So I wake up feeling a bit ropey right, no worries, not unheard of. Fuck that anyway, I’m am mega excited about today, we are driving through the Czech Republic to play in Prague! I have wanted to come to Prague for fucking ages, so I get up quick smart and join Arie and Joel to watch the world go by at the front of the bus.
I am feeling slightly concerned with regards to last night, there is a definite blank spot near the end when I can’t recall a thing. Never a good sign that, never. Hopefully I wasn’t too loud and obnoxious, I didn’t wake Joel and he sleeps above me so I can’t have been that bad. I did wake up with a bin outside my bunk though, so you know, the jury is still out.
The Czech police pull us over at a service station, which is kinda unavoidable when you’re a massive tour bus with U.K plates. They want them some money bruv! I seen this in The Long way round so was quite excited by the whole thing. They took Steve our driver in to their van to haggle over how much money they could get out of him, 200 Euros I believe. Anyway, during all of this, I’m still sat up front feeling like death warmed up, and finally have to give in. I can’t stay on the bus anymore. It’s time to spew. I scramble off the bus and make it to the toilets just in time.
Bad roads and snow make the following 2 hours of that drive utter fucking hell for me. I sit up the front with Ben and Joel, trying not to listen to them rabbiting on about local Czech delicacies like deep fried cheese and stuff. The windows on the bus are filthy and we can barely see out, but as we near Prague, a valley down below us, the sun shines down on it, the first time we have seen it in about a week. I feel kinda happy at the moment but don’t dare get all excited for fear of puking.
As soon as the bus stops outside the venue, I run out and hit the toilet with furious, angry vomiting. 3 vomits later and I walk out to where everyone’s loading covered in sweat and shivering. This is not a fucking hangover. This is an avalanche of illness from my body packing up and leaving me. So lets have a look. Throughout the gig last night I had two vodka and mixer. On the bus watching Ghostbusters I had two more and some Jager. Ill, that does not make me. I had eggs at a service station last night with Steve the driver and Laux, but if it was that I would’ve chucked straight away. Diagnosis? I have been drinking heavily every night, bar two for the duration of this tour. My body fucking hates me. It hates me and it wants me to suffer for the brutal beating I have inflicted on it. Another vomit later and I’m defeated. I get it, time to bring it back down to 7.
I manage to eat some ready salted crisps and keep the second packet down, unlike the first, along with a cup of tea. I’m fucking shaking badly and it is such a mammoth task to set that fucking merch stand up. On top of this I have to do new labels and work out price changes for my new currency. Urgh. FML. Pizza is today’s dinner, I can’t face it yet so keep on my stall away from hungry men.
Surprisingly, I start selling as soon as doors open. This is unexpected. People round here don’t have much cash and all the bands have been saying to me all day that there is no point even setting the stand up, which did wonders for the state I was in. Thoughtless bastards. Having said that, they do check in on me regularly and I start eating my pizza, slowly but surely. It’s better working when you feel this rough ‘cause you don’t have time to dwell on your pain! I have to get to the toilets a lot that night. That was bad times right there.
Some guy tried paying me in U.S dollars, which made my night, how fucking dodge man, I came across illegal U.S dollars! Love it. The crowd is filled entirely with men, there must be like 6 girls including me and the barmaid in the whole place, which would be rad ‘cept the dudes are all older and stuck in an Eighties mullet world. They are obsessed with taking photo’s of the bands, the band members with themselves, getting autographs and guitar picks and drumsticks and so on.
I have a great idea for a short story. About a man who was the king of the metal social scene back in the Eighties but is now an aging computer analyst. So he sells up and takes his metal possessions to the Czech Republic, where the Eighties have only just started. Here he can strut around, mullet and all and be King forever more!
Then I throw up. No, I’m joking, I’m all vom’d out. Here’s how it goes on these here gig nights of ours. The Fading gets the crowd from walking corpses to fist pumping, head banging Metal worshippers. Warbringer gets them from fist pumping, head banging Metal worshippers to a frenzied, sweaty swell of Thrash madness and by Evile they are warmed up, ready to be taken in to absolute destroyed Thrash mayhem. Great success!
The Fading get the star treatment at the merch stand, as do Warbringer, and Evile can’t even get there, they are cornered on the stage by the frenzied crowd. I can’t help but smile whenever these bands are on, they are so fucking entertaining. Warbringer out right make me laugh. Laux was shredding away on his guitar and the guys in front of him all had they’re arms stretched out, air shredding at him. One guy was watching his fingers go and looked like he was about to internally combust with the sheer speed. We get mosh pits, the lot. Fantastic audience participation and the kids are stage diving throughout. Fuck man, I want to be in a band!
I think that I really should have flyers for my blog site on these merch stands and Lyall says we can knock up some on our laptops and print them off ready for another day, which is awesome.
Paul from The Fading hangs out with me on the stand and tells me about the friends he has lost in Tel Aviv to suicide bombers. These kids who are at house parties and someone walks in and blows them up. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s intense, I can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like. The closest thing we have were the IRA and I nor they, or any other bombings ever directly effected none of my friends.
Because of the way the venue is set up, I get to watch Evile from the side of the stage and even get to film bits, although my camera was not designed for this so the sound is utter trash. I can’t take photo’s ‘cause I’m still shaking, Prague fucking loves it! An awesome night, not bad merch sales at all and after I packed up I even got a chance to wash my spandex in the sink! Nic is on top comedy form all night and entertains me throughout with stupid white boy dancing and general fucking around being a silly sausage! Adam cheers me up to when he tries to take some photos but they come out blurry, thank god it’s not just me. Misery loving company and all.
By the end of Evile’s set, a guy has jumped on stage and grabbed the mic and is leading the rest in a chant of more, more, more. Here’s the thing. Evile are basically a new band in respect of having just found Joel and only having three weeks to practice with him. They don’t have endless songs, and after an hour set they are pretty much all out. Bring on Metallica cover time! They cover ‘Creeping Death’ and the crowd loves it, singing along and pumping their fists. Ol is shredding away and the mood in the room is electric. I have the best job in the fucking world moment and beam at the craziness in front of my eyes. Adam is keeping me amused informing me that he thinks I should be working the stand dressed like a mighty Valkari. Evile finally make it over for more photos and signings and eventually I can pack up, sort out the money and call it a night. I get 1000 Koruny for my trouble, which is this great purple note, buy a bad sausage I end up throwing, do some writing and hit my bunk. Today was pretty brutal. Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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