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August 24 I wanna be Iggy Pop - if that's what it takes...One thing I've had to grudgingly get used to since I arrived back in the Uk a couple of months ago is not having a car. Ever since I graduated from university when I was 21, I've pretty much always had my own wheels. And for someone like me who tends spend a lot of time flitting here there and everywhere, a car is pretty much an essential commodity. When I left the UK to go off travelling though late last year, it made no sense really to keep my car and have it stood gathering dust while I was off exploring the planet. Not that I could have kept it anyway- because it belonged to my then-employers! So, I duly bid farewell to my trusty Vauxhall Corsa - and after spending far too much money whilst gallivanting around the world, I was far too skint to be able to afford to buy anything to replace it when I eventually returned home. As such, the last few months have seen me managing to get around via a mixture of public transport, cycling, walking, and cadging lifts - usually off my long-suffering brother Al. Al of all people then will probably have been delighted when I recently acquired wheels again - albeit temporarily. Yes, my parents are currently on holiday - and rather than have her car sat on the drive of their house while they're away, my mum very kindly arranged to get me put on the insurance so I can use it. And I must say, having use of a car again has been great! That said, having a car isn't entirely a bowl of cherries. Indeed, I got a stark reminder today of the fact that it can sometimes be a right royal pain in the arse. I'm sure all of you are familiar with the irksome tendency of cars to have Stuff Go Wrong With Them. And this was very much the case today - what with me having returning to my mum's car after having played football this evening, to find that it had a bloody flat tyre. No matter, I thought. After all, whilst I'm hardly the world's foremost grease monkey, I do know how to change a wheel... However, I'd never changed a wheel on my mum's car before! And due to a combination of inpenetrable self-locking nuts, and the spare wheel being secured unfathomably underneath the car - as opposed to being tucked away in the nether regions of the boot - I'm afraid to report that I was eventually forced to admit defeat.And yes, due to the fact that I didn't really have much choice, I duly took a deep breath and rang Green Flag. Now let's not beat about the bush here. When you're a bloke, ringing the breakdown hotline to ask if they can come out and change a wheel is probably on a par with walking around wearing a sandwich board bearing the slogan 'I HAVE A REALLY SMALL PENIS!', in terms of completing undermining your own masculinity! And in some respects, car mechanics are the last people you want to be confronted with when you're in this sort of predicament. Car mechanics, after all, are generally the kind of guys who judge a man on things like whether he can change a spark plug. Mr Green Flag was certainly of this ilk. To be fair, the guy didn't really say a great deal to me. But then he didn't have to. All he had to do was give me The Look - a burning mixture of contempt and pity, which in this particular instance roughly translated as "Oh for fuck's sake, you've dragged me away from EastEnders just because you can't change a wheel. WHAT KIND OF MAN ARE YOU?" Not being the most pratcial-minded of people, The Look is something I've come to know and dread. And it's something any tradesman willimmediately unleash upon you, as soon as he gets any inkling that you are utterly bereft of any knowledge or comprehension of their finely-honed craft. The Look has an unerring ability to make you feel about two feet tall. And with Mr Green Flag, it wasn't the only thing I had to contend with. No, he decided to compound my shame even further by making the wheel-change prodecure that I'd dismally failed to fathom look spectacularly easy. And so it was that I departed the sorry scene feeling deeply chastened, with my tail well and truly between my legs. A humbling experience then - though more than anything it's got me thinking that I really ought to brush up a bit on my knowledge of cars. For next year, my good friend Ed Baker and I are seriously considering entering the Mongol Rally! I've written about the event in question before on this site, as there's I guy I know here in Nottingham who took part in this year's race. For anyone though who's not familiar with this rally, it's basically a road race that involves driving thousands of miles from London all the way to Ulaanbaatar - the capital city of Mongolia. It's a bloody long way - and what's more, getting there overland involves braving some of the worst road conditions on the planet. In view of this, you'd think people would be doing the race in a rugged 4x4, right? Wrong!
Yes, part of the rules of the Mongol Rally are that vehicles taking part have to be at least ten years old... and with an engine size of no more than one litre!
It's utterly insane - and what's more, it conveniently starts the day after schools break up for the summer!
As such, Ed and me, as I said, are seriously considering acquiring a crappy old car and giving it a bash!
If today's experience is anything to go by though, I dread to think what'll happen if we end up breaking down in the middle of nowhere in Kazakhstan..! August 20 The killer's breed, or the demon's seed? The glamour, the fortune and pain. Go to war again, blood is freedom stained. Don't you pray for my soul any more...Well, yesterday saw me return from four nights of camping in the Derbyshire countryside.
I'm sure this all probably sounds quite idyllic. However, I hasten to add that the expedition was actually in the name of attending Bloodstock - an annual heavy metal music festival attended each year by some 5,000 people!
Now way back when I was about 14 or 15, there were few things I dreamed of more than donning a pair of really tight trousers and being Iron Maiden frontman Bruce Dickinson!
As the years wore on though, I simply grew out of heavy metal.
When I was young enough not to know any better, I used to take all the lyrics about blood and thunder and heaven and hell deadly seriously.
But over time, I began to realise how ludicrous it all was - and gradually found myself moving on to other types of music.
Of course though, as is invariably the case with something you loved in your tender years, I still have an enormous soft spot for metal - and in small doses, I still find it very entertaining.
Nevertheless, you may wonder what prompted me to attend an event that would involve a non-stop barrage of bands with names like Dark Tranquility and Legion of the Damned.
Well, it was very much one of those instances of something you've done when you're really, really pissed later coming back to haunt you!
A couple of weeks ago, you see, I was out drinking in Nottingham with my brother. We ended up at a music venue called Junktion 7 - and in the bar, I happened to notice some signs up saying 'Wanted: bar staff to work at a metal festival'.
Fuelled by the copious amounts of alcohol that Al and me had quaffed, I decided to put my name down - purely because it seemed like a funny thing to do at the time.
Naturally, the next morning I'd forgotten all about it - however, a few days later I got an email saying "Thanks for registering your interest in working at Bloodstock - please come to Junktion 7 for a briefing meeting."
At first I was like "Bloody hell, what have I got myself into here?"
However, after giving it some thought, I began to think more than more that working at the festival might actually be quite a good laugh - not to mention a chance to earn a decent wedge of cash.
And happily, I was proven correct on both fronts!
For one, though they may look quite scary with their long hair, piercings and tattoos, metal fans are usually the friendliest and most unpretetentious people you could wish to meet.
As such, the three days I spent serving drinks to them in one of the Bloodstock beer tents proved to be very entertaining, with lots of good-natured banter.
One of the funniest aspects of the weekend was a point when the punters started ordering their drinks in the most 'metal' voices they could muster.
Most folk would sidle up to the bar and growl "Carlsberg" or whatever in a death metal stylee! However, one guy excelled himself by slipping into a full-on falsetto reminiscent of that bloke from The Darkness, and crying "Strongboooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww...!" - holding the final note for at least 30 seconds!
It was a superb effort - though it was slightly heartbreaking at the end of it when I had to break the news that we'd actually ran out of Strongbow!
'Strongbow man' (as he became known to myself and the rest of the bar staff) was by no means the only amusing character present.
Less said about the girl who came into the beer tent and got her tits out in the hope that it might make us give her free booze probably the better!
Meanwhile, there was also a girl who came in who had brought a big plastic yellow duck to the festival!
Apparently Seppo - for this is the duck's name! - is currently being passed from person to person, with each custodian taking him to a different festival!
A website has been set up to chart Seppo's adventures - this can be viewed by clicking here.
All in all, probably my favourite thing about the whole festival was the fact that, every night, there was a massive marquee where you could get up and sing metal karaoke!
The temptation to live out my teenage fantasies by belting out 'Two Minutes to Midnight' by Iron Maiden would've been immense - though sadly I was always working whenever the karaoke was on.
All all in though, working at Bloodstock was a pretty good gig. As well as getting paid, we also got free food and booze. And unlike most of the other festivals I've attended in recent years, it didn't actually rain all that much!
Oh, and I even managed to bag a lift home with one of the other members of bar staff who, amusingly, had a bright green Skoda with a numberplate featuring the numbers '666'!
Much as I had enjoyed myself, I must say I was definitely ready to come home by this point. Unless you're a dyed-in-the-wool headbanger, three days of constant metal is more than enough for anyone's eardrums!
Indeed, as the festival wore on, I found myself seeking more and more respite by grabbing my iPod whenever I was on a break between shifts, and sticking on the least metal music I could think of!
It amused me greatly as relaxed in the backstage staff area with my headphones on, to think that I was almost certainly the only person in the vicinity who was listening to the gentle folk-pop of twee Scottish indie types Belle and Sebastian!
I'm sure I'd have got lynched if any of the surrounding metalheads had known..! August 14 Hey control this is six-seven here, I can hear you loud and I can hear you clear...Well, I thought that Glastonbury was going to be my only festival this year!
Last month though, when up in Scotland visiting friends, I happened to pick up a 'What's on' guide for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival - and was immediately struck by a number of shows taking place that looked like they might be pretty cool.
This, coupled with the fact that I've always fancied checking out the Fringe, caused me to immedately start toying with the idea of a second trip up to Scotland in as many months.
And when my great friend JHH announced that he was up for it too - well, it was a done deal...
So, last Saturday evening saw me head up on the train to Leeds - where JHH lives.
Then, the following morning saw the two of us head off in JHH's car to Edinburgh... where we spent what turned out to be a very enjoyable couple of days.
Now I knew that the Fringe was the world's biggest performing arts festival. However, one thing I didn't fully appreciate until we arrived in Edinburgh was the sheer scale of it.
For a whole month, the Fringe pretty much takes over the whole of Edinburgh - with literally thousands of different shows taking place at around 250 venues across the city - from big theatres to tiny back rooms in pubs.
Everywhere we went, there was a real buzz of activity, and street entertainers on every corner - including one bloke who had a 'Henry' vacuum cleaner that played a saxophone!
It was a bit like being at an urban Glastonbury really...
It was kind of overwhelming though trying to decide what to go and see. Wandering around the packed streets, you'd constantly get accosted by people thrusting flyers at you for their shows.
As it happened, JHH and I had pre-booked tickets for three shows.
Sadly, we were forced to give Bullseye legend Jim Bowen a miss - as his run of stand-up shows at the Fringe doesn't start til later in the month.
However, we did arrive in Edinburgh with tickets ready booked for a play about the life of John Peel, a stand-up performance by an Australian comedian called Steve Hughes, and another play - starring the great Les Dennis!
Pleased to report that these were all excellent. In terms of other stuff we went along to see though on a more spontaneous basis, one conclusion we quickly came to was that there's a lot of chaff at the Fringe among the wheat!
And I won't beat about the bush here. Two of the shows in particular - 'Amateur Pro-Celebrity Karaoke' and 'A Beginners Guide to German Humour'- were absolutely fucking awful!
I won't go into any detail, as you really had to be there in both cases!
Fortunately though, it was very much a case of them being so bad that it was actually quite entertaining...
All in all, if you are a fan of any kind of performing arts - whether it be drama, comedy or music - then I would heartily recommend a visit to the Fringe.
What's more, Edinburgh is also a great place - regardless of the Fringe. It's a beautiful city - very unspoilt, with more stunning architecture than you could shake a brown pole at.
Another thing that's amazing about Edinburghis the fact that, at one end of the city, there's a point where the city suddenly stops and the countryside begins!
There's no gradual petering out like you get everywhere else, where the landscape slowly changes from city to suburbia to greenbelt. No, one minute you're downtown... and then literally the next minute, you're walking in the hills!
Definitely worth a visit... August 08 Day after day, alone on a hill, the man with the foolish grin is standing perfectly still...So, it's been a while since my last update - at least by my own reasonably prolific blogging standards!
So what to report?
Well, a couple of days ago saw me return, for the second time in a matter of weeks, from a very enjoyable weekend down in Glastonbury!
And the reason for this visit?
Well, my good friend Mikey B and a group of his friends from Liverpool have been going down to Glastonbury pretty much every summer for over a decade - simply because it's a great place to go and spend a few days.
When I say 'Glastonbury' though, I mean the actual town of Glastonbury - as opposed to the famous music festival.
Last year, I decided to join Mikey B and co for their annual pilgrimage. It proved to be a brilliant weekend - and despite being the only non-Scouser, I was instantly welcomed the Glasto gang.
This year's trip was scheduled some time ago for the first weekend in August - and I think it's fair to say that we were all looking forward to it immensely.
For me, this was not least because it was a rare opportunity to spend some quality time with Mikey B - who is currently enjoying his first visit home to good ol' Blighty, following his decision last autumn to up sticks with his family and move to Malaysia.
So how was it?
Well, after the long car journey down, we arrived and checked into Glastonbury Backpackers, whose 'Blue Room' - a six-bed dorm - would be our home for the next three nights... at a cost of just £14 per person per night.
We'd actually stayed in the Blue Room last year, and doing the dorm thing is always a good laugh - a bit like an adult version of being on a school trip!
On the downside though, six blokes sleeping in a reasonably confined space does not a pleasant aroma make - and so it wasn't long before the Blue Room was officially renamed 'The Turdis'!
So what did we get up to during our time in the Vale of Avalon?
Well, part of me would love to pretend that things were a little bit more sophisticated than they were. But ultimately it was a typical lads' weekend away really - in so far as the fact that we spent most of the time drinking, taking the piss out of each other, and talking nonsense... more often than not about football!
The drinking was livened up by a series of pointless but neverthless entertaining games - most notably 'The Bladder Stakes'!
This, quite simply, is a competition to see who can last the longest in the drinking session before going to 'shake the snake'. And naturally, it was a proud moment when I was crowned winner of this coveted title on the first night!
Meanwhile, there were two notable things in particular that we discovered during our hardy attempts to dry dry the town's supplies of cider!*
First of all, we found that one of the pubs we visited has undoubtedly the greatest jukebox in the world!
You know how most pub jukeboxes offer you a choice of about 60 albums - and most of them usually utter guff?
Well this badboy was just a tad more sophisticated. Yes, connected to some kind of computer system, it offered you a choice of a mind-boggling TWO MILLION songs!
It was unbelievable. We found ourselves typing in names of some of the most obscure bands we could think of - and more often than not, it would be available!
It even had 'You Can't Win 'Em All', Brian Clough's much-lamented stab at chart stardom from the early 1980s- which naturally, I couldn't resist putting on!
With most of the others in the gang being big fans of that eculiar brand of music known as death metal, the pub's clientele were also subjected - no doubt to their utter bewilderment - to various atonal blasts of bands with names like Morbid Angel and Cannibal Corpse!
On a less happy note however, the second notable thing we discovered was that Glastonbury boasts possibly the worst nightclub in the world.
Which was a shame, as our visit there was something we'd actually been eagerly anticipating!
It was last year, you see, when the gang first became aware of the existence of the nightclub in question - which was called 'Heroes'. S
omehow, we never actually made it to Heroes that year. However, when planning this year's trip, the possibility of righting this wrong was something that was brought up regularly - mainly because it enabled us to make lame jokes based on a famous line from a David Bowie song about how "we could be heroes... just for one day"!
Imagine our dismay then when we turned up to find that the place wasn't even called 'Heroes' any more! Yes, the owners had bloody gone and changed it to 'Fuel'!
Gutted!
Undeterred, we still went in - though immediately wished we hadn't bothered. Yes, it turned out there were only about three other people in there - and the DJ was playing some of the worst chart pap imaginable!
Still, this was the only low point really of our time in Glastonbury.
And it wasn't all booze-fuelled hi-jinks either - we did actually do a bit of the culture as well... with a visit to the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey, plus numerous treks up to Glastonbury Tor.
Now Glastonbury Tor, for those of you who don't know it, is basically a big fuck-off hill, with a ruined chapel on the top.
That probably doesn't sound all that exciting really. However, the Tor actually sits smack bang on a major leyline** - and this, along with the fact that King Arthur was allegedly buried in Glastonbury Abbey, is the main reason why the town of Glastonbury is considered such a special and mystical place by so many people... from hippies to pagans.
Indeed, even late at night, we found we were never alone up on the Tor. There were always other folk up there enjoying the peaceful atmosphere and spectacular views of the countryside - or simply shagging like rabbits, as was the case with one Dutch couple who Mikey B stumbled across!
Sadly, one of the people we ended up meeting during one of our treks to the tour turned out to be possibly the most deranged person in the whole of Somerset!
We'd no sooner gotten to the top when the chap in question suddenly appeared from the shadows - and for no appatrent reason, started mouthing off at us and threatening us with all manner of violence!
The guy was as mad as a bag of squirrels - a conclusion we quickly came to when he began ranting about the 'fact' that he was the son of Bruce Lee!
And as if to prove this point, he even whipped his shirt off and started busting some kung fu moves!
Now we weren't unduly worried - after all, we outnumbered this guy six to one.
However, it quickly became apparent that whatever tack we took in trying to diffuse the situation, it would be wrong. For instance, we tried ignoring him - but this only seemed to rile him even further!
Naturally then, there was only one thing for it. Yes, myself and a couple of the other members of the gang decided it'd be funny to try and wind up our new friend even further!
Now this was possibly a little unfair, given that Bruce Junior was clearly in need of psychiatric help. But if nothing else, some of the taunts we directed at him at least helped lighten the atmosphere within our camp - which, perhaps understandably, had become slightly tense.
Though it was probably lost on Bruce Junior, I was particularly pleased with one of my own heckles - "Put your shirt back on, you're starting to look like that tosser out of Razorlight!"
By this point, Bruce Junior was apocalyptic with rage - so much so that he started threatening to get one of the bulls grazing nearby to attack us!
We were like "Yeah, whatever!" - and hilariously, his attempt to galvanise the bull into action was utterly inept. The bull was just like "Fuck off, can you not see that I'm trying to eat some grass?"
Thankfully, this was the point when Bruce Junior decided to give up on us, and he stomped off down the Tor, presumably to find some other people to harass!
All in all then - a very entertaining weekend... which was crowned by us all getting up and doing karaoke on the final night!
Prize for best performance from the gang undoubtedly goes to Mikey B for his rendition of 'Irish Blood, English Heart' by Morrissey - not only for the showstopping performance itself, but also the fact that he began by shouting "COME ON GLASTONBURY!" into the mic... as if he were performing on the Pyramid Stage at the Glastonbury Festival, as opposed to the Crown pub on Glastonbury High Street.
So, cheers to Mikey B and also Ruddo, Neil, Ian and Phil for a cracking few days. If any of you want to see any photos from the trip, simply click here to view Ruddo's blog, as he's uploaded a couple of hundred snaps that I think capture the essence of the trip very well indeed!
* Amusingly, we discovered while we were in Glastonbury that West Country pop legends The Wurzels - famous for hits such as 'I've Got a Brand New Combine Harvester' and 'I Am a Cider Drinker' - have actually got their own brand of cider these days. Brilliantly, it's called 'Wurzell Me Cider?'!
** If any of you don't know what a ley line is and want to find out more, then click here and you'll be directed to a website that'll tell you everything you could've possibly wanted to know and probably more besides! |
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