with that? The girl behind the bar, who turns out to be the proprietor, looks a little taken aback by Solomon's abrupt style. Vik offers to pay for the round and we all line up to collect our drinks, I motion quietly to the barmaid that I would very much appreciate a little ice in my drink. We take a table outside and Vik asks if we can sort him out with money for the drinks. I had a feeling he'd jumped the gun a little. We sit there sipping from our glasses, Luc looking a little tortured as he does so, I actually quite like vodka on the rocks, whilst Solomon knocks his back. Some guy, a friend of the owners, approaches us and starts with some small talk. I can tell he's checking us out to see if we're going to be any trouble, it's pretty obvious. Solomon loses interest immediately and leaves whilst we three engage him and end up having a pretty good talk. We chat for a while and when he's satisfied that we're normal guys he makes his excuses and leaves us to it.
Once the voddy is polished off, I finish Luc's for him, we head for yet more chips and sauce. Viv and a couple of the others tag along. We meet Hasse there who is by now well into party mode once again. He's a little intrigued by my peanut butter sauce so I offer him some. At first he seems to like it but then his face changes, "It's pretty dry... It's really fucking dry! Isn't sauce supposed to make the foot wetter?" Seems like I'm on my own.
We get back in time for the Voorhees show. Me and Jos get chatting again for a while, just general stuff about life, family, work and so on before he heads off to catch his train home. It's always great to see him, a genuine gent of the scene. I then catch up with Acko from Voorhees, he's still spouting the Charlie Manson look, he pulls it off though. He's another one it's always fun to catch up with. We follow them down to the basement and now, with a good amount of beer and some voddy in me, I'm ready to get down to business. Again there isn't a huge amount of people in the room but enough to create an atmosphere and when they kick into the first song I'm beyond caring anyway, me and Kev are straight into the pit. We're followed shortly thereafter by Vik and Luc, the whole of DB moshing to Voorhees. Brilliant. Wayne is right there with us too. In all honesty it's more fun for the nostalgia aspect than anything else. I mean, it's pretty good but not great by any means. But I really don't care, it's eleven pm, I've been drinking since two pm and it's Voorhees. Fucking worse ways to spend an evening.
Stijn and the Reproach guys are doing their best to entice me to another after party at the squat again but I'm not even close to being tempted this time, far too knackered. I know fine well I'd get there and crash out straight away. Better to do that in a bar nearer the hotel. Of course, we end up back at our favourite place. We're all pretty fucking sauced by this point. The bar is pretty busy too. The Deptfords come along for a bit but one by one they drop off. Kev says he's taking the merch bag back to the hotel room but doesn't return, Vik is just pure boats and fucks off, leaving just me and Luc. More chips. The last I really remember is being stood outside amongst the chaos of that fucking street, eating chips and banging on to Luc about how I'm willing to go for another beer with him, that it's something I'm prepared to do for him. We end up lurching back to the hotel, just a vague memory of thrashing my tooth brush around my gob before collapsing into bed.
I wake up a few hours later with the feeling in my stomach that tells me I'm going to vom. But it never arrives, just lurks around in the background the whole fucking day, plaguing me. Vik looks like cack so that helps. Kev seems to be fine again. Don't fucking get it. He tells us though that when he was making his way back to the hotel last night he couldn't make his way through the packed alley so decided to sit down on a bench for a while where he ended up falling asleep with the merch bag beside him. He woke up about half hour later, not knowing what the fuck was going on.
Kev is catching a lift back in Jamie's car anyway, can't say I blame him. His flight is a ten tonight which sounds very boring. If he travels with Jamie and the guys he'll make it home about four hours before his flight even lands at Stansted. No brainer. We say bye to him and walk off in search of breakfast, via checking in with the venue where we're meeting Luc Bloodshed who is giving us a ride to Brussels. We meet Kalle HT there who is waiting with their van. Apparently the fucking guards had kicked out all of the bands who were sleeping in the venue at eight this morning! Wankers! I'm so relieved we weren't there. I think if I'd been in that situation I would have fucking cried. We bump into Peter, Linus and Erik from Hårda Tider who tip us off about a great bagel place they found. We laugh about all the chips and sauce we've eaten this weekend, I really need something healthier. Feels right now like I'll never eat another chip again, but that's obviously nonsense, much like the many occasions I've sworn myself off the booze. Peter tells us about this sauce they have in Holland they call War Sauce, apparently it's a mixture of brown and white sauce and they derive the name from that. Fucking mad. Lucas is outraged.
The bagel place is indeed top notch, although I wish I was in a fitter state so I could truly enjoy it. The Deptfords end up walking in just as we're finishing up so we get to say goodbye all over again. We end up waiting for ages outside the venue, Luc has been dealing with a lot of shit due to these arsehole guards at the venue.. We finally get going around one pm, so there's still plenty of time to catch our flight, although we don't have much margin for unforseen fuck ups. I feel mildly nauseous the whole trip, not helped by Luc's girlfriend's tub of noodles that she's brought along, but the vom is kept at bay. Despite the fact I feel pretty shite we still manage to have a good gab with Luc and his girlfriend which helps the journey no end. Nothing like a few rib tickling tales to keep your mind off the hangover.
Amidst all this joviality the game nearly comes to a very sudden stop. Luc is in the fast lane and the traffic is pretty light. Out of fucking nowhere some asshole comes from behind us and barges right into our lane, not just cutting Luc up but very nearly smashing him and us into the central reservation. We'd been on the verge of overtaking a lorry and I can only imagine that this half wit had just come off the slip road we passed and simply not seen us because as Luc's girlfriend put it, "Nobody is that much of a twat!" Luckily Luc was aware and hit his breaks whilst avoiding a skid. We're all a little shaken though. I'm sat in the middle seat in the back, cramped into the tiny car but with no seatbelt, if we'd crashed I wouldn't have stood a fucking chance. The gig would have been up in the blink of an eye. Fucks you up a bit if you start getting too deep into that frame of mind. The whole episode seems to have woken Vik up anyway, he'd been sat there until now, eyes closed, no doubt trying to shut out his own hangover.
We arrive at Brussels airport without further drama. I'm very glad to get out since I'm really starting to feel sick again and after bidding farewell to the guys we make a beeline for the bogs where I wash my face with tepid tap water. The flight home is smooth enough although this time we're sat where we belong. Lucas comments on how it's hard going back to economy once you've experienced the upper echelons of business class. I'm just glad to be on my way home. I sit there contemplating how utterly and pathetically predictable this hangover is. I remember thinking on the flight over how well I felt, sat there with my free pasta pesto and coffee and knowing then that I'd most likely feel shite on the return journey. As if there's no way I can actually effect this outcome...
One of these days I might just give up drinking. I mean, why not really. I'm sure I could live without it if I really chose to. One thing is for fucking sure though, I won't be eating any chips for a while.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
London (Dalston)
I hope Polly never sleeps in a room like this... That was the first thought that entered my foggy head when I awoke this morning. The thought came and went, quickly followed by the realisation that my lungs felt like a thousand cigarettes had been stubbed out on them.
Daylight has invaded the room and the rest of the guys are still asleep, contorted in various positions about the ragged furniture. Vik on the couch, the cushions of which Luk is strewn over on the floor beneath him, Kev and Lee each to their own armchair. Lee... The poor fucker doesn't even drink. Although I don't know what's worse, trying to sleep sober on an armchair or waking up feeling like cack on the floor amongst the fag buts. When I see Lee sleeping there in the most uncomfortable of positions it takes me back to the days of touring in Betty. We'd been talking about him coming out on tour with us next year in Europe for a couple of weeks but I wonder if he's still up for that...
I lay there a while, my chest wheezing, wondering what the fuck I'm doing. Is this really how I choose to spend my “holidays”? I wonder how many people in my position have asked themselves the same question. Of course, the question is all the more pertinent when you've had a fuck load to drink the night before. An hour or so later we've all arisen, like a band of ghosts, and in near silence gone about the business of getting our shit together. The silence is eventually broken by Kev, face enclosed in his hands, collapsing onto Luk's make shift mattress, “Oh God...” As always, seeing one of my comrades suffering always makes me feel better.
I manage a quick shower, it's actually quite welcoming, and then get packed up. I'm ready to get out of here. Steve, the bartender who lives in the flat, comes into the room and lights up a spliff, offering me some. I can't imagine anything I'd rather do less. Dip my balls in hydrochloric acid maybe... Still, Steve seems like a nice enough guy and we get chatting about music a little whilst the others shake themselves to life. He tells me he's been struggling to get a band together, can't find a drummer good enough. Strikes me as a little odd. Maybe it's not a punk band he's getting together.
Lee heads off to put some more money in the parking meter and the rest of us shuffle downstairs to the bar. Sean is sat there with one of the barmaids, both have a half pint on the go, ready for the coming day. Sean tells us it's the big derby game between Forest and Derby County, he's expecting a busy Sunday. We chat for a while at the doorway before exiting back into reality and the bright sunshine that lights it up. Sean closes the heavy door and like that, the domain behind it has gone. Kev tells me there's a rumour going around that Sean recently went eight weeks without leaving the pub, he'd been sending his bar staff out for take away food. What a job.
We head off in search of breakfast, hunger having invaded the group. Kev declares that he has no idea about any places to eat around this area. We walk around the corner from the Angel and count six cafés within a fifty meter radius. Kev mutters something about this being a hipster area... We park ourselves at some tables outside one of the cafés and order breakfast. I go for a veggie sausage cob which turns out to be rank. No butter, just a dry Quorn sausage in a bun made of air. Not even HP can save the fucker. I only make it about half way through before giving up. The old woman working here is really friendly though so I feel bad for not eating the food but my hungover taste buds just can't hack it.
We say our goodbye's to Lee, can't really believe he drove all the way down here just for last night, probably the worst of the four shows we'll play this weekend. Still, it's always great to see him. We head to the bus station, the gear feeling heavier today. I'm not looking forward to this fucking bus journey... What I wouldn't do just to lie down in the back of a Transit van right now.
As expected the bus journey is a real pain in the balls. Fuck knows why we always choose to sit next to the toilet. It's pretty chilly where I'm sat, and it's not the kind of chill that eases the hangover, a few times I consider moving to where the other guys are parked, which is right at the back opposite the bog, I'm sat in front of the bog.. but where they're at it's roasting hot and smells like shite. Rubbish choice. After a couple of hours of rumbling my guts can no longer hold on and I enter the sweat box and add my own brand to the cocktail of turd. When I exit, by now feeling truly shite, I find the other three sat there with their tops pulled up over their noses, Lucas' face looks particularly horrified.
We finally arrive at Victoria around four thirty, the last hour of the journey having being spent weaving in and out of London traffic. Viktor and Luk have been discussing where they're sleeping tonight since they're on the six am flight in the morning, the very same flight I was supposed to be on. I had been dreading the all nighter which lay ahead tonight, leaving London at four am to head to the airport and then going straight from Arlanda to school tomorrow. Fucking irony is that right now I'd do anything to be on that flight in the morning. I hate not knowing when I'll be flying home. I haven't felt like this since the very early days of mine and Jen's relationship where we'd say goodbye to each other in Stockholm, not knowing when the next time would be. It feels so utterly fucking worthless to be away from Polly unnecessarily. It's one thing leaving your kid at home to go play shows but to be stuck here on this fucking island like a prisoner... I've never missed Polly so much. Anyway fuck it, still another show to play before I have to start dealing with that crap.
Luk has decided to stay with Vik at Bea's house but since he's left some of his gear at Kev's the two of them head back to Deptford whilst Vik and I head over to Dalston to check out what's going on at the venue. We take the tube over to Highbury and Islington and then change there for the overground to Dalston Junction. As we're making the switch between lines, somewhere in the tunnels of Highbury and Islington station we hear some radge fucker shouting, the echoes accentuating the aggression in his words. When we turn the corner into the main walkway leading to the escalators we discover the source of the rage. The guy is built like a brick shithouse and obviously fucking mental. He's stood on the concrete stairs between the two escalators shouting “Fuck off!” and other such Shakespeare at random passers by, just willing someone to look at him. He has HATE practically etched into his eyes. We study the advertising posters on the wall thoroughly as we make our way up to the station exit. The overground train takes a fucking age to get moving and for a minute I imagine the chaos of Mr. Radge boarding our train and terrorizing every fucker on it. We both keep an eye on the platform, willing the train to move. My hangover simply could not have dealt with that today.
We arrive in Dalston and make our way down the high street to the venue, Power Lunches. It's a pretty cool little café/bar with a basement room downstairs where the bands play. Very small set up, perfect. There is a matinee show on when we arrive, our new friends Kylma Sota are currently playing. They're last on though and there isn't long left so we decide we'll just leave the gear up by the merch tables and head off in search of food.
Whilst browsing possible spots to eat we notice almost all of the people sat outside the cafés are bars have their eyes trained on the road. Two cars are stood still, blocking both lanes whilst the queue behind beeps in annoyance. One of the cars has obviously pranged the other and the two driver's are now engaged in some sort of stand off. The skirmish heats up when one pushes the other who is on his phone, presumably calling the authorities. The whole thing gets a bit embarrassing when the one guy pulls his fists up to his face, heavyweight boxer style and starts dancing around. Cries from a gathering of onlookers call out, “Don't fight! There are cameras!” This scene continues for a while but ultimately ends in a big nothing, leaving the traffic behind rightfully pissed off. I don't get these people. How can you make such a scene of yourself in front of so many strangers. Fucking pathetic. Vik and I discuss this a while, concluding that it basically boils down to a lack of intelligence. They're not alone in this world...
We walk a little further along the main road and check out a few of the places serving grub. It's a really hip little area this, I'm sure Kev hates it. Most places are in the process of closing though and as determined as I've been all day that I won't be drinking any beer tonight we're left with little choice but to head into one of the trendy pubs. We sit outside, sharing a pizza and I order a Guinness to wash it down with. Fuck it, one won't hurt, in fact, it might actually help. Right?
As is usually the case, the first poured into the hungover system takes a while to digest. The first couple of sips taste pretty good but I soon realise that the pint is a mistake. Bea arrives after a while and the three of us sit there chatting but the temperature soon starts to sink and we decide to head back to the venue. We bump into Pablo and Rachel who are heading home. Pablo's band were supporting Kylma Sota. He tells us it was pretty naff, only about five people watching them. He says it was a little better by the time the Finns went on. There are a few punks hanging outside the venue, sitting around on the pavement drinking cans, Marko and the Kylma guys amongst them, Marko smiling as always. It's good to see them again.
We're first of four bands tonight. I'm more than happy with playing early. Being a Sunday night the show will be over by ten thirty and I'll be more than chuffed to head back to Kev's and chill out after the gig. Kev and Luk turn up around seven, just as I'm starting to wonder where they are. The nuclear bunker that is the London Underground blocks any mobile signal so there's been no contact with them and they don't know when we're on. Some of the other Deptford gang have come along too, Alec, Christie, Jamie, Miles, Sean and of course Misa. I say Sean, he's technically a city inhabitant but he's always with the Deptford gang.
Misa has a smile beaming across her face as always. Kev reminds her that they are now engaged and they need to plan their wedding. Misa laughs, telling Kev that she can't really imagine the two of them together...that way. “You don't have to do me, just make me dinner” Kev explains. Inside we meet Kiwi Chris, everyone's favourite antagonist. He plays in the same band as Pablo. He's pissed up and moaning about East London. Fucking hipsters this and that. Maybe as an outsider I just don't get it. This place seems okay to me. Chris goes on to tell me that last time he saw Victims we were crap. Always good catching up with him...
We take to the very, very small stage at eight. Everyone is still hanging outside and for a while we're on our own down in the room, just us, the soundguy and Marko who is sat there looking chuffed. “Play every song you know.”
“Any requests?” asks Luk.
“AC/DC”.
Eventually, led by Sean, a few other people straggle into the room as we go about making as much feedback as possible. I really can't be arsed breaking a string tonight, want a hassle free gig. There are actually a good few people in by the time we go into the first song. Kev spends most of the gig on the floor. I feel like joining him as there is barely room to stand in front of Vik's kit but I stay put most of the time, despite the punishing heat of the blue stage lights. It sounds good up there though and this is the first time this weekend it's felt really tight and controlled. Chaos is of course part of the deal with this band but it's about controlling it, and we've reached that tonight, fourth show in. It's now you wish you were out for another couple of weeks, now that we're in sync.
The gig is flowing along nicely and then, just as I'm really getting into things, I stamp down a foot into nothingness. The stage floor simply isn't there. I fall from the shallow stage edge and the momentum is too great to stop. In a split second I realise that this could be bad. I'm flying at quite a speed into the crowd and the trajectory is taking me rapidly towards the floor, guitar first. In my periphery I spot Kev, screaming into the crowd and I manage to change course, right into his back. It saves me but Kev has taken quite a hit. Somehow I'm able to keep playing, barely missing a note, and make my way back up to stage. Just as I'm wondering if anyone else has noticed I look up at Vik, who, still playing, is pissing himself laughing. Balls.
The gig comes to it's end without further incident and all in all it's been a good show. A bit Sunday night but I feel it's the best we've played for a while. Funny thing is, when we play tight like that we sound a lot more like a hardcore band. I'm not sure if that's good or not.. We pack down and head up to the cooling night air. I buy myself a bottle of Budvar from the bar, this tastes infinitely better than the Guinness from earlier on. Nothing like playing a show to cure a hangover.
The Detergents play after us, which is Bri from Skiplickers and another couple of guys from Dry Heaves I think. They play 77 UK punk, playing simple straight up songs with titles like Don't Work Saturday. I've never been a massive fan of this style but these guys have a charm about them. Bri tells me later on that they literally just started the band, just for fun since none of them have really played their instruments before and they fancied giving it a crack. It shows now and again. At one point in their set the drummer fucks up and the song comes to a stop. The three of them look at each other smiling and Bri motions to the drummer to start again, which he does, but he starts the song from the beginning which throws the other two because they thought they would be taking off from where the song had collapsed. “Start from the chorus!” chortles Bri. Total practice room stuff. If that's not punk I don't know what is. I smile to myself, imagining Johan's face if he was here right now watching. I get talking to Bri afterwards, he's putting on a Victims/Skiplickers show in Sheffield when we come over for a weekend in January. Looking forward to that.
Up next are Pregnancy Scares from Canada, who are touring around the UK with the Detergents. Tom Ellis, one of the main men in the scene here and who is putting this show on tonight has been driving about the country with them. I thought he'd been looking a bit pasty earlier and then Bri mentioned something about him puking in the van earlier. Guess they've been having a good time. Anyway, Pregnancy Scares have a member from the band Crusades within their ranks, a band whose first album I really loved. Dark and melodic pop/punk with a stark Anti-Christian theme in their lyrics. Not normally my bag but good songs are good songs. Unfortunately their second album was a big let down, for me anyway, way to polished and commercial sounding compared to the dark desperation of the first. Anyway, Pregnancy Scares play really chaotic punk/hardcore with trebly guitar and angular riffs. I really like it, the singer is really energetic and the guys in the band can play the shit out of their instruments. The whole thing is insanely loud though and in somewhat of a rarity I find myself shying away from the volume of it all. I don't have any ear plugs with me; I rarely do, so have to stand there like a tit, hiding at the back with my fingers over my ears. It gets quite awkward at one point when the heat starts getting to me and before I know it I have sweat dripping over my brow and it's so fucking loud that I'm stood there trying to wipe the sweat away without removing my hands from my ears. Ridiculous. Towards the end of their set they play a cover of the Wipers classic Over the Edge, one of Luk's all time favourites, and just as I'm wondering if he's watching I spot him fist pumping the air and moshing around in front of the singer, grabbing the mic to chant along to the chorus. Luk really loves The Wipers.
The singer from the headlining band, Piss, really looks like the singer in a band called Piss. I've never seen them before but I clocked straight away that the guy walking around with the white t-shirt and jeans, black braces, crucifix ear ring, perm and moustache was in a band. The band is from Germany although the singer and drummer of the three piece are from Sweden. You can tell. They look like they hang out in Sofo a lot. They're pretty good though. Very fuzzed up guitars banging out an almost garagey, punk, hardcore. Kev and Jamie really seem to be digging them but for me it drags on a little too long. Again it's ear bleedingly loud and again I'm stood hiding at the back with my hands over my ears like an old cunt.
When the gig is over I'm ready to get on the train back to Deptford. I'd be more than happy with a cuppa and some toast in front of the box but Kev really seems to want a pint. We thank Ellis for the show, he gives us twenty five quid for our troubles, which is actually pretty sound of him considering he's lost eighty on the show. I thought it was a pretty ok crowd but I guess with three foreign bands, one who's flown from Canada, he's got some overheads. We say bye to Luk, Vik and Bea, and even though they're leaving at a horridly early hour I once again find myself wishing I was going with them. I tell them I'll see them home at some point and we head off to get the overground train to Deptford.
To the gang's dismay the info screen says the train is arriving in fifteen minutes. Kev and Alec are raging. We work out we should make it to New Cross for half twelve which should give us enough time for one pint at The Albert at least. I'm actually now quite in the mood for sitting in the pub and having a relaxing pint and a chat. Kev sits there moaning for pretty much the entire fifteen minutes, picking on Miles for being young and being a student, accusing him of doing nothing but sitting at home with his spotty mates, smoking spliffs and listening to Nirvana. It's all good entertainment.
We make it to The Albert for about twenty to twelve and as I'm sat there enjoying a fine pint of IPA I realise it's the best I've felt all day. I laugh at Kev moaning about the hipster pub, as usual, and point out the fact that he seems to spend a lot of time in this joint considering he apparently hates the place. “I only come because I fancy all the barmaids...”
The bell rings come far too quickly for our liking and there is talk of going to another pub and as enticing as that sounds both me and Kev know it will be a mistake. We head back to his for some tea and Marmite on toast instead, which hits the spot beautifully. Kev heads to bed and I turn the light out around one thirty. Tomorrow is going to be a busy, anxiety filled day. I just pray I can get my new passport at some point this week. With no shows and nothing to do but wait at my dad's house in Corby I know missing home is going to be pretty brutal. I spend most of the night awake, pondering over the possible various routes the following day will take.
Daylight has invaded the room and the rest of the guys are still asleep, contorted in various positions about the ragged furniture. Vik on the couch, the cushions of which Luk is strewn over on the floor beneath him, Kev and Lee each to their own armchair. Lee... The poor fucker doesn't even drink. Although I don't know what's worse, trying to sleep sober on an armchair or waking up feeling like cack on the floor amongst the fag buts. When I see Lee sleeping there in the most uncomfortable of positions it takes me back to the days of touring in Betty. We'd been talking about him coming out on tour with us next year in Europe for a couple of weeks but I wonder if he's still up for that...
I lay there a while, my chest wheezing, wondering what the fuck I'm doing. Is this really how I choose to spend my “holidays”? I wonder how many people in my position have asked themselves the same question. Of course, the question is all the more pertinent when you've had a fuck load to drink the night before. An hour or so later we've all arisen, like a band of ghosts, and in near silence gone about the business of getting our shit together. The silence is eventually broken by Kev, face enclosed in his hands, collapsing onto Luk's make shift mattress, “Oh God...” As always, seeing one of my comrades suffering always makes me feel better.
I manage a quick shower, it's actually quite welcoming, and then get packed up. I'm ready to get out of here. Steve, the bartender who lives in the flat, comes into the room and lights up a spliff, offering me some. I can't imagine anything I'd rather do less. Dip my balls in hydrochloric acid maybe... Still, Steve seems like a nice enough guy and we get chatting about music a little whilst the others shake themselves to life. He tells me he's been struggling to get a band together, can't find a drummer good enough. Strikes me as a little odd. Maybe it's not a punk band he's getting together.
Lee heads off to put some more money in the parking meter and the rest of us shuffle downstairs to the bar. Sean is sat there with one of the barmaids, both have a half pint on the go, ready for the coming day. Sean tells us it's the big derby game between Forest and Derby County, he's expecting a busy Sunday. We chat for a while at the doorway before exiting back into reality and the bright sunshine that lights it up. Sean closes the heavy door and like that, the domain behind it has gone. Kev tells me there's a rumour going around that Sean recently went eight weeks without leaving the pub, he'd been sending his bar staff out for take away food. What a job.
We head off in search of breakfast, hunger having invaded the group. Kev declares that he has no idea about any places to eat around this area. We walk around the corner from the Angel and count six cafés within a fifty meter radius. Kev mutters something about this being a hipster area... We park ourselves at some tables outside one of the cafés and order breakfast. I go for a veggie sausage cob which turns out to be rank. No butter, just a dry Quorn sausage in a bun made of air. Not even HP can save the fucker. I only make it about half way through before giving up. The old woman working here is really friendly though so I feel bad for not eating the food but my hungover taste buds just can't hack it.
We say our goodbye's to Lee, can't really believe he drove all the way down here just for last night, probably the worst of the four shows we'll play this weekend. Still, it's always great to see him. We head to the bus station, the gear feeling heavier today. I'm not looking forward to this fucking bus journey... What I wouldn't do just to lie down in the back of a Transit van right now.
As expected the bus journey is a real pain in the balls. Fuck knows why we always choose to sit next to the toilet. It's pretty chilly where I'm sat, and it's not the kind of chill that eases the hangover, a few times I consider moving to where the other guys are parked, which is right at the back opposite the bog, I'm sat in front of the bog.. but where they're at it's roasting hot and smells like shite. Rubbish choice. After a couple of hours of rumbling my guts can no longer hold on and I enter the sweat box and add my own brand to the cocktail of turd. When I exit, by now feeling truly shite, I find the other three sat there with their tops pulled up over their noses, Lucas' face looks particularly horrified.
We finally arrive at Victoria around four thirty, the last hour of the journey having being spent weaving in and out of London traffic. Viktor and Luk have been discussing where they're sleeping tonight since they're on the six am flight in the morning, the very same flight I was supposed to be on. I had been dreading the all nighter which lay ahead tonight, leaving London at four am to head to the airport and then going straight from Arlanda to school tomorrow. Fucking irony is that right now I'd do anything to be on that flight in the morning. I hate not knowing when I'll be flying home. I haven't felt like this since the very early days of mine and Jen's relationship where we'd say goodbye to each other in Stockholm, not knowing when the next time would be. It feels so utterly fucking worthless to be away from Polly unnecessarily. It's one thing leaving your kid at home to go play shows but to be stuck here on this fucking island like a prisoner... I've never missed Polly so much. Anyway fuck it, still another show to play before I have to start dealing with that crap.
Luk has decided to stay with Vik at Bea's house but since he's left some of his gear at Kev's the two of them head back to Deptford whilst Vik and I head over to Dalston to check out what's going on at the venue. We take the tube over to Highbury and Islington and then change there for the overground to Dalston Junction. As we're making the switch between lines, somewhere in the tunnels of Highbury and Islington station we hear some radge fucker shouting, the echoes accentuating the aggression in his words. When we turn the corner into the main walkway leading to the escalators we discover the source of the rage. The guy is built like a brick shithouse and obviously fucking mental. He's stood on the concrete stairs between the two escalators shouting “Fuck off!” and other such Shakespeare at random passers by, just willing someone to look at him. He has HATE practically etched into his eyes. We study the advertising posters on the wall thoroughly as we make our way up to the station exit. The overground train takes a fucking age to get moving and for a minute I imagine the chaos of Mr. Radge boarding our train and terrorizing every fucker on it. We both keep an eye on the platform, willing the train to move. My hangover simply could not have dealt with that today.
We arrive in Dalston and make our way down the high street to the venue, Power Lunches. It's a pretty cool little café/bar with a basement room downstairs where the bands play. Very small set up, perfect. There is a matinee show on when we arrive, our new friends Kylma Sota are currently playing. They're last on though and there isn't long left so we decide we'll just leave the gear up by the merch tables and head off in search of food.
Whilst browsing possible spots to eat we notice almost all of the people sat outside the cafés are bars have their eyes trained on the road. Two cars are stood still, blocking both lanes whilst the queue behind beeps in annoyance. One of the cars has obviously pranged the other and the two driver's are now engaged in some sort of stand off. The skirmish heats up when one pushes the other who is on his phone, presumably calling the authorities. The whole thing gets a bit embarrassing when the one guy pulls his fists up to his face, heavyweight boxer style and starts dancing around. Cries from a gathering of onlookers call out, “Don't fight! There are cameras!” This scene continues for a while but ultimately ends in a big nothing, leaving the traffic behind rightfully pissed off. I don't get these people. How can you make such a scene of yourself in front of so many strangers. Fucking pathetic. Vik and I discuss this a while, concluding that it basically boils down to a lack of intelligence. They're not alone in this world...
We walk a little further along the main road and check out a few of the places serving grub. It's a really hip little area this, I'm sure Kev hates it. Most places are in the process of closing though and as determined as I've been all day that I won't be drinking any beer tonight we're left with little choice but to head into one of the trendy pubs. We sit outside, sharing a pizza and I order a Guinness to wash it down with. Fuck it, one won't hurt, in fact, it might actually help. Right?
As is usually the case, the first poured into the hungover system takes a while to digest. The first couple of sips taste pretty good but I soon realise that the pint is a mistake. Bea arrives after a while and the three of us sit there chatting but the temperature soon starts to sink and we decide to head back to the venue. We bump into Pablo and Rachel who are heading home. Pablo's band were supporting Kylma Sota. He tells us it was pretty naff, only about five people watching them. He says it was a little better by the time the Finns went on. There are a few punks hanging outside the venue, sitting around on the pavement drinking cans, Marko and the Kylma guys amongst them, Marko smiling as always. It's good to see them again.
We're first of four bands tonight. I'm more than happy with playing early. Being a Sunday night the show will be over by ten thirty and I'll be more than chuffed to head back to Kev's and chill out after the gig. Kev and Luk turn up around seven, just as I'm starting to wonder where they are. The nuclear bunker that is the London Underground blocks any mobile signal so there's been no contact with them and they don't know when we're on. Some of the other Deptford gang have come along too, Alec, Christie, Jamie, Miles, Sean and of course Misa. I say Sean, he's technically a city inhabitant but he's always with the Deptford gang.
Misa has a smile beaming across her face as always. Kev reminds her that they are now engaged and they need to plan their wedding. Misa laughs, telling Kev that she can't really imagine the two of them together...that way. “You don't have to do me, just make me dinner” Kev explains. Inside we meet Kiwi Chris, everyone's favourite antagonist. He plays in the same band as Pablo. He's pissed up and moaning about East London. Fucking hipsters this and that. Maybe as an outsider I just don't get it. This place seems okay to me. Chris goes on to tell me that last time he saw Victims we were crap. Always good catching up with him...
We take to the very, very small stage at eight. Everyone is still hanging outside and for a while we're on our own down in the room, just us, the soundguy and Marko who is sat there looking chuffed. “Play every song you know.”
“Any requests?” asks Luk.
“AC/DC”.
Eventually, led by Sean, a few other people straggle into the room as we go about making as much feedback as possible. I really can't be arsed breaking a string tonight, want a hassle free gig. There are actually a good few people in by the time we go into the first song. Kev spends most of the gig on the floor. I feel like joining him as there is barely room to stand in front of Vik's kit but I stay put most of the time, despite the punishing heat of the blue stage lights. It sounds good up there though and this is the first time this weekend it's felt really tight and controlled. Chaos is of course part of the deal with this band but it's about controlling it, and we've reached that tonight, fourth show in. It's now you wish you were out for another couple of weeks, now that we're in sync.
The gig is flowing along nicely and then, just as I'm really getting into things, I stamp down a foot into nothingness. The stage floor simply isn't there. I fall from the shallow stage edge and the momentum is too great to stop. In a split second I realise that this could be bad. I'm flying at quite a speed into the crowd and the trajectory is taking me rapidly towards the floor, guitar first. In my periphery I spot Kev, screaming into the crowd and I manage to change course, right into his back. It saves me but Kev has taken quite a hit. Somehow I'm able to keep playing, barely missing a note, and make my way back up to stage. Just as I'm wondering if anyone else has noticed I look up at Vik, who, still playing, is pissing himself laughing. Balls.
The gig comes to it's end without further incident and all in all it's been a good show. A bit Sunday night but I feel it's the best we've played for a while. Funny thing is, when we play tight like that we sound a lot more like a hardcore band. I'm not sure if that's good or not.. We pack down and head up to the cooling night air. I buy myself a bottle of Budvar from the bar, this tastes infinitely better than the Guinness from earlier on. Nothing like playing a show to cure a hangover.
The Detergents play after us, which is Bri from Skiplickers and another couple of guys from Dry Heaves I think. They play 77 UK punk, playing simple straight up songs with titles like Don't Work Saturday. I've never been a massive fan of this style but these guys have a charm about them. Bri tells me later on that they literally just started the band, just for fun since none of them have really played their instruments before and they fancied giving it a crack. It shows now and again. At one point in their set the drummer fucks up and the song comes to a stop. The three of them look at each other smiling and Bri motions to the drummer to start again, which he does, but he starts the song from the beginning which throws the other two because they thought they would be taking off from where the song had collapsed. “Start from the chorus!” chortles Bri. Total practice room stuff. If that's not punk I don't know what is. I smile to myself, imagining Johan's face if he was here right now watching. I get talking to Bri afterwards, he's putting on a Victims/Skiplickers show in Sheffield when we come over for a weekend in January. Looking forward to that.
Up next are Pregnancy Scares from Canada, who are touring around the UK with the Detergents. Tom Ellis, one of the main men in the scene here and who is putting this show on tonight has been driving about the country with them. I thought he'd been looking a bit pasty earlier and then Bri mentioned something about him puking in the van earlier. Guess they've been having a good time. Anyway, Pregnancy Scares have a member from the band Crusades within their ranks, a band whose first album I really loved. Dark and melodic pop/punk with a stark Anti-Christian theme in their lyrics. Not normally my bag but good songs are good songs. Unfortunately their second album was a big let down, for me anyway, way to polished and commercial sounding compared to the dark desperation of the first. Anyway, Pregnancy Scares play really chaotic punk/hardcore with trebly guitar and angular riffs. I really like it, the singer is really energetic and the guys in the band can play the shit out of their instruments. The whole thing is insanely loud though and in somewhat of a rarity I find myself shying away from the volume of it all. I don't have any ear plugs with me; I rarely do, so have to stand there like a tit, hiding at the back with my fingers over my ears. It gets quite awkward at one point when the heat starts getting to me and before I know it I have sweat dripping over my brow and it's so fucking loud that I'm stood there trying to wipe the sweat away without removing my hands from my ears. Ridiculous. Towards the end of their set they play a cover of the Wipers classic Over the Edge, one of Luk's all time favourites, and just as I'm wondering if he's watching I spot him fist pumping the air and moshing around in front of the singer, grabbing the mic to chant along to the chorus. Luk really loves The Wipers.
The singer from the headlining band, Piss, really looks like the singer in a band called Piss. I've never seen them before but I clocked straight away that the guy walking around with the white t-shirt and jeans, black braces, crucifix ear ring, perm and moustache was in a band. The band is from Germany although the singer and drummer of the three piece are from Sweden. You can tell. They look like they hang out in Sofo a lot. They're pretty good though. Very fuzzed up guitars banging out an almost garagey, punk, hardcore. Kev and Jamie really seem to be digging them but for me it drags on a little too long. Again it's ear bleedingly loud and again I'm stood hiding at the back with my hands over my ears like an old cunt.
When the gig is over I'm ready to get on the train back to Deptford. I'd be more than happy with a cuppa and some toast in front of the box but Kev really seems to want a pint. We thank Ellis for the show, he gives us twenty five quid for our troubles, which is actually pretty sound of him considering he's lost eighty on the show. I thought it was a pretty ok crowd but I guess with three foreign bands, one who's flown from Canada, he's got some overheads. We say bye to Luk, Vik and Bea, and even though they're leaving at a horridly early hour I once again find myself wishing I was going with them. I tell them I'll see them home at some point and we head off to get the overground train to Deptford.
To the gang's dismay the info screen says the train is arriving in fifteen minutes. Kev and Alec are raging. We work out we should make it to New Cross for half twelve which should give us enough time for one pint at The Albert at least. I'm actually now quite in the mood for sitting in the pub and having a relaxing pint and a chat. Kev sits there moaning for pretty much the entire fifteen minutes, picking on Miles for being young and being a student, accusing him of doing nothing but sitting at home with his spotty mates, smoking spliffs and listening to Nirvana. It's all good entertainment.
We make it to The Albert for about twenty to twelve and as I'm sat there enjoying a fine pint of IPA I realise it's the best I've felt all day. I laugh at Kev moaning about the hipster pub, as usual, and point out the fact that he seems to spend a lot of time in this joint considering he apparently hates the place. “I only come because I fancy all the barmaids...”
The bell rings come far too quickly for our liking and there is talk of going to another pub and as enticing as that sounds both me and Kev know it will be a mistake. We head back to his for some tea and Marmite on toast instead, which hits the spot beautifully. Kev heads to bed and I turn the light out around one thirty. Tomorrow is going to be a busy, anxiety filled day. I just pray I can get my new passport at some point this week. With no shows and nothing to do but wait at my dad's house in Corby I know missing home is going to be pretty brutal. I spend most of the night awake, pondering over the possible various routes the following day will take.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Nottingham
I wake up early, around seven. Around
about the time Polly normally rises. My body has a hard time shaking
the routine. I'm also dying for a piss and go through the usual half
hour of convincing myself I'll sleep it off only to eventually get
out of bed defeated and piss so hard I'm sure the pan is going to
crack. I wake up again around ten, starving. Hungover? Maybe, not
sure. Don't feel great but don't feel that bad either. Kev's got
the kettle on. Nice one.
A quick shower and I'm ready for some
breakfast. We've mistaken check out for eleven, it's actually noon,
but I'm in no need of another hour in bed, I need food. Kev pops
over to Vik and Luk's room to see what they're up to. He comes back
saying they'll be ready in fifteen minutes. I grill him on the
situation over there. He tells me that Luk was just getting into the
shower and Vik was in his pants. No way. Fifteen minutes my
jacksie. We head off and tell them we'll text the info on where we
are. I know this will prove to be a wise decision.
Kev, Jack and I actually end up in that
oldest pub in Leeds, the Packhorse. Jack had found it last night.
We're amongst the first in the joint. Laura joins us shortly
afterwards, her and Jack both feeling a little worse for wear. My
craving for a beer wins the battle over my conscience and I order a
pint of IPA, it's only eleven but fuck it, I'm on tour. I order a
Ploughman's to wash it down with. The pint tastes of guilt, not to
say it doesn't taste good. The taste of guilt is often sweet. Vik
and Luk turn up around twelve and the same, I'm guessing Vik and his
conscience are good. “Ahhh, oil”...
Today we're taking the train, changing
at Sheffield. Piece of piss. I could get used to touring in this
fashion. Would be amazing touring Europe by rail. Vik's wondering
loudly where the trolley is at but it doesn't show. There's plenty
of space on both trains and we spread ourselves about the carriage,
enjoying the space. We get to Nottingham around three and make our
way straight to Annie's Burger Shack. She's moved out of the
Navigation since we were last here a year ago and now has her own
restaurant. The place is stunning. Very New York feel to it, big
and spacious with an open kitchen. The bar has some fine choices in
ale and the burger menu is just ridiculous, every option coming in
either meat, vegetarian or vegan. Kev had contacted Annie a few days
before about booking since you're fucked without a reservation, such
is the buzz about the place. Annie has come a long way since she
arrived from the States back in the Nineties. She's out of town
today but she's put us on the guest list and we're taken straight to
our table. Pure fucking luxury. It really feels like we're on
holiday rather than tour as we're sat in this awesome place, supping
on beer, waiting for the grub.
Lee has made the trip down from Glasgow
today and gets here in time to order some food before ours arrives.
It great to see him as always. He was going to come to Leeds last
night and make a weekend of it but he'd picked up the keys to his and
Kelly's new house after work and was knackered by the time they were
sorted. We've been talking about him following us out on tour if we
do a proper stretch in Europe next year, would be like old times
again. I hope it happens. Although, any touring from now on will
have to be done when I'm on a break from college... Can't risk
missing time like this again. Full of burgers we head over to the
venue.
Last time we played here some poor
bastard was kicked to death in the street, just down the road from
the punks stood outside the venue drinking. We pass the spot where
it happened, hoping for no such drama tonight. The gig tonight is a
bit different from the others on this stretch. Since our mate,
Boulty, is the guy who runs the place, we'd managed to get ourselves
on the already booked bill. It's a predominantly grind orientated
line up, but that's ok for us, sometimes it works being the only
hardcore punk band of the night. Plus, we've got a few mates coming
down so it should be good. Typically enough though, Endless Grinning
Skulls, as well as my old mate Slaven's band Grey Hairs, are playing
on the other side of town, supporting the now hyped rant band
Sleaford Mods. Really strange. So most of the crew coming tonight
aren't actually Nottingham, that lot are all over at the since long
sold Mods out show...
One friendly Notts face that is hanging
about though is Steve, who plays in Molluch and Beast as God. It's
good to see him. I first met him in Leipzig when Molluch were
playing with Victims, we've stayed touch somewhat sporadically since
then. It's good to catch up with him. It's always good to see
Boulty of course, but he's running around like a blue arsed fly
during the headlining band's soundcheck. We're not really sure where
we're sleeping yet. We stayed here last time, and Boulty tells us
we're welcome to do so again, but the room with the mattresses is
obviously going to be pretty cosy since two of the other bands are
sleeping here already, so we decide to keep our options open. We
decide to head to the pub to ponder the situation..
A couple of the old Speedhorn guys, Jay
and Dave are here for the show, along with our old friend Jim, who
has taken my place in the reformed line up. They were in some pub in
town earlier but we’ve missed them by now so we agree to see each
other at the show later on. Will be good to see them, I'm chuffed
they've come up to hang out. We're deciding on what pub to head to,
Kev determined he's not going to the Angel, since whenever we go
there he ends up fucked. We argue that we're only having the one but
Kev is sceptical. He eventually concedes and we make our way there.
Kev leads the way into the pub but before he's even stepped through
the doorway we hear a chorus of, “Kev!!!!”
The guys from the X-Rays are stood at
the bar, beside a seated Sean who used to play with Kev in Hard to
Swallow and is now the landlord of this place. Everyone is delighted
with the surprise visit of prodigal son Greenham. The X-Rays boys
have obviously been here all day, the lot of them, boats. Sean tells
me they'd come in at one this afternoon, decided they were going on a
bit of a pub crawl, headed to another pub, drank six pints each and
came back. They've been here since. Coop, their bass player, who
I've met a few times and is a mutual friend of a lot of people back
in the Stockholm scene, spots me and heads over grinning. Coop only
has one volume and it's set to shouting. I get caught at the bar
with him and the rest of the X-Rays guys, all telling me how much
they love Kev, who is presently caught up in conversation with Sean.
They've heard we're playing tonight and they ask me roughly around
nine or ten times what time we're on. I patiently tell them eight
thirty, over and over again. They're all so fucking chuffed that
it's hard not to be taken in by their drunken charm. I eventually
make my way over to the table where the other guys bar Kev are sat to
enjoy what's left of my pint. It's soon time to go and we motion to
Kev on his way past our table that we need to leave, he shows us the
two pints he's holding in his hands, “Well I told you what would
happen if I came here! I've just been bought these two!”
We eventually get out of there, Coop
and the X-Rays in tow, the lot of them shouting as we go. We head to
the Polish off-licence on the way to pick up some booze for the gig.
Gaz, the X-Rays singer is again asking me what time we're playing,
he's panicking a bit, saying he's promised his wife he'd be home
around ten. I tell him he's got plenty of time. He's worried,
saying he has two kids birthday parties to attend tomorrow. One of
their other mates that are with us is trying to get through to him,
assuring him it's ok, that his wife had told him earlier that he'd
could sleep in the spare room tonight, no problems. “What time are
you guys playing?”.. Fuck me... We walk into the off license and
pick up a few cans of beer each. Gaz buys a bottle of rum and a big
bottle of Coke, pours some of the Coke off and tops it up with the
bottle of rum. Amazing.
We're too late to see Boulty's new
band, apparently they only played for eight minutes. Megaladoom are
about to start and after them, we're on. Snitch and Kimmins have
arrived, they've driven over to see us play. Really chuffed to see
them. I explain to them about the passport situation and tell them
I'll most likely see them in Corby next week... The Speedhorn boys
turn up a while later, all of them fairly drunk, but Dave is fucking
blasted. His eyes are already on the close. Jay is loving every
second of it of course. It's good to see Jim. I haven't seen him in
a very long time, not since the days that I was in Speedhorn and he
in Charger and we toured together. Funny that he's in Speedhorn now.
He's a great choice for the job though. It's nice catching up with
him.
Megaladoom are of course very doomy, no
vocals, just slow, epic riffing for about twenty five minutes. They
do it well though. I can see Lee is kind of digging it, right up his
alley. Again, we're using other people's amps tonight. I'm on
Boulty's beast, whatever it is. If I'm honest then I've had a few,
just about on the cusp of reasonable, just. No soundcheck again,
just up and blast. I'm pretty chuffed with the sound I've got but I
can't hear Luk. I shift my thumb up in the air, demanding more
volume from him but he's already on ten. It takes me a while to get
to grips with what he's saying until I eventually turn down. I ask
Kev if he's got vocals, he shrugs as if to confirm he has but I
haven't actually heard anything out of him yet. Fuck it, let's go.'
If it was hard to gage the sound out
front last night, it's not that difficult tonight. It's pretty
obviously very loud and very chaotic. We're opening with Hypnotic
Eye from the split tape with
Hello Bastards, the slow song, and then straight into DB
followed by Nausea.
I've broken a string half way
through DB... It
replace the string fairly rapidly whilst Luk and Vik make noise but
still, it's a pinch in the balls to bring the set to a stop so soon.
I don't really take the time to stretch the new string in and Am
I Stupid? Or Idiot! is
way out of tune. Sounds fucking cack from my side. I tell myself to
get it together and by the next song we're ok. But let's face it,
it's a pretty pants start to the show. It gets better but the
chaotic sound ensues, we've left Boulty pretty much fucked as far as
being able to do much with it. The small room has
about thirty people plus
bands in it anyway, enough to
make the place feel pretty decent, and I guess the vibe of our set
kind of fits
with the backdrop this little DIY space provides.
We
spend most of the two headlining bands sets stood outside drinking
and catching up with everyone, the sweat is bellowing
out of me in the form of
stream and I'm in desperate need of the
cooling night time air.
There are quite a few of us hanging around outside. Kev has clocked
how fucked Dave is and has decided to pick on him, give him a bit of
hell about the Speedhorn reunion, all in the name of fun. Just like
old times again, Kev loves taking the piss out of Dave, it's too easy
I guess. Of course, a while later Dave is over to me, little slits
for eyes, telling me he's quitting Speedhorn. Love the little berk.
The
rest of the Angel crew have left, but Coop
is still in the building, down in front of the bands playing air
guitar, going mad, t-shirt soaked in sweat. Kev starts taking the
piss out of him, playing air bass, but as he does so he catches his
thumb nail on one of his belt studs and rips the fucker, blood starts
pissing out. I find Kev walking about with a bloodied napkin wrapped
a his bulging thumb, looking
a little shocked. All he
gets out of me and Vik is laughter.
I head
inside to catch a little bit of the last band but as is always the
case when you play a gig with a lot of mates in attendance, attention
is elsewhere. I do get chatting to the headlining band's sound guy
afterwards, in one of the rehearsal rooms at the back, he seems a
nice enough guy. I come to the realisation whilst we're stood there
though that sleeping here tonight isn't really an option. Lee had
been lobbying the idea of a Travel Lodge, but the prices are just too
high in Nottingham. To think Kev had booked four bus tickets from
London to Leeds, two hotel rooms in Leeds, four train tickets from
Leeds to Nottingham and four bus tickets back down to London from
there for the grand sum of one hundred and four quid, a sixty four
quid room at the Travel Lodge in Notts simply wasn't on the cards.
And besides, Sean had offered us a place to sleep in the flat above
the Angel...
We
head over there, leaving Boulty singing nu-metal karaoke at the
venue. We arrive with the
gear and take it immediately upstairs to the flat. I can't really
work out how
we're all going to
fit into the living room but decide that's not important right there
and then. I'm getting pissed tonight and sleep
will take care of itself later. To be honest, pissed is the only way
sleeping tonight is going to work. We head back downstairs and
there's a party going on. Some mate of Sean's is celebrating his
40th
and there are a couple of DJ's in, playing old Eighties pop songs.
Winner. The Speedhorn guys are in the lounge, along with Dix and a
couple of others from Corby. To my amazement, Walpole is also in the
building: Jay tells me he'd called and happened to be in Leicester,
when he'd heard the boys we're in Nottingham he'd got straight on the
train, and now here he sits, shirt buttoned unashamedly halfway down
his chest and
sunglasses on. He'd best not venture into the bar, he'd get fucking
murdered looking like that. Before I even sit down, Walpole has put
a shot of Sambuca in front of me.
Everyone
is pretty boats but Dave is beyond, his forehead now
resting on the table, some
band sticker stuck to the back of his head, Jay taking photos. I get
talking to one of their mates who has an Orchid t-shirt on, one of my
favourite screamo bands, and we blether
about music for a bit. Good guy. I recognise him from one
of the bands back in Corby.
We sit around noshing for a bit longer, Dave invariably coming round
now and then to tell me he loves me and he's quitting Speedhorn, Jay
lapping up his misery.
They
head off to Rock City around one. They ask if I want to follow but
there's no fucking chance. Jim has long gone home, probably a good
idea. I hug them all goodbye and me and Vik head back into the bar,
doing our utmost to avoid brushing Scary Sean, this evil looking punk
who plays in The Vile, who is stood at the bar. Fucking terrifying
looking bloke. The party is rocking and before long the four DB boy
are bopping
to
Eighties cheese. Luk has got his dancing shoes on. Lee has that
smirk on his face. How many times has he witnessed this carry on
over the years...
The
next hour or so goes by in a blur of bad music, drunken chat with
Sean, Luk playing keyboards on the bar top, Kev falling asleep on it,
Vik getting his moves on on the dance floor. Luk reminds me of the
night before when Vik had been sauced up and moaning about today's
skinheads, saying they're all fucking wimps nowadays.. “None of
them fight, none of them” he was laughing to himself before
shouting at me, “Gaz! Shave my head Gaz, shave my head!” We
crack up at him, now with a big grin on his coupon, dancing to
Madness.
It
must be around three by the time we call it a night, we're amongst
the final few left in the bar. I barely remember heading upstairs,
although I'm of sound enough mind to brush my teeth and get in to my
Don Draper pyjama bottoms. I find a sleeping bag from somewhere, not
daring to inspect it for filth, I just crash out on it on the floor
beside the table, knowing fine well tomorrow is going to fucking
sting...
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Leeds
Slept alright once I finally drifted
off last night. We were meeting Viktor at Victoria Station to take
the Mega Bus to Leeds. We didn't have to be there until eleven so
there was no real rush. We popped by Café Bianca for some
breakfast, Karl, Alec and Mucky meeting us there. I normally make a
point of getting at least one fry up in per trip to the UK but
somehow I wasn't feeling it today. I guess my appetite wasn't it's
usual ravenous self.
I've also come to the realisation that
every time I eat a fucking fry up I regret it immediately
afterwards... It's the same with the chippy most of the time.
Sometimes you do certain things purely out of nostalgia, things that
were habit when you were a kid because that's just what you did, or
ate as in this case. The fact is, I don't like a fry up. Haven't
done for a long time. I guess that means I should apply for a
Swedish passport as the last few ounces of Britishness are slowly
sifting away. Wish I had one of those fuckers right now...
Whilst we were sat eating our
breakfasts and drinking our greasy mugs of tea, the TV was showing
the Oscar Pistorius verdict, live from South Africa. It seems he's
getting done for “involuntary murder”. He's getting fifteen
years but still, what a joke. His defence has been cringe worthy at
best. The power of celebrity is truly wondrous. Kev doesn't agree
with the fifteen year sentence either, “I reckon they should take
his daft legs away and replace them with little feet on his stumps,
keeping a three foot restriction on it him at all times, and on the
feet there should be a really big toe on them so he looks like a
right twat and there should be little speakers on them playing a
little voice that constantly says “I killed me wife, I killed me
wife””. I love how Kev's mind works.
After breakfast we head do to the DLR
train at Deptford, Kev greeting numerous people on the way as usual.
The DLR is almost like one of those futuristic monorails you see at
some airports and it provides a pretty great view of the Canada Water
area of London, it's like riding a train through Legoland or
something. Whilst we're stood waiting at the platform Kev says that
we should try and get a seat up front since there's no driver and you
can pretend you're driving the train yourself. Chuffed with this
idea I dive towards the front seats, completely ignoring the fact
there is a guy with his little son who obviously had the same idea I
had. I feel like a bit of plank when the little boy shyly shuffles
up and sits beside me, his dad taking the seat behind. Kev and Luk
are a few seats back, presumably shaking their heads. I feel like a
bit of a twat.
We meet Vik with little time to spare,
it's a bit of a walk from the train to the bus station, and there's
little time to buy refreshments. We board and settle in for the near
five hour journey. A couple of the Deptford Irish contingent are on
board too, Laura and her fella and another guy Jack, who is going to
share a room at the Travel Lodge with us tonight. I'm already
looking forward to the luxury of a hotel bed and I feel it would be a
complete waste to wake up in it tomorrow with a raging hangover.
We'll see how the night pans out...
Five hours on a coach feels like a long
time and by the time we arrive in Leeds Vik and I are gagging for a
pint. We check in, wash off quick and then head out for an ale, a
couple of hours to kill before we need to be at the venue anyway.
Jack says he's meeting a friend at the oldest pub in Leeds and
wonders if we'd like to join him. Seems like an ok idea so we follow
him and the GPS on his phone. There's some sort of mix up though and
we don't find the pub we're looking for. After walking around for
the best part of five minutes Vik informs us he's already clocked a
pub we'd past and leads us there. He's sat enjoying an ale before
I've even reached into my wallet. “I love a good point of oil”
he chirps in mock Irish accent. I can only agree though as the cold
pint of Pale Ale slips down my throat like liquid silk.
Our hotel is right next to the Cockpit,
a venue I've played many times over the years, both with Speedhorn
and Victims. My favourite memory from there has to be the time Kev's
old band Helvis supported us, they'd been added to an already tight
bill and given there was a tight curfew Doug our tour manager, and
also old friend of Kev's from Nottingham, made them go on before the
doors opened. I remember the looks on their faces as they started
their set up on that high stage to just the Speedhorn guys, standing
about the large dance floor and Doug side stage, having a fag and
laughing to himself. What a bunch of cunts we were.
We head back to the hotel to grab our
gear for the gig tonight and I make the mistake of lying on the bed
for five minutes. The temptation to rip of my jeans and crawl in
under the covers is almost too great to resist. I really don't want
to wake up in this thing feeling like piss in the morning. We
arrange for a cab to pick us up and we're off in search of the venue.
It takes a little while to find since it's hidden down some little
back road in an industrial estate just out of the city centre where a
lot of the students live. Chuffed once we find the place though,
it's a really nice set up. It reminds me of the many well run squats
you find in Germany. It has a decent sized gig room with a pretty
deep stage, and then a little bar room with some sofas and armchairs
about the place and an adjoining courtyard area with tables and
chairs. There is also a studio and rehearsal rooms here, really cool
set up. The place is actually owned and run by Lecky, the singer in
the legendary band Voorhees, who were supposed to be headlining
tonight but pulled out a few weeks ago when Atko the guitarist
realised he was going on holiday the day before. They're playing
Bloodshed next month with us anyway so we'll catch them there.
So headlining instead are Kylma Sota
from Finland who are over for a run of shows. They’re also a great
band so it should be fun. Last time I'd seen them they were
supporting D-Clone at Kafe 44 and they were so fucked that the
guitarist had to keep playing the riffs to the bass player before
each song since she had no idea where she was. They'd taken the
ferry over night to Stockholm and had been up drinking all night, and
then Bengtsson had found them outside the venue on his way to work
where they were stood drinking Jagermeister miniatures and wondering
when they could get into the venue. After being told that they
wouldn't be getting in until four pm they went and sat in a park and
carried on drinking. It was a wonderful mess, punk as it should be,
completely stripped of any pretension. Love the Fins.
The show tonight is actually part of a
two day Fest and the man in charge tonight, who is sorting us out, is
Liam who plays in the band Perspex Flesh who are on later too. He's
drinking one of those famous flagons of Weston's Old Rosie cider and
has a permanent smile on his face. I like him already. I shoot and
admiring glance at his cider, “Wouldn't leave home without it” he
smirks.
We dump the gear in one of the
rehearsal rooms and sit down with the Fins who have been stood here
drinking since we arrived. Kev booked them in London before so he
kind of knows them already. Marko, the singer is another one of
those people who looks constantly chuffed. He also seems to
constantly have a drink on the go so there might be a connection
there. Vik heads off to the bar for the first round, it seems the
choices are Stella, Carlsberg or Strongbow. As much as I hate Stella
there's no way I'm drinking Carlsberg so I order a can of the old
Wife Beater. “Fucking hell Jazzy, on the sauce tonight!” Vik
laughs. He's fucking gutted when he sits down beside me and I point
out to him that his Carlsberg is a measly 3,8% though. “Fuck
sakes, that's like folköl” referring the infamous “people's
beer” we get back home, which is the only kind of beer you can buy
in the supermarket and it's limited to 3,5%. You can only buy real
beer at the State ran shops that close at seven pm, three on a
Saturday and doesn't even open on a Sunday. Sweden. Marko picks up
on the “folköl” comment anyway and asks us if we're Swedes, and
hence a conversation and a kinship between the two bands has been
struck.
Marko is drinking a cloudy looking pint
of Strongbow. He's been drinking them since we arrived. It turns
out that it's actually Strongbow and gin and tonic, a heady fucking
concoction if ever there was one! It actually doesn't taste quite as
revolting as it sounds. When asked by one of the Irish crowd why
he's drinking such a thing he replies, “One hand!” as if it's the
most obvious thing he's ever had to point out. He explains further
how much of a pain in the ass it would be if he had to carry the
Strongbow in one hand and the gin and tonic in the other. Love the
Fins.
We hang out with the guys chatting for
the next hour or so, Marko chuffed that I'm wearing an Angel Hair
t-shirt, one of his favourite bands ever apparently. We get talking
about everything punk, Swedish and Finnish bands, practice rooms and
the scenes in our relative homes. Marko summaries it quite nicely,
“One thing I think Seeden is much better than Finland, especially
Shtockholm. Seedish people know how to dress. They dress really
nice. Finish people dress like sitt!”
The first of the night's six bands
starts around eight and there are already a lot of people in the
place. I have a feeling it's going to be a really good show tonight.
The sound is kind of echoey, bouncing of the brick walls, but the
atmosphere is good. The first band is a girl band playing pretty
noisy punk, and the second band are called No Form and are about as
artsy as it comes, a little too much for my liking. The young lad on
vocals is dressed in a suit and is bellowing into an insanely
reverbed microphone, since the Spain scene has taken off this last
few years reverb has really become the thing.. They're ok but erring
towards the silly just for the sake it I feel, the singer pulling out
a trumpet at one point and huffing and puffing it into the reverb. I
don't know.. I watch about five minutes and fuck off for one last
beer before we're up.
As we're travelling by bus and train we
don't really have any gear with us, just guitars, cymbals and snare.
Band of fucking gypsies. I have a word with Liam about heads and
it's all sorted, we can use theirs. He's almost through with the Old
Rosie now. I ask him if he's looking forward to playing, he tells me
he is although the band is not in the best of shape right now, “The
drummer's full of the flu, he'll be turning up just before we play,
and I've been feeling a bit gutsy too” he says, swilling round the
last of the cider in his flagon as he does so. Not fucking surprised
mate, two and half litres at 8,3%, I'd be fucked by now, never mind
gutsy!
There is no soundguy tonight, just a
small mixing board on the side of the stage, over by Lucas. The amp
I'm lending from Perspex Flesh is insanely loud. I start at about
four on the master and Luc just gives me those eyes, kind of like a
parent looking at their kid and saying, “Come on now..” After the
scratchiest of line checks we're ready to go. It's one of those
stages where I have absolutely no idea how it sounds out front, I can
barely hear Kev at all although that's not important and wherever I
move on the stage I get a completely new guitar sound. Still, a few
songs into the set and it feels tight, a lot tighter than last night.
The room is pretty full and by the look on most of the faces in the
crowd I get the feeling the sound out front is good. Kev is up and
down from the stage the whole show, really getting into it. It feels
like we're all enjoying ourselves. About half way through the set I
feel this fucking pain in my knee though, really sharp, as if it's
locking up. I have to hobble back towards my amp, mid song, and
straighten it out. It fucking hurts, like I've been stabbed just
below the knee cap. Once I get my leg straightened the immediate
pain subsides but there's a little left, somewhere there in the
background. I sometimes wonder to myself if it's time to retire from
this game... And then I see Kev down on the floor, ten years my
elder, screaming like fuck into his mic, mouth lip bleeding a little
from accidentally gumping himself in the mouth. Beside him I see
Marko, playing air guitar and smiling broadly.
It feels good after the show, a lot of
people seemed to have liked it, there was elements of the crowd
building up to kick off during the set, but as always when we play to
a new crowd, by the time the tide rises we're done and it's all over.
Upon leaving the stage the Kylma Sota drummer grabs Lucas and says,
“Thank you for the songs” in typically monotonic Finnish.
Chuffed. I'm no longer thinking too much about the luxury of the
hotel bed, I'm buzzed from the gig and I want a pint, or two. Vik
looks at me and suggests we have a shot, that he's feeling pretty
knackered and he needs a shot injection to get him going again. I've
been sworn off shots for a long time, I'm no good with them. But
tonight I think Vik has a point. Luk isn't interested, he's sat at
the merch talking to the Irish girl band who are playing after us, so
Vik, Kev and I head to the bar without him. Captain Morgan Gold,
reminds me of the many messy nights I worked at Debaser.
We chill out with a beer, or a cider,
I'm not fussed which by now. Marko must be on to about his seventh
or eight Strongbow GT by now, still smiling, still standing. Love
the Fins. We watch a bit of Sissy, the Irish all girl band on after
us. I'm not really a big fan of the whole Riot Girrrl thing although
I have a lot of respect for it, but these guys do it well. Shame you
can't really hear the vocals. I turn to Vik, “It's pretty fucking
hot in here!” Vik looks at me, mouthful of Strongbow, “It's time
for a shot?”. Back to the bar we go.
I'd been looking forward to seeing
Perspex Flesh, I really like the lp they put out recently, but
unfortunately the sound isn't so great. Whereas with Sissy the
vocals were non existent, now Liam's vocals are literally the only
thing you can hear, and there is a tsunami like amount of reverb on
them. The music is good, but as soon as he starts singing, it
completely fades to the background. Shame. Liam is pretty funny
looking on stage though and entertaining with it, he looks like a
cross between Paul Diano and our mate from Stockholm, Into. Whilst
watching them some guy approaches me and tells me he follows my blog,
says he came across it by chance. “I never liked Speedhorn, but I
really like your blog.” We get talking and he asks me how it is
balancing being a dad and playing in a punk band, he tells me that
his wife is expecting and that he plays in bands and he's really
worried about it. I reassure him that he's going to be fine, that
being a dad is the most amazing feeling and that with a bit of
planning you can make being in a band, or two, or three work. I
mention to him that it helps if your wife also plays in bands, he
shakes his resignedly and says, “No, mine's not into punk at all.”
I tell him he'll be fine all the same. He tells me that his band is
due to go out on a two week tour about a month after the baby comes..
Not entirely sure that will work out... Nice guy anyway, fun talking
to him.
More beers and then Kylma Sota take the
stage. This is a completely different affair to the last time I saw
them at Kafe 44, although Marko is still drinking that cloudy cider..
I'm almost disappointed that they're not wasted at first, but fuck
me, as soon as they start the show that disappears. They are fucking
on it. So much energy, the crowd is loving it. Marko is a great
font man. They rule tonight.
We hang around for a short while after
they're done but not too long, the buzz of the booze has worn off and
I'm not drunk, I'm just feeling really tired and bloated now. Just
as well maybe, it's been a good night, now would be a good time to
head back to the hotel and catch some Z's. Everyone seems to be on
the same page so we gather our gear, say our goodbyes and head around
to the garage around the corner in the hope of finding a cab. There
are a few around, one guy, some old Indian bloke, is filling his
tank. Kev shouts over to him, asking if he's free. It seems he is,
he asks us where we're going. We tell him and he looks at us
confused, “You can walk there.” He gets in his cab and fucks
off. What the fuck? It ain't that fucking close. Weird old
bastard. We hail another cab shortly after, some guy who apparently
isn't opposed to making money, and we drive in the direction of the
hotel. It takes about five minutes... Walk? My arse!
We get dropped off on a busy street
next to the hotel, laden with shitty kebab shops, shitty nightclubs
and hordes of drunken bastards looking to get in them. I convince
myself I'm hungry and I need chips and cheese and regret it as soon
as the first fry enters my mouth. Where the fuck do I get the notion
I like chips and cheese from? It's absolutely horrid and these
bastards are amongst the worst morsels of food I've ever abused my
taste buds with. I throw about half of them in the bin, that's how
bad it is! We head back to the hotel. Unusually for a Travel Lodge
they have a bar. I'm all about bed but Vik is still thirsty. The
woman working in the bar clocks us, “Are you guys wanting a beer?
The bar's open”. Vik demands one more out of me and Kev. I say no
but Kev is game, I join them, Vik goes to the bar and comes back with
three manky pints of Stella. Kev falls asleep about half way through
his, I manage about three sips. It's hard going. Vik and Kev plough
on through theirs and I empty my pint equally into their glasses.
Time for bed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
