Fighting Cocks, Kingston (01.05.15)A fortnight had gone by since the last double-header of gigs and with the first trek down south for us Senton’s, the collective excitement was sky high. All ready to rock the capital, the gear was loaded, beers bought and coffee and crisps purchased (JG living the extravagant rock star life as per), we set off. But first a minor blip on the actual setting off at 6am with Class having to seek emergency dental treatment. A lie-in was had by the other 4, with Class nicely doped up on painkillers we set off for the place nicely described by Ginger Wildheart as “Shitsville”, London.
With no time to trek to the campsite to set-up it was straight to the Fighting Cocks in Kingston. Scott had a nightmare with the whole trailer-being-turned-round situation and gave a bollocking to the rest of us for not helping (we were waiting for a signal of some sort). The gear was loaded into the venue and the 5 amigo’s went to find Damo’s favourite pub 'The Druids Head', which we frequented with our Danish brothers Kjurious last year. Posh burgers and quality beer, comedy being brought courtesy of Kage buying expensive carrot cake from the shop next door, served in a little dainty bag normally reserved for upper class jewellery. Whilst trekking back Class resisted the attempt to knock said expensive cake out of Damo’s grasp - you can say a million insults to Damo and it’s all water of a ducks back but try and knock something out of his hands such as his phone, loose change or indeed dessert and he gets quite mad. We made our way back for soundcheck and met new and old fans of the Bombs which gives us all a real kick and makes the 6 hour journey’s totally worth it, love you guys.
Showtime came around quickly but one of the support bands Shadageddon gave us something we hadn’t seen in a band before. it involved a young completely naked man being chased by an older man simulating a rape sequence (apologies if that wasn’t the aim but at this point I was a bit far gone so the memory of the night is sketchy). The Bombs laid waste the venue with reckless abandon and whilst taking photos of the said gig I found myself a female dancing partner who happened to be a professional stripper. I soon found out that many of the bombs songs have a groove that the ladies love and therefore are willing to show their moves off with yours truly (more of this in the future please).
Gear packed up swiftly, we partied into the early hours at the venue where one of the main Kal-coholics FINALLY turned up (you know who you are). Much beer was drank and banter exchanged until we departed for the local club which had the dodgiest doormen I’ve ever met. The females of our entourage got in free but me, JG and Damo had to pay way over the odds (7 bastard quid each it cost, honestly I swear they should have been wearing a mask and a stripy jumper, robbing shit’s) out of sight of the rest of the punters. We ventured in. Me and JG were providing much entertainment for the ladies (petty arguing in other words) with him mainly focusing on my age and immaturity and me ripping him for having grey hair and being old (this earned me a whack on the nose for my cheek). Still, after a couple of hours we ventured back to the car with triumph in the air and friendship as solid as ever.
The trip back to the campsite was quick but hazy. Scott set up a tent at half 4 in the morning and Class promptly jumped in. Either they forgot or didn’t care, but us 3 were freezing in the car. With the rest asleep, me and JG set the world to rights and partied to Van Halen’s greatest hits until morning light. Pissed and knackered we settled down for hardly any kip and a potential death by hypothermia.
Wake-up came quickly as it tends to when your lips are turning blue and you’ve forgot to leave the window open a bit. So with near carbon dioxide poisoning for the 3 tent-less amigos we set-off into the local village to visit our favourite café... and to top Damo up with tobacco seeing as he was a tad on edge due to nicotine withdrawal. I had already ignored his plea for me to nick Scott’s car to make the journey earlier, the clown capped his morning off by giving me some advice about women in a not so eloquent but quite crude manner….all would have been appreciated if there hadn’t been a 7yr old boy sat near to us in the cafe. With disapproving glares from the boy’s mother we escaped to meet Scott and Class. Time to head off for the second gig of the jaunt - the Roadtrip bar.
Roadtrip Bar, London (02.05.15)
The journey back into London was swift if not irritating with all the bastard one way streets and lack of parking spaces (Thatcher’s Britain eh). The 'Coffee Club' went for their fix, now accounting for approximately 20% of Starbucks annual takings, whilst the beer brothers quaffed cheap Sainsbury’s ale and shot the breeze. Doors were opened by a highly amicable sound guy who was most helpful in setting up and getting shit together. Slight hiccup when testing the fog machine, the whole venue got cloaked in dry-ice, no word of a lie - it was like 'Stars In Their Eyes', any minute Matthew Kelly might appear asking who we were going to be that night.
Gig time arrive swiftly and with Class having to stand on the dance floor due to lack of room onstage. Again the guys destroyed, rocking to an uber receptive audience. Big cheers and applause after every song, with drama coming from one particular audience member who was maybe not 'just on the booze'. Dancing and flailing about, knocking a microphone over and getting dangerously close to JG and Kage’s pedals. Wouldn’t have been a problem to wrestle him away had he not been about 6’4 and 15 stone, the brick shithouse bastardo. His night was capped by me trying to sell him a CD after the gig whilst skilfully avoiding a stream of projectile vomit, which thankfully missed me but didn’t miss the sound guys box of spare equipment………oh dear.Gear loaded in the pissing down rain it was business as usual on the way home. Class asleep having battled the demon toothache like a pro all weekend, Scotty and JG having about 10 coffee breaks, Damo trying to sleep when not cadging fags from me and yours truly in the middle of all this trying to remember all the stuff I've written above for your reading pleasure. Next up a triple-header of gigs including 2 festivals and an after-show for the Foo Fighters gig in Sunderland. Until the next blog, as always, there is NO REST FOR THE ROCKIN’!