Sunday, 14 September 2008

Oh what a night

From now on would you please use www.bsmrocks.com/blog to access Blog Scary Monsters? I've updated the colours and a few other bits to make it fit in with the layout of the website so you can now enjoy the pointlessness of this blog, via the comfortable security of the surrounding bsmrocks.com walls.

Last night was terrible, here's why:

We left Oxford over an hour later than planned. Halfway to London I receive a text telling me that we've missed Colour and Secondsmile. We hit traffic. A text comes through saying Blakfish are on stage in a few minutes. We cross Oxford Street. Excellent, the venue is just down the road from here, can't be long now. "Go straight ahead" says the stupid Sat Nav woman, advising us to cross the road. Obviously she knows a quicker route to help us get there faster, that's her job after all. A mile out of the way we go, taking 20 minutes to get through a crowded Piccadilly Circus and then up a crowded Soho street where people walk in the road and cars are seemingly invisible. Some little idiot punches the car. Another text, Blakfish have finished. We finally arrive, park up on a nearby road we've used before and run to the venue carrying 500 Tubelord CDs (the free ones which are to be packaged inside of the new 7" single sleeves). We reach the venue and the bouncer stands in our way, sour faced and using a rude tone. I know, unlike a security person to be like that, I can only assume his car had also been punched. He claims Tubelord have finished. I tell him in no uncertain terms that if I don't get into that venue my head will explode and I'll be sure to take his with me. He relents and lets me in, but the others have to stay outside. Desperate for a pee I head straight to the toilets. Tubelord are halfway through their encore. The place is packed and everyone is loving it, passing friends tell me it's probably the best they've ever seen all four bands. I emerge from the toilets, boycotting the man who wants money in return for turning a tap on for me, just in time to hear the final note. I give the CDs to the band and leave, disgruntled, dejected and demoralised. We spend a while chatting to the bands outside before struggling to find a bar which is open and doesn't want us to pay for privilege of entering and then giving them more money for drinks. Back to the crowded streets of Soho, thankfully on foot this time. A fat man ushers inside of a quiet looking Moroccan bar. We go downstairs, it looks nice, it seems quiet, this will be a good place to unwind. Upon walking around the corner our eardrums are shattered by the sound of party poppers and a collection of songs I thought I'd left at the school disco's of 1995. The PA system is old and rubbish, it sounds tinny and cuts through your head with every single stabbing sound. The drinks are expensive and everyone else in there is more drunk than me. It gets to around 1am and we decide it's time to go home. We find the car, Sat Nav decides to give us a decent route for once and within a minute we're on the A40 bound for Oxford. We'll be home soon and this night will be over, finally something might be working out. Oh wait, what's that? Ah brilliant, it's a £120 parking ticket stuck to the window.

It's ok, I'll just console myself with a banging hangover and the joy of sorting my accounts today.

Loving life. Peace out.

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