Friday, 2 October 2009
Evile. Day 4. Travel Day.
2 AM. We are still driving. Well, Lyall is. The ferry port is ahead of us, where the first of three ferry rides awaits us. I am going to try my hardest to describe to you the following hour but I’m not sure you will ever truly believe what Evile, Lyall and me experienced.
We had left Ol asleep in his bunk once we had been shuttled on to the ferry, got out and headed up for a wander. I was still dressed in my merch outfit, in hindsight not the best idea but it just didn’t cross my knackered mind to put some proper trousers on.
As soon as we get in to the main area of the ferry, where the food court is, we notice something. This boat is only carrying lone men. Truckers and the sorts. A whole lot of immigrants. There is a smattering of women with children. None of these people look Danish, where we are heading, or German, where we are leaving. They look like ghosts. And this is the ghost ship.
Nothing is open. Most seating areas are closed off. The ‘trucker lounge’ is open, with a tele'. Seriously, it is called the trucker lounge. Only truck drivers are allowed in it.
People are just standing around. Lone men. Turkish, Algerian, African, al sorts. They are suddenly roaming around in packs. And I am there, in my fucking shorts. I have high denier thick black tights on, you know the ones. Doesn’t matter. To these men, I have prostitute written all over me. I don’t think I even have that about me actually. I think I have dead in a ditch use my body as you will written all over me. I can see it in their eyes. I am a hole.
I know right, I’m being over dramatic. No. I hoped so, but no. I turn to the guys and they all have shock and fear on their faces too. We are walking down a corridor looking like rabbits in headlights. Really slowly. It’s like time has stood still. It’s that bit in the Western when the saloon doors open and everyone stops drinking and turns and stares at you. It’s the mother fucking Green Mile.
I had Lyall and Ben in front of me and Matt and Mike behind me, we had just come from upstairs where we were hoping to find some seats in a corner where we might be less conspicuous but alas all we found was ‘Rapist lounge’ with a bunch more dodgy lone men, some were bigger than me and I’m quite a length.
So back downstairs and along the corridor. I can’t believe we didn’t get mugged or attacked, seriously. It was proper laree. There we are at the end of this corridor of terror, and we have nowhere else to go. We aren’t allowed in the Motor home while the ferry is moving so for the next half hour we just stand there, with our backs to the wall shaking our heads in disbelief and cracking wise arse jokes and probably quite racist ones in hushed tones at each other, then sniggering under our breath. We debated the possibility that they were as petrified of us as we were of them, if they were just as startled and just as intrigued by us. But no, I'm afraid not. I have travelled a lot and seen a lot and I know a stand off when I see one. There was nothing nice about the vibe on that ferry. The Rape Ferry, as it shall be referred to forever more.
As we scarpered back to the motor home, looking over our shoulders, we joked about how Ol had slept right through it all. Then someone pointed out that they might have found him, he could be mutilated and violated in his bed, and it would all be our fault for leaving him alone on the Rape Ferry.
Of course when we got back in to the safety of the motor home, Ol was tucked up fast asleep and I hid behind the curtains till we were far, far away. We still speak of the Rape Ferry with fear in our voices today. Thank fuck we are not going the same way home.
Shortly after this and about half a dozen chain smoked ciggie’s later, I asked Matt if I could take his bunk for a couple of hours shut eye and took myself off to the bunks. When I woke we were stationary at a service station and everyone was asleep except Matt. I gave him his bed back and curled up on a seat till Lyall woke up. Freshened up in the ladies bathroom and threw some jeans and a hoody on. The climate had changed, we had finally reached Sweden.
The drive through Sweden went like this. I wrote thousands of words while sitting up front chain-smoking with Lyall. The others slept, played computer games or stared out the windows. Now and again I would do the same. The landscape of Sweden for the most part was trees. Miles upon miles of massive trees. We stopped a bunch of times, I had to shit 3 times that drive. 3 fucking times. Jeez. We grabbed a MacDonald’s, where Lyall and Ben met some random guy from Derby, who now lived in Sweden with his girlfriend.
Other than a massive choppy lake that we drove alongside for at least half an hour and reminded me of The Pacific Coast Highway, there really wasn’t anything notable of our Sweden drive. We got to the ferry port in good time and boarded the mother ship of all ferries, the Galaxy.
Now this is a fucking ferry. We park up, collect our overnight stuff and walk past a night liner to the stairs. We are not the only band on board. We suspect that Entombed and Amon Amarth may well be here somewhere too.
We have 2 cabins, 3 bunks in each. You can just about swing a cat in them so we are feeling spacious and posh. Well, I am anyway. After freshening up, Lyall, Ben and me get straight down to business. Duty Free. A fuck off bottle of raspberry vodka and a whole heap of tobacco later I’m good to go. The boys settle on a crate of cider and we all knock some back in our cabin before hunting out some grub.
Dinner tonight consists of over priced meatballs, sauce and smash. Not bad, will be hard to get drunk after this though. Dammit. Schoolboy error. Next is the hunt for Internet connection. Yawn. It is available in all public area bars so we set up and switch on. And wait. FOREVER. My fucking Spectrum was faster than this.
After a long and frustrating time I give up and go find the bogs to get rid of this bladder full I been sitting on for far too long. I walk past what looks like The Entombed massive and sure enough when I get back to where me and the guys are sitting, they are too. We all meet and introduce ourselves, mainly through the Bassist, Victor, who Evile know from previous tour days and before you know it we are kicking back chatting about the tour.
Parting ways due to an obscenely early start ahead of us, all seems well in the camp. Except my fucking mouth. My teeth on the left side feel dangerously like they are loose and once again, I am in fucking agony. Still, at least I have a litre bottle of Vodka and we aren’t on the Rape Ferry.