Well good day from a temperate West Malling in gods own county of Kent and in no way is that depressing. I got back here on Saturday and within a few hours I was crying. That's a sad admission but this is really quite a depressing thing for me. On firday me and my housemate went for a little farewell drink with a few friends. A little drink soon turned into double vodkas and tequila shots which began to take hold of the course of the evening. It was all going absolutely fine until Ollie Juggs said we should go to a free Lonely Grey Couch gig in the Crypt at Bedfords. This was the second time i've been in that little place this week, I'm starting to warm to it as a venue. Basically it looks like it's been lifted directly out of an Edgar Allan Poe short story. I'm not too sure on the architectural lingo for the style of brick work in there but I'd describe it as the kind of place you would expect King Arthur to store his beer. Either way it sounds like an unusual place for a gig and you know what it is. Lonely Grey Couch's thumping mix of rock, punk and ska all stuck together with intricate vocal harmonizing is juxtaposed by the sparkling laminate floor and stylish tables. It's like have a bar gig in Costa. Lonely Grey Couch we're really tight as ever but middway through their set I realized I was stumbling around a little. I looked down at my drink, the barmaid had recommend me a Bedford Spider which turned out to be 8 different types of alcohol in one concoction and it was also cheap. At a place like Bedfords you expect to pay over £3 per pint so £3.50 for a double of anything is amazing, almost too amazing. Turns out the barmaid had taken a shine to me and was giving me double for the price of singles. It might have been my sob story of being broke or my friend Jones singing 'When A Man Loves A Women' by Percy Sledge, much to the annoyance of his girlfriend. Either way I was getting cheap drinks and when the spiders ran out the vodkas went down and by the time Killamanjambo took the stage me, James and Jones were guerilla crowd surfing Ian into the crowd of bouncing hippies.
This brings up a couple of things. First of all my dislike for hippies, it isn't because they smell or the way they dress it's just their general demeanor of how they think they're pretty awesome and anyone else is incapable of experiencing anything on their level, man. For a bunch of free loving spiritual pacifists they are pretty fucking elitist and beyond that they are just so fucking dull. I don't like weed at the best of times but I hate people who smoke it and claim some kind of spiritual enlightenment even more. In fact I hate anyone who takes drugs and claims it as a spiritual awakening, pill heads are really bad for this to. The fact is there is nothing spiritual about taking drugs and if there is then it's a sad reflection on our immediate gratification culture. I mean meditation, yoga, these things are somewhat spiritual, popping a white dove and listening to house till seven in the morning is about as spiritual as a McDonalds drive through. Of course it feels spiritual if you define spiritual as a change in the normal function of your body but you're not affecting your soul. These things are happening because you took some chemicals. Like a Big Mac will perhaps make you happy for a short time so to most drugs are an instant kick which will dissipate fairly quickly, the difference between most people who do/have done drugs is those who see it for what it really is, a breif moment of escapism from your normal reality and those who see it as a whole life changing epiphany and actually put faith and belief into chemicals. This is why hippies are generally dull all they really talk about it their drug experiences, their warped world view or make you listen to some god awful music or drink their shitty herbal tea or spin fucking poy around your face or think they are in the fucking circus or be in front of you in a crowd and you get your face rammed into their fucking dreadlocks or try to hug and kiss you at festivals for no reason or annoy you so much you write rambling blogs about your dislike for them or arrgh! I hate hippies.
Anyway Killamanjambo were actually fairly good despite my slightly embarrassing drunkeness at this stage. An old friend of mine called Bramley turned out to be their trumpet player which was a pleasent surprise because the guy is awesome. In fact we were briefly in a ska-core band together about four years ago, I still have our demo somewhere...
This is where the night begins to get a little hazy. All my friends were sitting outside and I'd decided the barmaid was deeply deeply infatuated with me so I was trying to work out excuses to go back inside despite the fact the bands had finished. Eventually I just went for it and stumbled back into the Crypt. It was empty pretty much and there was no sign of my cheap drink barmaid which looking back was a blessing that could have ended in an embarrassingly slurred and probably sleazy attempt to cop off with her. Something along the lines of 'oh hey you gave me cheap drinks....you're pretty....I would have sex with you....where are you going? ow, I see.' Looking back I'm glad we left and went to the Wildman.
It was here I started regretting my decision to save money at Bedfords and not drink beer because the house whiskey doubles at the Wildman are cheap but taste like some squeezed out some manky trainers into the glass. James came up with the idea of doing suicide slammers which involved snorting a line of salt, taking a shot of tequila and dripping the lemon into your eye. From what I remember we snorted the salt and all fell about holding our noses. Which put an end to that scheme. For some reason there were two girls sitting with us and I tried to get a conversation going with one of them but in a fairly drunken state by this point an argument ensued when she asked what was on my arm and I said a tattoo. She said I was being patronizing, I said that was a big word for a twat, looking back this was mainly my fault for being a shithead. I apologized to her profusely shortly after. Soon after this we made the bizarre and uninfromed decision to go to Franks Bar.
I had never been to Franks before but as we sloshed in me and james clearly drunk beyond all help accompanied by James girlfriend Sian and my non drinking friend Ian we were hit by the smell of fresh bread, the sound of soft jazz and the hum of quiet deep conversation. We were in the wrong place. We collaspsed at a table in the back of the upstairs bit and wondered how we got drinks if it was table service. At that point a girl with curly black hair who I recognized from somewhere appeared next to the table. She was surprisingly smiley and chatty as James took far too long to order olives and whiskey. I had just accidently widthdrawn £20 so to celebrate I brought a double Sailor Jerry. It was all going fine until James was released for a cigarette. Outside the drunk James came up against another drunk man in a cream blazer. This didn't go well. James accused the man of wearing a cream blazer, the man accused James of having never been to H&M, James then questioned if the man was some sort of wanker, the man then inquired if James had ever washed. This to-ing and fro-ing lasted all of five minutes as I laughed and smoked. Then the bouncer came over concerned that a man in a cream blazer and a stumbling guy in skateshorts might have the most brutal punch-up Norfolk has ever seen. Shortly after this James went to the toilet, 3 minutes later I got phone call off him saying he had been kicked out of the bar for trying to destroy a gate. We decided it was time to move on.
I'll finish this long winded account tomorrow. Plus why I cycled 30miles today.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment