After such a stomper of a gig in Edinburgh there was only one thing to do…get fucking trashed at the local rock club. Everyone is pumped up and ready to wreck themselves. We have to leave Scotland at 3.30 am to get back to London and get the brakes fixed so we don’t all die in a five car pile up somewhere. With this in mind we make an executive decision, bed shmed we are staying out till it’s time to load up and leave. We leave the equipment in the venue, piss about and finish the ryder upstairs in the flat and head out with the soundman, our guide for the night.
The following two hours are..well odd to be honest with you. When we reach the club there are quite a few big, burly and intimidating men hanging out wearing bike colours, allow me to introduce the Blue Angels, Scotland’s Hells Angels. Seriously, they are well scary and I was a bouncer in North London for five years. We get in free and once in stand there looking very confused. Lady Gaga ‘Dance’ is being played. WTF? This would never happen at the Crobar. There is a seedy Americana style rock bar to our right and a disco type set up to our left. To the right it is. 25 minutes later we get served. Not that it was that busy. The bar staff were just serving everyone but us. I’m using all my anger management session techniques to get through this one.
Drinks in hand, me, Alex and Carlos from BBB check out the dance floor and are immediately rewarded by the biggest loser fuck up man and his topless, moob wobbling, glove wearing self all on his own dancing badly on the stage. He should be filmed and used as a television advert to steer kids away from using Ecstasy. He is so fantastically fucking wrong that we are hysterics and have to get the others. Chris, Cauldron’s Drummer is so mesmerised by the wrongness he films this guy for a whole song, I think they are going to put it up on their myspace. We wanted to kidnap him, tie him to a radiator and poke him with a stick whenever he stops dancing forever and ever. Which is probably wrong too. And illegal. And a pretty sick thing to think. Ah well.
Too soon we are leaving, we have had an interesting couple of hours and the BBB lothario has struck again but alas it’s time to leave Scotland. A drunk trek back, some drunken shenanigans in the flat, some one passing out and in the van we are, all snuggled up in sleeping bags ready for some sleep. Scotland won’t let us sleep yet though. This time everyone see’s the views. We pass through the misty slate mountains with their water falls just as dawn starts and this the last thing we see, all snuggled up in our sleeping bags before our eyes close and we pass out.
First stop in London is Earache press officer, Talita’s flat, who has cooked up some spag bol and cookies for us. With a full belly I trot of home to South. On arrival I discover to my horror that I have the van keys in my pocket so no hot shower and chill for me, straight back to North London then on to The Purple Turtle, what a royal fuck up. It’s all systems go once inside the venue, sound checks, interviews etc. My merch stall for tonight is a fooze ball table.
The place gets a strong turnout, but everyone in London is broke and sales are slow. I was so excited to get back to the Big Smoke but so far it has been one big pile of shit of a day, which is making me mega cranky. Talita and Carlos bring me sweets and drink which goes a long way to cheering me right up! Louise brown from Terrorizer magazine comes over and adds a cheeky sign directing people to the boobies on Cauldron’s album cover, Louise and Talita are drunk, YAY being drunk.
Mutant are on stage playing a fucking diamond set, we all heart the Mutant massive. Quite a few of our mates are out tonight and we have all being proper looking forward to getting super trashed with them all after the gig and catching up with everyone.
Cauldron are up next and by the end of their set the stiff upper lip London audience is actually moving, there’s even some head banging -shock horror. London really is hard goddamn work, which is even more apparent after the mental crowds in Scotland.
I’m spoilt tonight with company on the stall, loads of my mates and the bands are hanging out with me so I get the camera out and start snapping away. Note to self, don’t have photos taken of yourself with your hot friends when you have ‘tour skin’ and look like utter shit.
BBB hit the stage and within no time everyone is head banging, moshing and dry humping. Yes that’s right. I had a couple opposite my stall dry humping right trough the BBB set. They could be responsible for the birth of a child in nine months if that kept going the way it was. Jose gives a dedication to “being Mexican and not having the Swine Flu” and the set draws to a close.
The promoter has said that we can stay on partying till 2 am which has to be a good sign but everyone is skint and so arrangements start being made to move the party on to some ones house. I’m having the time of my life on the stall keeping an eye on the stock since I have acquired two thieving scum bastards who have possibly already lifted a CD and are now aiming for the cash box. I scream blue murder at them to fuck off before I glass the fuckers and Big Tom, friend of the band comes and helps me look after the merch till its loaded up and out of their light fingered reach. By this point I’m so over today and quickly sort out money, invoices, meet up time for the morning and make sure the bands are sorted for the night before scurrying off home with my tail between my legs. London and the people in it have been a big ol’ disappointment and I can’t wait to hit the road out of it.