After my 12 days of loving the weather, hanging out with mates and being generally emersed in Chilo's amazing loving persona, it was time for me to return my hairy ass (and it is!) back to UK... But not before one jolly royal piss up! So I arranged with a bunch of folk to have a last meet up on the Wednesday as my flight was scheduled for the Thursday (24th September)
Ramadan was slowly becoming a memory so it was business as usual. Eat what you'd like when you'd like, get shit faced in a bar of your chosing listening to any band play one or all of the following songs at some point through the evening:
1. Hotel California (eagles)
2. Zombie (the cranberries)
3. Summer of '69 (Bryan Adams)
4. Sweet Home Alabama (Lynard Skynard)
5. Sweet Child O Mine (Guns And Roses)
6. Smoke On The Water (Deep Purple)
7. 500 Miles (The Proclaimers)
The funny thing about the last song in particular, and I'm speaking from my 5 years experience in the UAE here, you'd normally only get requested that when there's a load of Scottish in, though I've known it to be requested every set until we finally succumb when there's just the one in!
Further more, no matter how many times it's requested, by the same lot of drunken twats, they NEVER know where the bridge comes. Indeed they always think it's comes after the first chorus. And even when it's apparent that the band hasn't arrived at that part of the song yet, it never is to these lot of overly patriotic Philistines. So as the singer is already at the second verse doing the whole, "....when I come home, I gonna be the man that's coming home t'yee!" they are full on ranting "da dada daaaah, da dada daaaah!" oblivious to what the band is doing. This happens without fail!
Similarly, the Irish will always request "ploy sumtin' fucking Oirish!!!" but really mean Zombie or at a distant second, something by U2. Because if you took it literally and played something by Daniel O'Donnel, The Corrs or Boyzone you'd find yourself being called "coonts!"
The English and Welsh will not be so stereotypical in their music choices, but will usually be as big pains in the ass as anyone when shit faced.
I'm only talking about when there's a quantity of piss comsummed by the way. I thought I'd better point that before the SNP and any one of the Irish Terrorist groups decide to track me down and make me say sorry for my comments about their countrymen here by putting me in a headlock and rubbing my head until I canny tek a no mooorrre! (with rolling the Rs)
Anyway, back to my last piss-up. Benny and Caity were coming up from Dubai for the occasion. Benny was the bassist for the band at Hard Rock and had been in Australia for Ramadan and has just got back.
We all met at 3rd avenue, a British style pub the bottom of The Sheriton, Khalidiyah. Sarah Garaway, Belinda and Larry came too. We all watched the duo, ate and proceeded to get well wasted. Chilo didn't as she's not a drinker, but as long as there some nice nibbles about, she's a happy camper!
The duo were quite unique. There was a female singer/drummer and her guitarist husband. There was a very live element to them. There was some tracks, but extremely minimal indeed. Maybe just a little bit of bass, no more. So they were as close to a band sound as a duo could be.
Their song choices were excellent and she had a lovely voice. In my pissed state, I was joking about her physical appearance. (feeling bad about it now as I account it) She was very pretty but er, well let me put it this way, they used to have pie on the menu before they started playing there if you get my meaning?
After a few hours we all elected to get our arses to Heroes to check out the new (old) band. It's the remnants of the band that Dan and I arranged to take over from us in 2007. The main difference now is that Belinda is no longer with them either, and in her absence she's been replaced by two people. That says how big a part of any band she can be.
We proceeded to get more pissed up than a second hand dialysis machine. The band are very good, the new members are great and have brought a new overall feel to the dynamic. They should do as well as they had done these last two years. I still look at them and think that I should have stayed for at least one more year, but hindsight is a wonderful thing.
Had a quick chat to the new guitarist who asked, "so are you a drummer?" to which I explained I was the drummer that got Raymar the gig there but felt it necessary to act it out like a waiter would as he brings someone a dish they ordered: "Your cushy gig sir, I hope everything is to your liking sir! Would you like some wine with that sir?" he looked at me bemused. I can't say I blame him, I must come across well odd at a first encounter.
I had a long chat to Gary (Heroes dj) who was also there as his Good Luck do as he was off to Barbados to work. So it was touching moment given his history there.
The next day, I said my goodbyes to Chilo and headed to the airport with an ache in my heart. I know I will see her again, hopefully at Christmas pending some factors.
The trip home went fine, I still hate planes and being on them. Well actually, I marvel at the engineering and genius of them, but would prefer to do that from the ground looking up.
I got suitably pissed on the plane. I even bumped into a blokey that used to drink in Heroes, even though we spoke many times there and for a long time on this flight about all sorts of stuff, I never got his name. He was a decent chap but displayed everythimg typical with an ex pat in the UAE, especially the characteristics of young ex pats.
Once on the ground, I had time for a quick cigarette outside before I was picked up by Jay and Phil to take me up north to the Travelodge for the night, before going to the first of the two gigs we had.
That concludes my Abu Dhabi trip. It was a blast and the highlight of my year, just tipping the Freddy and The Mercurys trip in Spain in August.
(see blog archives of august for details)
-- Post From My iPhone
Tuesday 13 October 2009
Monday 12 October 2009
Abu Dhabi trip part 3
Ok, so I have talked about the military operation that was getting over here from the gigs before it and ranting about the housing situation in the UAE, it's about time I actually spoke of the trip. I mean, it was what the whole thing was about; taking time out to see friends and the misses and generally kicking back before I am thrown back into the fray! Ultimately it was to be just that!
I slept like a log the first night I after arriving, oh Lordy! Not sleeping at all the previous night and hardly catching any Z's on the plane mainly due to my fear of flying being the principle factors in that.
Normally a long gap of not seeing someone you love can feel odd upon a first meeting but seeing Chilo after 9 months wasn't weird at all, like I was expecting. It was the couple of times we'd seen each other the first time after a long spell. I don't know what was different but I was not going to question it. It was down right lovely and instantly I knew it was worth the money that I didn't really have to spend coming to see her. I am not going to dedicate this blog to how lovely she is, but I will say this:
Think of the nicest, kindest, sweetest person devoid of any ill intention or malice you know, multiply that by a 1000 and you wouldn't even be close to Chilo. I MEAN IT!!! She's so sweet that Sugar looks at her and says, "FUCKING HELL!!!"
(contrary to what might appear to be a affectionate kiss to the woman I love, it is in actual fact the result of some cunt glueing my face to her cheek. She thought this was very funny, I'm clearly in agony trying to free myself)
Anyway, the first few days I didn't do a great deal. Chilo was working albeit Ramadan hours, so my day didn't start until at least she'd finished work. After which we'd walk to a supermarket, buy some groceries, she'd cook them up, we'd eat and we'd go out somewhere once Iftar was called signalling the breaking of the fast. The majority of the time it was with Belinda and Larry with whoever else I could brain-wash in hanging out that evening.
(Belinda and Lina in mood indigo, Novotel Abu Dhabi post Iftar)
Abu Dhabi during Ramadan is great and my favourite time of the year there BARR none, well Christmas strangely enough for a Muslim country comes a very close second. There's a lovely feeling about everyone and everything that I cannot put my finger on. I plan going next year same time though it will be bang in the middle of August and UAE during that month? Hot is NOT the best word to describe it. "A sandy oven on gas mark fuck you asshole!" is a better and more fitting term. But after the weather we'd had at home recently, screw this, give me baking unbearable sunshine anyway. It beats grey skies and windy rain in your face enough for you to down a bottle of turps and think "fuck it" to the world!
The third day there, I did end up baby sitting her niece and nephew. Faced with baby sitter issues, Chilo, her sister Jhoy, her brother Rolly or sister-in-law Angie was going to have to take a day off work to take care of them. As I was there doing generally all kinds of fuck all apart from laying in bed like a slug until I deemed fit to move a limb and head out into the day, I stepped up to the plate and offered my services.
(Zachary before he doth goo'd unto thine presence)
The two in question are Claire Marie Brucales and Zachary (something or other) Brucales, 5 and 2 respectively. Both lovely kids, super well behaved (for kids) and really a joy to be around.
For the first few hours it was all Cartoons and playing with toys, piece of piss! I was thinking "This baby sitting lark is fuck all, I am a right royal daddy-day-care no shit".... well, I spoke too soon.
Zachary being still in nappies did a doo-doo! A quick sniff to his lower back confirmed that. Well, more like the involuntary retching, watering of the eyes and gagging reflex I displayed upon doing so. I know I am 36 and I have 2 nieces and 2 nephews myself and have looked after them many times, but always in the supervision of my mother or their parents... or at the very least someone else more willing to handle human waste than I; can't say it's high on my favourite things list. Brown paper packages covered in string? Perhaps! But packages of brown stuff from baby goop hole? Definitely a NO NO! Plus only in recent years have I been looking after Hollie and Georgia, they are well beyond nappy age. In fact, I probably need them more than they ever did.
Anyway, there was no way I was going to have him running around constantly with his own stinky ass produce against his skin, I mean, I was brought up in a decent family not a council estate for Pete's sake (who's he I wonder?!?)
So I grabbed him, the nappies, and proceeded to strip the little guy of all that kack. It wasn't fun, but I did it relatively quickly without, I'll add, throwing up. I felt quite like I'd passed a rites of passage. All was well I thought as I sent him on his way all fresh.
After some time I could still smell poo. I thought it was in my head until I looked in the mirror. It's turned out that it wasn't IN my head but ON my head. I'd got some baby doo-doo on my face! It's not a look I'd be repeating anytime soon.
Anyway, shortly after everyone was home and it was no longer my reaponsability, the way I like it.
Another notible excursion of my trip was doing some recording for an old mate. He'd asked I'd be up for it a few weeks ago, so once here we'd arranged the where's and when's.
As it was still Ramadan we couldn't do anything until after Iftar as the engineer being a Muslim wasn't in the mood to do fuck all until he'd eaten something... Lazy bastard!
So with them not getting to me until gone 19:30, 2 hours drive to Dubai, collecting the drums, getting lost a lot in Dubai's urban sprawl trying to find the studio, setting up, arguing about the best way to record a drumkit with the engineer, we didn't put a single note to tape (more like byte to disk) until gone 12:00. I had 8 songs to record and hadn't learned one of them despite being given a cd a week earlier. I'm such a pro!!!
But thanks to modern recording techniques, I could do it part by part which I did for some of it, others I kinda learned after a few takes and ran it in a single take or two.
My timing wasn't as solid as I'd have liked which it never is. But I was thinking I'm total arse! But I was sporting a massive hangover from the two bottles of wine I'd consumed the previous night AND it was by this point 03:00! So it was as good as it was going to be. By the time I'd set the kit down and got back to Abu Dhabi, it was almost 06:00 and I was well ready for some kip.
Pipo has assured me that the drums with some minor tweaks only on one or two of the tunes are sounding great! Well if he doesn't think so, fuck him! Did I forget to mention that I was putting myself through all this for FREE?!? So he'd better fucking appreciate it! But joking aside, I'm glad I helped. I had a blast.
(Pipo and I after we'd finished recording)
The following Tuesday, I went to Dubai again but this time with Belinda, larry and Chilo. While there I met up with and hung out with Carmen and Barry. Carmen was the singer and band leader when I was at the Hard Rock last year, Barry is her fella. As Ramadan had finished there was music again, which meant we got to basque in the warm sounds of the two resident bands at Majestic Hotel: Flipside and Rock Spiders.
(Barry and Carmen)
Flipside are a Canadian 4 piece with a Filipino singer (that used to sing in the Rock Spiders) for good measure. They play generally the more classic rock/blues stuff that an ageing hippy like yours truly appreciates more than the spotty, baggy jeans wearing, floppy hair do little shit with a generally twatty attitude would care for. They are all quite accomplished musicians and great singers but there's a slight aire of arrogance with them, like they KNOW they're great players and you don't need to compliment them on it, THEY KNOW kind of thing. This is something that is typical of Candian and South African musicians I've found in UAE. But not to label anyone stereotypically, anyone can be an asshole regardless of what it says on their passport.
The drummer has an increadible voice. Anyone that knows me would be aware a pet hate of mine is when drummer feels they want in on the limelight with fuck all to offer in the vocal stakes. I always think of that joke: what does the drummer of a band say before he gets fired? "Hey guys, I've written a song we can play!" ok it's not the same thing but it can be tailored to "hey guys, can I sing a song?" Going back to my point, this guy is definitely NOT on the list that I like to call "stop singing and just play drums you cunt!"
...neither is Roger Taylor or Don Henley. Luke Goss is TOP of the list along with Phil Collins.
Rock Spiders are a totally different animal to Flipside. An all Filipino band like many in UAE. It's actually the band that I poached Belinda from in 2006 to come and play with us in Heroes (saved her from it more fitting term) Their repertoire consists of mainly all the cheesy, sqeaky metal from 80's and 90's. I'm talking Dio, Judas Priest, Ozzy Osbourne, Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden etc. There's a 4 piece backline of drums, bass, guitar and keys with 3 female singers.
Yeah they're pretty aweful to listen to even though they are pretty good players and singers, they bluff SO much and do not know how to work to their strengths, in my very humble opinion.
BUT that said, I do respect them for their energy and not going with the norm. Anyone that's spent any length of time in Abu Dhabi or Dubai will tell you that if you've seen one Filipino band, you've generally seen them all; the format for their size and repertoire hardly changes from one to another.
But I will say all of them would generally give 90% of professional British bands an ass whopping on the playing and performance table.
To give it a different angle, a lot, if not most of them work 4 x 45 minute sets per night, 7 nights a week for 11 months with only breaks for visa runs. They are NOT allowed boyfriends or a social life other than with other band members and usually under supervision. This is typically an Indian bouncer type dude that would take "favours" off the girls for turning a blind eye for a meeting with a local Arab or some rich western busineess exec.
Oh yeah, another point. They do it for about £500 a month. Sounds like they're getting a shit deal? They are!! But it's nothing compared to what would await them if they were to leave and go home. Feels mighty great to be British now doesn't it?
Think on!!!
-- Post From My iPhone
I slept like a log the first night I after arriving, oh Lordy! Not sleeping at all the previous night and hardly catching any Z's on the plane mainly due to my fear of flying being the principle factors in that.
Normally a long gap of not seeing someone you love can feel odd upon a first meeting but seeing Chilo after 9 months wasn't weird at all, like I was expecting. It was the couple of times we'd seen each other the first time after a long spell. I don't know what was different but I was not going to question it. It was down right lovely and instantly I knew it was worth the money that I didn't really have to spend coming to see her. I am not going to dedicate this blog to how lovely she is, but I will say this:
Think of the nicest, kindest, sweetest person devoid of any ill intention or malice you know, multiply that by a 1000 and you wouldn't even be close to Chilo. I MEAN IT!!! She's so sweet that Sugar looks at her and says, "FUCKING HELL!!!"
(contrary to what might appear to be a affectionate kiss to the woman I love, it is in actual fact the result of some cunt glueing my face to her cheek. She thought this was very funny, I'm clearly in agony trying to free myself)
Anyway, the first few days I didn't do a great deal. Chilo was working albeit Ramadan hours, so my day didn't start until at least she'd finished work. After which we'd walk to a supermarket, buy some groceries, she'd cook them up, we'd eat and we'd go out somewhere once Iftar was called signalling the breaking of the fast. The majority of the time it was with Belinda and Larry with whoever else I could brain-wash in hanging out that evening.
(Belinda and Lina in mood indigo, Novotel Abu Dhabi post Iftar)
Abu Dhabi during Ramadan is great and my favourite time of the year there BARR none, well Christmas strangely enough for a Muslim country comes a very close second. There's a lovely feeling about everyone and everything that I cannot put my finger on. I plan going next year same time though it will be bang in the middle of August and UAE during that month? Hot is NOT the best word to describe it. "A sandy oven on gas mark fuck you asshole!" is a better and more fitting term. But after the weather we'd had at home recently, screw this, give me baking unbearable sunshine anyway. It beats grey skies and windy rain in your face enough for you to down a bottle of turps and think "fuck it" to the world!
The third day there, I did end up baby sitting her niece and nephew. Faced with baby sitter issues, Chilo, her sister Jhoy, her brother Rolly or sister-in-law Angie was going to have to take a day off work to take care of them. As I was there doing generally all kinds of fuck all apart from laying in bed like a slug until I deemed fit to move a limb and head out into the day, I stepped up to the plate and offered my services.
(Zachary before he doth goo'd unto thine presence)
The two in question are Claire Marie Brucales and Zachary (something or other) Brucales, 5 and 2 respectively. Both lovely kids, super well behaved (for kids) and really a joy to be around.
For the first few hours it was all Cartoons and playing with toys, piece of piss! I was thinking "This baby sitting lark is fuck all, I am a right royal daddy-day-care no shit".... well, I spoke too soon.
Zachary being still in nappies did a doo-doo! A quick sniff to his lower back confirmed that. Well, more like the involuntary retching, watering of the eyes and gagging reflex I displayed upon doing so. I know I am 36 and I have 2 nieces and 2 nephews myself and have looked after them many times, but always in the supervision of my mother or their parents... or at the very least someone else more willing to handle human waste than I; can't say it's high on my favourite things list. Brown paper packages covered in string? Perhaps! But packages of brown stuff from baby goop hole? Definitely a NO NO! Plus only in recent years have I been looking after Hollie and Georgia, they are well beyond nappy age. In fact, I probably need them more than they ever did.
Anyway, there was no way I was going to have him running around constantly with his own stinky ass produce against his skin, I mean, I was brought up in a decent family not a council estate for Pete's sake (who's he I wonder?!?)
So I grabbed him, the nappies, and proceeded to strip the little guy of all that kack. It wasn't fun, but I did it relatively quickly without, I'll add, throwing up. I felt quite like I'd passed a rites of passage. All was well I thought as I sent him on his way all fresh.
After some time I could still smell poo. I thought it was in my head until I looked in the mirror. It's turned out that it wasn't IN my head but ON my head. I'd got some baby doo-doo on my face! It's not a look I'd be repeating anytime soon.
Anyway, shortly after everyone was home and it was no longer my reaponsability, the way I like it.
Another notible excursion of my trip was doing some recording for an old mate. He'd asked I'd be up for it a few weeks ago, so once here we'd arranged the where's and when's.
As it was still Ramadan we couldn't do anything until after Iftar as the engineer being a Muslim wasn't in the mood to do fuck all until he'd eaten something... Lazy bastard!
So with them not getting to me until gone 19:30, 2 hours drive to Dubai, collecting the drums, getting lost a lot in Dubai's urban sprawl trying to find the studio, setting up, arguing about the best way to record a drumkit with the engineer, we didn't put a single note to tape (more like byte to disk) until gone 12:00. I had 8 songs to record and hadn't learned one of them despite being given a cd a week earlier. I'm such a pro!!!
But thanks to modern recording techniques, I could do it part by part which I did for some of it, others I kinda learned after a few takes and ran it in a single take or two.
My timing wasn't as solid as I'd have liked which it never is. But I was thinking I'm total arse! But I was sporting a massive hangover from the two bottles of wine I'd consumed the previous night AND it was by this point 03:00! So it was as good as it was going to be. By the time I'd set the kit down and got back to Abu Dhabi, it was almost 06:00 and I was well ready for some kip.
Pipo has assured me that the drums with some minor tweaks only on one or two of the tunes are sounding great! Well if he doesn't think so, fuck him! Did I forget to mention that I was putting myself through all this for FREE?!? So he'd better fucking appreciate it! But joking aside, I'm glad I helped. I had a blast.
(Pipo and I after we'd finished recording)
The following Tuesday, I went to Dubai again but this time with Belinda, larry and Chilo. While there I met up with and hung out with Carmen and Barry. Carmen was the singer and band leader when I was at the Hard Rock last year, Barry is her fella. As Ramadan had finished there was music again, which meant we got to basque in the warm sounds of the two resident bands at Majestic Hotel: Flipside and Rock Spiders.
(Barry and Carmen)
Flipside are a Canadian 4 piece with a Filipino singer (that used to sing in the Rock Spiders) for good measure. They play generally the more classic rock/blues stuff that an ageing hippy like yours truly appreciates more than the spotty, baggy jeans wearing, floppy hair do little shit with a generally twatty attitude would care for. They are all quite accomplished musicians and great singers but there's a slight aire of arrogance with them, like they KNOW they're great players and you don't need to compliment them on it, THEY KNOW kind of thing. This is something that is typical of Candian and South African musicians I've found in UAE. But not to label anyone stereotypically, anyone can be an asshole regardless of what it says on their passport.
The drummer has an increadible voice. Anyone that knows me would be aware a pet hate of mine is when drummer feels they want in on the limelight with fuck all to offer in the vocal stakes. I always think of that joke: what does the drummer of a band say before he gets fired? "Hey guys, I've written a song we can play!" ok it's not the same thing but it can be tailored to "hey guys, can I sing a song?" Going back to my point, this guy is definitely NOT on the list that I like to call "stop singing and just play drums you cunt!"
...neither is Roger Taylor or Don Henley. Luke Goss is TOP of the list along with Phil Collins.
Rock Spiders are a totally different animal to Flipside. An all Filipino band like many in UAE. It's actually the band that I poached Belinda from in 2006 to come and play with us in Heroes (saved her from it more fitting term) Their repertoire consists of mainly all the cheesy, sqeaky metal from 80's and 90's. I'm talking Dio, Judas Priest, Ozzy Osbourne, Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden etc. There's a 4 piece backline of drums, bass, guitar and keys with 3 female singers.
Yeah they're pretty aweful to listen to even though they are pretty good players and singers, they bluff SO much and do not know how to work to their strengths, in my very humble opinion.
BUT that said, I do respect them for their energy and not going with the norm. Anyone that's spent any length of time in Abu Dhabi or Dubai will tell you that if you've seen one Filipino band, you've generally seen them all; the format for their size and repertoire hardly changes from one to another.
But I will say all of them would generally give 90% of professional British bands an ass whopping on the playing and performance table.
To give it a different angle, a lot, if not most of them work 4 x 45 minute sets per night, 7 nights a week for 11 months with only breaks for visa runs. They are NOT allowed boyfriends or a social life other than with other band members and usually under supervision. This is typically an Indian bouncer type dude that would take "favours" off the girls for turning a blind eye for a meeting with a local Arab or some rich western busineess exec.
Oh yeah, another point. They do it for about £500 a month. Sounds like they're getting a shit deal? They are!! But it's nothing compared to what would await them if they were to leave and go home. Feels mighty great to be British now doesn't it?
Think on!!!
-- Post From My iPhone
Monday 5 October 2009
Abu dhabi trip part 2
Once at Chilo's (my long suffering girlfriend in case you didn't know) I was quickly acustomed to the smell, filth and general run down state that is THAT building in which she and her family live, with a sprinkling of others crammed in there as to lower the enormous and downright disgusting rent they have to pay to live in such squaller. (excuse me if I spelt that wrong, don't have a spell check on the iPhone and after all, I didn't just fail English in school, I did it with a tripple failure with honours!)
Allow me to explain Eldorado Cinema building (where Chilo, her brother and sister live) for you. It comprises of two blocks, A and B with of course, a cinema at the bottom connecting both blocks. Each has 18 floors with 8 apartments on each floor. 4 or 5 years ago the rent for this place per year was approximately 15-20,000 dirhams. In those days I'd imagine the situation in each apartment was much like that of Chilo's place; There was a principle family or tennent with a room rented out to 1 or two people making each appartment have an occupancy of 5 or so for a two bedroom flat.
Then something happened, I'm not sure what it was but demand became high for flats. Probably a lot of older buildings were demolished, new ones weren't being build quick enough and the populus increased tenfold! So the greedy fuckers, left unchecked, unregulated and unsympathetic to situation of the tennents they'd had all these years were in, they increased the rent. So much so, that as it stands even now with the economic downturn the way it is, it's 90,000 dirhams per year (£16,000) Yes folks, you could rent a 4 bedroom detatched house, with a garage and huge garden anywhere in UK for that and would likely to have a lot of change!!! So as a result, they've had to cram in 11 people into a two bed apartment. Did I say it was small, no? IT'S FUCKING SMALL! And did I say it's hot in there, no? IT'S FUCKING HOT AS A WHORE'S MINGE!!!
There was air conditioning once, but after it kept breaking down costing thousands per repair that THEY would have to pay for themselves AND for a techncian that only the landlord would appoint, no second opinions or fuck all, they decided to just use fans. Oh Lordy is it stuffy in there. It's got so bad in this building that even the cockroaches are lobbying for better living conditions at the ministy of manuncupality!
Didn't I mention there were loads of Cockroaches, no? THERE'S FUCKING LOADS OF FUCKING COCKROACHES!!!! When you get up at night to go for a piss, you feel pissed because the floor is moving around you in the dark! You move anything be it a mug, plate, cereal box, a cupboard door, anything and you'll see several scurry away from you from where they were hiding.
And the powers that be get away with it because they know that should one or all of the current tennants say, "fuck you and your shitty, cockroach infested, over priced piece of stuffy shit you very audaciously call a FLAT, I'm outta here!" there'd be 10 people willing to make do immediately behind. Not only that, but where would they then go? 90% of available apartments would be the same, perhaps worse! And that's a big IF they could find one.
The only choice would be to up sticks and return home. But there the situation is arguably worse than in Abu Dhabi; At least there they all have full time employment!
It really sucks to be anything non Emirati or western origin in UAE and no mistake.
I've still not spoke about my holiday yet, but I will come to that in the next post... Maybe.
-- Post From My iPhone
Allow me to explain Eldorado Cinema building (where Chilo, her brother and sister live) for you. It comprises of two blocks, A and B with of course, a cinema at the bottom connecting both blocks. Each has 18 floors with 8 apartments on each floor. 4 or 5 years ago the rent for this place per year was approximately 15-20,000 dirhams. In those days I'd imagine the situation in each apartment was much like that of Chilo's place; There was a principle family or tennent with a room rented out to 1 or two people making each appartment have an occupancy of 5 or so for a two bedroom flat.
Then something happened, I'm not sure what it was but demand became high for flats. Probably a lot of older buildings were demolished, new ones weren't being build quick enough and the populus increased tenfold! So the greedy fuckers, left unchecked, unregulated and unsympathetic to situation of the tennents they'd had all these years were in, they increased the rent. So much so, that as it stands even now with the economic downturn the way it is, it's 90,000 dirhams per year (£16,000) Yes folks, you could rent a 4 bedroom detatched house, with a garage and huge garden anywhere in UK for that and would likely to have a lot of change!!! So as a result, they've had to cram in 11 people into a two bed apartment. Did I say it was small, no? IT'S FUCKING SMALL! And did I say it's hot in there, no? IT'S FUCKING HOT AS A WHORE'S MINGE!!!
There was air conditioning once, but after it kept breaking down costing thousands per repair that THEY would have to pay for themselves AND for a techncian that only the landlord would appoint, no second opinions or fuck all, they decided to just use fans. Oh Lordy is it stuffy in there. It's got so bad in this building that even the cockroaches are lobbying for better living conditions at the ministy of manuncupality!
Didn't I mention there were loads of Cockroaches, no? THERE'S FUCKING LOADS OF FUCKING COCKROACHES!!!! When you get up at night to go for a piss, you feel pissed because the floor is moving around you in the dark! You move anything be it a mug, plate, cereal box, a cupboard door, anything and you'll see several scurry away from you from where they were hiding.
And the powers that be get away with it because they know that should one or all of the current tennants say, "fuck you and your shitty, cockroach infested, over priced piece of stuffy shit you very audaciously call a FLAT, I'm outta here!" there'd be 10 people willing to make do immediately behind. Not only that, but where would they then go? 90% of available apartments would be the same, perhaps worse! And that's a big IF they could find one.
The only choice would be to up sticks and return home. But there the situation is arguably worse than in Abu Dhabi; At least there they all have full time employment!
It really sucks to be anything non Emirati or western origin in UAE and no mistake.
I've still not spoke about my holiday yet, but I will come to that in the next post... Maybe.
-- Post From My iPhone
Wednesday 30 September 2009
My Abu Dhabi trip
Trip is a good word to describe this little impromptu holiday of mine. But not a trip like, "maaam, I tripped and fell.. Waaaaagh!!" or even "I am going away on a trip!" (though that would be the most literal term) but more like the Mick Jagger/Keith Richards, "woah maaaan, the 60's was trip!" type of trip.
I've let a few gigs slide in terms of posting the account in this blog. The Goldstar rehearsals and then the Gig and the last Freedom gig have gone by the wayside through a lack of time but also now that the swing of the Route 66 tour has ended, so has the swing that was my motivation to write a blog about it. A big apology to any of you that check every day with baited breath in anticipation of the next installment. I have failed you, I know it and I'm sorry!
Man, how self righteous am I?
I had 12 days to kill as a Freddy and the Mercury's gig was cancelled. Faced with 12 days of nothing, what was likely to happen is a lot of twiddling my thumbs, wanking, making a fucking nusance of myself to my folks, going to my sisters house while she was out, tormenting their dog by given her Toffee, knocking on people's doors and running away before they answered, calling a Pizza house and asking for "Amanda Hugankiss" etc etc I realised all in all that I should get away. Qatar airways had an excellent promo for Ramadan so I decided to take the plunge and head back east... Middle east that is!
I've let a few gigs slide in terms of posting the account in this blog. The Goldstar rehearsals and then the Gig and the last Freedom gig have gone by the wayside through a lack of time but also now that the swing of the Route 66 tour has ended, so has the swing that was my motivation to write a blog about it. A big apology to any of you that check every day with baited breath in anticipation of the next installment. I have failed you, I know it and I'm sorry!
Man, how self righteous am I?
I had 12 days to kill as a Freddy and the Mercury's gig was cancelled. Faced with 12 days of nothing, what was likely to happen is a lot of twiddling my thumbs, wanking, making a fucking nusance of myself to my folks, going to my sisters house while she was out, tormenting their dog by given her Toffee, knocking on people's doors and running away before they answered, calling a Pizza house and asking for "Amanda Hugankiss" etc etc I realised all in all that I should get away. Qatar airways had an excellent promo for Ramadan so I decided to take the plunge and head back east... Middle east that is!
The flight over was scheduled from Gatwick for the morning after a Freddy And The Mercurys gig in Diss, near Great Yarmouth (there's fuck all Great about it I have to say!) So with logistics the way it was, I had to stop at Stansted Airport on the way back from the gig around 02:00, getting a bus to Gatwick from there at 04:30 arrving at Gatwick at 06:30 flying at 10:15 having had NO sleep. Well, not true exactly, I slept at a pub (and almost missed the flight) in departures as it had a lovely leather sofa and no one to do my head in! You know the sort, OLD PEOPLE faffing about wondering if they packed enough Preparation H for their trip or fucking kids crying for whatever reason they see fit. Seriously, if the Government wants to limit the number of Teenage Pregnancies just play the sound of a screaming child to these Chavs whilst in the midst of passion (if you can call it that) and I guarantee their erection will deflate quicker than a balloon being blown-up by a piss-head!
The flight over to Doha was fine or as fine as flying can be, call me old fashioned if you will but I still hate being in a piece of Aluminium (Aluminum to my American friends) at 35,000 ft travelling at 500 mph!
But I will say that if you are the sort that choses who you fly with, I totally recommend Qatar Airways. The only thing I would say that was missing was a complimentary gobble off one of the Trolly Dollies! Failing that, they are excellent. When I booked the ticket online it asked "food preference" and I ticked something and thought no more of it. One hour in to the flight, out comes the nosh and sure enough a tray with MY NAME ON IT comes and it was exactly what I asked for! AWESOME!
They aren't shy in handing out the piss too, I need about 5 wines before I can chill out and sure enough they dished out without issue. None of the "tutting" and "huffing" like you'd get on BA flights! They did have one stipulation, that I drink out out of a glass without the small bottle being present. This is because it was Ramadan and something about Alcohol and religious blah blah etc I said, "If you keep them coming, I'll drink them out of my arse crack!" .... they didn't see the funny side.
I watched Harry Potter and the Philosopher Stone, the first movie and I really enjoyed it! I plan to claw through the series so that I can finally go to the cinema to watch whatever is the latest one.
I will say that no matter how much they say to turn off all electrical appliances especially mobile phone on these flights to the middle east, there's always one cunt that thinks that the text message conversation he's having with some bitch (because it would have to be that wouldn't it?) is more important than interfering with the Avionics! Again (as it's happened a few times before) I had to politely mention "Oi!! Turn off the phone for fuck sake is it??!!!"
At Abu Dhabi (after a quick stop at Doha) I got fleeced by an Indian Taxi driver, what a way to start! He said "80dhms to City" when it should have been no more than 50dhms and he only gave me 10 change of a 100! Oh, well after 5 years living there I should have been used to it. But I was tired and didn't want to start my holiday with a row with some Indian fucker on a crusade to fleece whitey, blacky or anyone of any colour, religion and creed!
More on what happened next...
Saturday 12 September 2009
Aviemore part two and Route 66 tour finale.
After a crappy attempt at a sleep, it was time to head downstairs for the gig.
It's taken as red that this will be the last show for many of us and certainly the last show for us as a collective, so Clive made a bit of a speech as we were all gathered around for the "fingering"* session.
The room was chocka with Harley Davidson owners. The similarity between these and other biker gangs such as The Hell's Angels or the Outlaws is that they are based on a collective of bike owners. That might be enough as a comparison but only when you know what the Hells Angels and Outlaws do as well as ride bikes you'll know that they are not to be compared, ever! Generally Harley owners are wealthy, middle class and law abiding in nature. Think smart suits/Mecedes/BMWs/executive lunches/accounts management/profit and loss assessment by day, relaxing with the wife, tucking the kids to bed by night. Leathers and bandanas at the weekend. Whereas for the Outlaws and Hells Angels it's drug dealing/having enemies "whacked"/battering holy shit outta folk/organised crime by day, ... And pretty much the same thing by night and weekends dispersed with a trip to the shops for milk or something but possibly on a motorbike as it's cheaper on fuel than taking the APC.
Anyway I digress. We fired through the set that was taylored for festivals like it was in Latvia and Isle of Man as well as other shows such like.
It went really well, the crowd loved us and for a small time there, it was almost like being in a decent show. The band played as well as it's done all summer and I for one was sad to play the last note. But life must go on.
After the gig Phil handed in his notice with John (who'd come to the gig) as he'd got Circus of Horrors in November thanks to me.
Being the last gig, a piss up the likes the whores of Babylon would have felt humbled to be a part of then ensued. Well that was the plan, what actually happened was a little tame in retrospect. Certainly Clive, Leonna and Laura got extremely wasted but me, not so much so. I do recall as I left the bar at the hotel to go to bed, Clive went to get up, fell off the seat to the floor and remained in an upright position for sometime unable to tell shit from dirty cakes.
Shit
Dirty cake
Another enduring memory was going to the bar to buy two drinks and being charged £12. I got a laugh from all that were there when I said outloud, "Credit crunch my arse, not for these charletan bastards!!!!"
Two pissed up northern Irish, ex squaddie twats decided to join us. They said, "do you mind of we join you?" but proceeded to sit down with us anyway before we could answer. As they had just basically jumped into a conversation that was in mid-flow, they didn't feel it unwelcomed to just pass idiotic comments from their side of the table. I knew at this point I'd be retiring to bed shortly. One of them had a glass eye that was shot out by an IRA terrorist in the 90's. If so, I'm not surprised, he was probably aiming for his mouth to shut him the fuck up. Then again, for all we knew it could have been a pile of steamy bollocks and he'd in fact lost his eye when he fell off his tricycle. Or maybe when as a child your parents would to say, "stop waving that (insert what you like here) about, you could have someone's eye out!" they were in fact telling the truth and his eye was taken out when his friend or sibling waved a piece of toast about... Or something. It could happen!!!!
The next morning, Phil and I had some breakfast before leaving. I wasn't hungry and could have certainly done with the extra kip but after spending a mortgage on drinks the night before, I was determined to get my money's worth. I was contemplating taking pockets full of salt, pepper, sweetners, napkins, plastic spoons, ANYTHING just to make it feel in my mind that I'd robbed them as much as they had me and everyone else in the company.
The trip back to the airport took us through some beautiful countryside that had everyone going, "oooooOOOH!" to because they'd seen a few trees in a hill or something. I did my "pah bollocks, it's fuck all like Merthyr!" bit as usual.
The others were flying on a different flight to Birmigham that was delayed because of a problem with the plane. Thank fuck we weren't going on that one. Ours was on time but it seemed like ages before we were to board. We all waited about, drank coffee and chatted about all sorts of shit to kill the time.
Inverness is a small airport andas we queued to board our plane, we watched as the others took off on the now fixed plane.
Their plane as it taxied to take off after having a new carbaretta fitted, or something.
Our much less shitty plane.
The flight back was ok, no pretty lady to distract anyone this time. The landing at Bristol was well shaky, Phil almost consumed the seat he was sitting with the chewing motion his anus was doing. Yeah, like me he's not a good flyer either.
Shaky - I did it before but I had to do it again Ian.
Safely on the ground, we all said our goodbyes and went our merry ways. The fucking end.
Phil and I were to leave for London to two days rehearsal with a 50's rock and roll band called goldstar (www.goldstarrockandrollband.com)
Maybe I'll put a post up about that, we'll see. But just for anyone from route 66 reading, it's been a honour and a pleasure working with you this year. Keep in touch, don't be a stranger and if you're ever in Swansea, don't even think about staying at mine, I live with my folks like a sad douche for fuck sake!!! Go and see Ian or Clive, they got loads of space.
Goodbye and farewell you set of bastards.
*fingering.
The act of sexually stimulating a female by inserting one's first, middle, index finger into the vagina and rubbing the vaginal walls... Apparently.
An expression that indicates a person has been identified as a perticipant to some degree in a criminal act or acts.
The pre-show ritual of Route 66 where cast members would gather in a circle side of stage with arms out stretched, fingers touch generally the person opposite with a wiggling movement whilst another more senior member wishes a good show to all.
-- Post From My iPhone
It's taken as red that this will be the last show for many of us and certainly the last show for us as a collective, so Clive made a bit of a speech as we were all gathered around for the "fingering"* session.
The room was chocka with Harley Davidson owners. The similarity between these and other biker gangs such as The Hell's Angels or the Outlaws is that they are based on a collective of bike owners. That might be enough as a comparison but only when you know what the Hells Angels and Outlaws do as well as ride bikes you'll know that they are not to be compared, ever! Generally Harley owners are wealthy, middle class and law abiding in nature. Think smart suits/Mecedes/BMWs/executive lunches/accounts management/profit and loss assessment by day, relaxing with the wife, tucking the kids to bed by night. Leathers and bandanas at the weekend. Whereas for the Outlaws and Hells Angels it's drug dealing/having enemies "whacked"/battering holy shit outta folk/organised crime by day, ... And pretty much the same thing by night and weekends dispersed with a trip to the shops for milk or something but possibly on a motorbike as it's cheaper on fuel than taking the APC.
Anyway I digress. We fired through the set that was taylored for festivals like it was in Latvia and Isle of Man as well as other shows such like.
It went really well, the crowd loved us and for a small time there, it was almost like being in a decent show. The band played as well as it's done all summer and I for one was sad to play the last note. But life must go on.
After the gig Phil handed in his notice with John (who'd come to the gig) as he'd got Circus of Horrors in November thanks to me.
Being the last gig, a piss up the likes the whores of Babylon would have felt humbled to be a part of then ensued. Well that was the plan, what actually happened was a little tame in retrospect. Certainly Clive, Leonna and Laura got extremely wasted but me, not so much so. I do recall as I left the bar at the hotel to go to bed, Clive went to get up, fell off the seat to the floor and remained in an upright position for sometime unable to tell shit from dirty cakes.
Shit
Dirty cake
Another enduring memory was going to the bar to buy two drinks and being charged £12. I got a laugh from all that were there when I said outloud, "Credit crunch my arse, not for these charletan bastards!!!!"
Two pissed up northern Irish, ex squaddie twats decided to join us. They said, "do you mind of we join you?" but proceeded to sit down with us anyway before we could answer. As they had just basically jumped into a conversation that was in mid-flow, they didn't feel it unwelcomed to just pass idiotic comments from their side of the table. I knew at this point I'd be retiring to bed shortly. One of them had a glass eye that was shot out by an IRA terrorist in the 90's. If so, I'm not surprised, he was probably aiming for his mouth to shut him the fuck up. Then again, for all we knew it could have been a pile of steamy bollocks and he'd in fact lost his eye when he fell off his tricycle. Or maybe when as a child your parents would to say, "stop waving that (insert what you like here) about, you could have someone's eye out!" they were in fact telling the truth and his eye was taken out when his friend or sibling waved a piece of toast about... Or something. It could happen!!!!
The next morning, Phil and I had some breakfast before leaving. I wasn't hungry and could have certainly done with the extra kip but after spending a mortgage on drinks the night before, I was determined to get my money's worth. I was contemplating taking pockets full of salt, pepper, sweetners, napkins, plastic spoons, ANYTHING just to make it feel in my mind that I'd robbed them as much as they had me and everyone else in the company.
The trip back to the airport took us through some beautiful countryside that had everyone going, "oooooOOOH!" to because they'd seen a few trees in a hill or something. I did my "pah bollocks, it's fuck all like Merthyr!" bit as usual.
The others were flying on a different flight to Birmigham that was delayed because of a problem with the plane. Thank fuck we weren't going on that one. Ours was on time but it seemed like ages before we were to board. We all waited about, drank coffee and chatted about all sorts of shit to kill the time.
Inverness is a small airport andas we queued to board our plane, we watched as the others took off on the now fixed plane.
Their plane as it taxied to take off after having a new carbaretta fitted, or something.
Our much less shitty plane.
The flight back was ok, no pretty lady to distract anyone this time. The landing at Bristol was well shaky, Phil almost consumed the seat he was sitting with the chewing motion his anus was doing. Yeah, like me he's not a good flyer either.
Shaky - I did it before but I had to do it again Ian.
Safely on the ground, we all said our goodbyes and went our merry ways. The fucking end.
Phil and I were to leave for London to two days rehearsal with a 50's rock and roll band called goldstar (www.goldstarrockandrollband.com)
Maybe I'll put a post up about that, we'll see. But just for anyone from route 66 reading, it's been a honour and a pleasure working with you this year. Keep in touch, don't be a stranger and if you're ever in Swansea, don't even think about staying at mine, I live with my folks like a sad douche for fuck sake!!! Go and see Ian or Clive, they got loads of space.
Goodbye and farewell you set of bastards.
*fingering.
The act of sexually stimulating a female by inserting one's first, middle, index finger into the vagina and rubbing the vaginal walls... Apparently.
An expression that indicates a person has been identified as a perticipant to some degree in a criminal act or acts.
The pre-show ritual of Route 66 where cast members would gather in a circle side of stage with arms out stretched, fingers touch generally the person opposite with a wiggling movement whilst another more senior member wishes a good show to all.
-- Post From My iPhone
Tuesday 8 September 2009
Route 66 @ thunder in the Glenns (harley davidson festival) Inverness - Scotland.
This is the last show of the summer tour and also the last show with Route 66 for many of us as in November (the next tour period) most of us have opted out for other work. Phil and myself have got the Circus Of Horrors tour (which he's got me to thank for) Laura is at Wigsteed, Phoebe has taken a teaching job, Nathan is doing essence of Ireland and Ian is on a Panto "oh no he's not!" leaving Clive, Leona, Jim and Wayne Denton being the only performers left from the tour before.
As sad as that is we do have one more show to do before it's all grinds to a halt.
The day started really early for me. I was in Kings Lynn having played a gig the night before at a random pub for average random run of the mill bastards. It was a jolly jape mainly because I was playing with Dan and Jem, two guys I'd spent over many years with in a band between 2001 and 2007.
The drive to Bristol was actually ok and not as horrible as I'd expected. I guess this was because of it being a Sunday. Well that and buzzing from the amount of red bull and black coffee I'd consumed en route! I swear I looked like a fucking owl by the time I arrived at the airport.
I parked up and proceeded to the airport where a certain Phil Walker (Texas Wanker) and Ian (tabs and cans) Kimber were waiting at the coffee shop.
Shortly after, Clive arrived as did Dan and Jarvis.
Checked in, through to departures it was high time we started the drinking frenzy. Imagine if you will, an African plain at the close of a drought just as it starts to rain... T'was quite similar I tell thee!
With us all suitably pissed up, it was time for the free for all that is getting aboard and finding a seat. Long gone are the days where they'd allocate you a seat with a nice easy, even a moron after an op could understand row and seat number. It's every man, woman and child for himself. Personally speaking even I, a renowned pasofist told various members of the general public to "GET OUTTA MY FUCKING WAY!!!" admittedly OAPs and toddlers but principally it was the same okay?!!
The plane that took us to Inverness.
Ian and I sat together and just beside us on the same row was a rather pretty girl who turns out to be getting back to Scotland. She must be the only one, all the jocks I met in abu dhabi never wanted to go back there for fuck all. Mind you, there's a difference between Inverness and Glasgow. Much along the same lines as say Bagdad and Disneyland. Except Glasgow is far worse!!! (Joke)
Chatting to her about the show and her life in Australia and various other countries made me NOT think about falling from the sky in a screaming firey ball sort of resembling and aircraft.
Boy do I watch way too much Aircrash Investigation!!!!
Once on the ground, the hole in my ass closed again and we met up with the rest of the cast who'd flown from Birmingham. As the tajectories are very similar, we could have played wacky races if the pilots weren't such sticklers for protacol. That's their trouble if you were to ask me, all hunk and no funk!
We took a bus down to Aviemore which was set deep in the highlands. The scenery was awesome. Everyone was commenting on it. Me being the disaffected welsh twat I am kept muttering to each comment made of the surroundings, "pah!" and stuff like, "that's fuck all compared to Treorci mate!"
The bus that took us to Aviemore.
At the hotel, Phil and I decided to go straight to the venue and set up.
The gear was mostly supplied, all apart from guitars. They gave me a yamaha 9000 kit which is a classic kit from the 80's. So much so it's still in production which considering the fickly world of drums, is a testament to it's sound and design.
Yamaha 9000 recording series drums. Oh, baby!!!
Pah, mine's still better!
View from the stage.
All about to soundcheck, Phil chuffed as fuck with the Fender Twin, Kit was lovely looking and sounding, Jim.... Ah, Jim, can you not just be content with anything???
Soundcheck went smoothly, Jim had his usual niggles with his monitor mix. I think if that guy had Pink Floyd's Turbosound rig to himself he'd have issues.
After soundcheck, it was time for dinner. I could have had anything, steak ala GOD made with a sauce made from batter of the pussy of Claudia Schiffer, but NOOO! Mr fucking healthy diet decides to have a plain old salad and scowl and mutter under my breath with hate at all the others not cursed with my weight fixations, eating like an Arab after the breaking of the fast during Ramadan; that is an experience in itself I can tell thee!
A three hour wait passed before showtime where I mostly hung about in the band room that was allocated. I even tried to sleep on the floor given my lack of it the previous night, but to no avail.
Then it was showtime. More on that in the next post.
Ciao
Xxx
As sad as that is we do have one more show to do before it's all grinds to a halt.
The day started really early for me. I was in Kings Lynn having played a gig the night before at a random pub for average random run of the mill bastards. It was a jolly jape mainly because I was playing with Dan and Jem, two guys I'd spent over many years with in a band between 2001 and 2007.
The drive to Bristol was actually ok and not as horrible as I'd expected. I guess this was because of it being a Sunday. Well that and buzzing from the amount of red bull and black coffee I'd consumed en route! I swear I looked like a fucking owl by the time I arrived at the airport.
I parked up and proceeded to the airport where a certain Phil Walker (Texas Wanker) and Ian (tabs and cans) Kimber were waiting at the coffee shop.
Shortly after, Clive arrived as did Dan and Jarvis.
Checked in, through to departures it was high time we started the drinking frenzy. Imagine if you will, an African plain at the close of a drought just as it starts to rain... T'was quite similar I tell thee!
With us all suitably pissed up, it was time for the free for all that is getting aboard and finding a seat. Long gone are the days where they'd allocate you a seat with a nice easy, even a moron after an op could understand row and seat number. It's every man, woman and child for himself. Personally speaking even I, a renowned pasofist told various members of the general public to "GET OUTTA MY FUCKING WAY!!!" admittedly OAPs and toddlers but principally it was the same okay?!!
The plane that took us to Inverness.
Ian and I sat together and just beside us on the same row was a rather pretty girl who turns out to be getting back to Scotland. She must be the only one, all the jocks I met in abu dhabi never wanted to go back there for fuck all. Mind you, there's a difference between Inverness and Glasgow. Much along the same lines as say Bagdad and Disneyland. Except Glasgow is far worse!!! (Joke)
Chatting to her about the show and her life in Australia and various other countries made me NOT think about falling from the sky in a screaming firey ball sort of resembling and aircraft.
Boy do I watch way too much Aircrash Investigation!!!!
Once on the ground, the hole in my ass closed again and we met up with the rest of the cast who'd flown from Birmingham. As the tajectories are very similar, we could have played wacky races if the pilots weren't such sticklers for protacol. That's their trouble if you were to ask me, all hunk and no funk!
We took a bus down to Aviemore which was set deep in the highlands. The scenery was awesome. Everyone was commenting on it. Me being the disaffected welsh twat I am kept muttering to each comment made of the surroundings, "pah!" and stuff like, "that's fuck all compared to Treorci mate!"
The bus that took us to Aviemore.
At the hotel, Phil and I decided to go straight to the venue and set up.
The gear was mostly supplied, all apart from guitars. They gave me a yamaha 9000 kit which is a classic kit from the 80's. So much so it's still in production which considering the fickly world of drums, is a testament to it's sound and design.
Yamaha 9000 recording series drums. Oh, baby!!!
Pah, mine's still better!
View from the stage.
All about to soundcheck, Phil chuffed as fuck with the Fender Twin, Kit was lovely looking and sounding, Jim.... Ah, Jim, can you not just be content with anything???
Soundcheck went smoothly, Jim had his usual niggles with his monitor mix. I think if that guy had Pink Floyd's Turbosound rig to himself he'd have issues.
After soundcheck, it was time for dinner. I could have had anything, steak ala GOD made with a sauce made from batter of the pussy of Claudia Schiffer, but NOOO! Mr fucking healthy diet decides to have a plain old salad and scowl and mutter under my breath with hate at all the others not cursed with my weight fixations, eating like an Arab after the breaking of the fast during Ramadan; that is an experience in itself I can tell thee!
A three hour wait passed before showtime where I mostly hung about in the band room that was allocated. I even tried to sleep on the floor given my lack of it the previous night, but to no avail.
Then it was showtime. More on that in the next post.
Ciao
Xxx
Friday 4 September 2009
A PUBLIC NOTICE AT GIGS
Hey folks,
There'll be a post on the last Route 66 gig to come, but in the meantime, I saw this and thought I'd share it with you as it's something that any musician or performer can certainly relate to. Read on and by all means, share it with fellow musicians and performers everywhere.
...at the front of the stage (in large, bold print):
How to Request A Song From The Band
When requesting a song from the band, just say "play my song!" We have chips
implanted in our heads with an unlimited database of the favorite tunes of
every patron who ever walked into a bar and all songs ever recorded, so feel
free to be vague, we love the challenge. If we say we really don't remember
that tune you want, we're only kidding. Bands do know every song ever
recorded, so keep humming. Hum harder if need be... it helps jog the memory,
or just repeat your request over and over again.
If a band tells you they do not know a song you want to hear, they either
forgot they know the tune or they are just putting you on. Try singing a few
words for the band. Any words will do. It also helps to scream your request
from across the room several times per set followed by the phrases, "AW COME
ON!" and, "YOU SUCK!" Exaggerated hand gestures expressing disapproval from
the dance floor are a big help as well, such as the thumbs down or your
middle finger up. Put-downs are the best way to jog a band's
memory. This instantly promotes you to the status of "Personal Friend of the
Band." You can bet your request will be the next song we play.
Entertainers are notorious fakers and jokesters and never really prepare
for their shows. They simply walk on stage with no prior thought as to what
they will do once they arrive. We don't actually make set lists or rehearse
songs. We mostly just wait for you to yell something out, then fake it.
An entertainer's job is so easy, even a monkey could do it, so don't let
them off the hook easily. Your request is all that matters. Once you've
figured out what genre of music the band plays, please make your requests
from a totally different genre. The more exaggerated the better. If it's a
blues band playing, yell for some Metallica or Slayer or Pantera. Likewise,
if it's a death- speed metal band, be sure to request Brown-Eyed Girl or
some Grateful Dead. Musicians need to constantly broaden their musical
horizons, and it's your job to see that it happens....immediately.
''TALKING WITH THE BAND''
The best time to discuss anything with the band in any meaningful way is at
the middle of a song when all band members are singing at the same time.
Our hearing is so advanced that we can pick out your tiny voice from the
megawatt wall of sound blasting all around us. And we can converse with you
in sign language while singing the song, so don't worry that we're in the
middle of the chorus.
Musicians are expert lip readers too. If a musician does not reply to your
question or comment during a song, it's because they didn't get a good look
at your mouth in order to read your lips. Simply continue to scream your
request and be sure to over emphasize the words with your lips. This helps
immensely.
Don't be fooled. Singers have an innate ability to answer questions and sing
at the same time. If the singer doesn't answer your questions immediately,
regardless of how stupid the question may seem, it's because they are
purposely ignoring you. If this happens, immediately cop an attitude. We
love this.
''IMPORTANT''
When an entertainer leans over to hear you better, grab his or her head in
both hands and yell directly into their ear, while holding their head
securely so they cannot pull away. This will be taken as an invitation to a
friendly and playful game of tug of war between their head and your hands.
Don't give up! Hang on until the singer or guitar player submits. Drummers
are often safe from this fun game since they usually sit in the back,
protected by the guitar players. Keyboard players are protected by their
instrument and only play the game when tricked into coming from behind their
keyboards. Though difficult to get them to play, it's not impossible, so
keep trying. They're especially vulnerable during the breaks between songs.
''HELPING THE BAND''
If you inform the band that you are a singer, the band will appreciate your
help with the next few tunes, or however long you can remain standing on
stage. If you're too drunk to stand unassisted, simply lean on one of the
band members or the most expensive piece of equipment you see. Just pretend
you're in a Karaoke bar. Simply feel free to walk up on stage and join in.
By the way, the drunker you are, the better you sound, and the louder you
should sing. If by chance you fall off the stage, be sure to crawl back up
and attempt to sing harmony. Keep in mind that nothing assists the band more
than outrageous dancing, fifth and sixth part harmonies, or a tambourine
played on one and three and out of tempo. Try the cowbell; they love the
challenge. The band always needs the help and will take this as a
compliment.
Finally, the microphone and PA system are merely props, they don't really
amplify your voice, so when you grab the microphone out of the singer's hand
be sure to scream into it at the top of your lungs, otherwise no one will
hear what a great singer you are. Hearing is over-rated anyhow. The crowd
and the sound guy will love you for it.
''BONUS TIP''
As a last resort, wait until the band takes a break and then get on stage
and start playing their instruments. They love this. Even if you are ejected
from the club, you can rest assured in the fact you have successfully
completed your audition. The band will call you immediately the following
day to offer you a position.
Tuesday 25 August 2009
Freedom @ Littlesea
Littlesea is a quaint little holiday park situated on the South Coast of England, the surrounding countryside compliments it's tranquility and ... oh blah blah... bollocks!! It's the same as all the others. I really couldn't keep up the Judith Charmers routine there, I was making myself ill even trying to.
It's a nice park, a little nicer than most, but contains mostly all the same elements as the others:
1. Caravans, lots of them and many for sale. From the minute you arrive there you have advertisements and leaflets thrown down your throat about what a good deal it would be to shell out £20,000 of your hard-earned pounds for what is essentially a tin box on wheels... with furniture in it. One of the incentives is "Have your holiday costs refunded!" upon a sale. Well considering most of the holiday makers only paid £99 for a week from a Sun Newpaper Promo, I hardly see that as an incentive. Still, it would pay for the Fish, Chips and McDonalds they'd have thrown down their throats that week!
2. Arcades. Where once there were little coffee shops, Information booths, a post office and perhaps even the odd piece of unspoilt land there is now a load of slot machines. Probably as good as a money maker as selling Caravans. They are low maintenance and there's not a shortage of fuckwitts available and willing to beg, borrow and steal (more the latter I should think) to fill up.
3. Fast Food Outlets. Burger King and KFC seem to be the main choice. There's usually a Fish And Chip shop too. Not the place to come if you're on a diet or if you are the conscientious type that at least tries to eat sensibly because you'd end up starving there due to nothing being available anywhere for you to eat. And if you care not for Heart Disease and Obesity, "COME ON IN, YOU'RE IN MOST WELCOMED AND AMONGST GOOD COMPANY!!!"
4. Asbo Scum. Think Vicky Pollard, Wayne and Waynetta from Harry Enfield's Television programme and mutliply their numbers to about 3,000 and that would give you a general week at any Haven or similar holiday park mid August.
Of course I am speaking very generally here, there's also your normal family folk too. Perhaps a lot more so than the Asbo Scum. But as the Asbo Scum tend to draw a lot more attention to themselves than regular Joe Schmo, it's them you tend to think of when accounting your experience, and this time is no different.
The drive down to from Wales to Weymouth (Where Littlesea is situated) was enough for me to never want to get in a car again, the traffic was horrible. What should have been a 3 hour journey turned into over 4 hours. I know it's not a massive margain of a difference but when you're hardly moving in traffic it feels a hell of a lot longer. I now how Michael Douglas felt in the movie Falling Down.
Once there, I rendezvoused with Phil and Jay, got the drums out and set up. Phil and Jay had done everything by the time I had arrived. A little space was left for the kit, with all my mics (that I'd left with Phil) already connected up to relevant cables for channel inputs.
We sound checked and went to a quiet pub for something to eat. The waitress asked me what I'd like to drink, "Tea please" and she replied with "Ok, I think I can arrange that for you!" in a oh-jesus-we-have-an-awkward-bastard-here type of way. I was quite taken back and almost asked her what her problem was? Was Tea such an odd request especially being in the land where Tea is national treasure? I wouldn't have thought so. But instead I said, "Okay, I'll have a Double Vodka and Diet Coke please!" We finished dinner and went to Phil's to hang about before having to get our arses to the gig.
The set ran smoothly, no fuck-ups. Well, one or two but nothing worth mentioning. Truthfully, I cannot remember any of them but I knew it wasn't a perfect gig. My drum solo was crap again. Phil and Jay said it got people going, I suppose I am so oblivious to it as I seem to shut off and don't take note of the audience's reaction. I can't understand why I play solos so bad when there's an audience, when I am alone, I am so much more fluid and inspired. I think it's the fear of an audience listening that clams me up. I don't enjoy it. But it's part of a show that goes down well, so I'll continue doing them for that reason but not enjoy it.
I will say that the crowd were shit. It seems anything other than Eastenders, whatever fucking Premiership Football side they support, Big Brother or some shit such like and they aren't interested. It's a sign of our times, the apathy is in measurable. These bastards care not for 3 people playing and singing their hearts out and doing a fine job (in my humble opinion) in providing a show. No, fuck all in terms of appreciation!
After the show, we set down and went back to Phil's house which is only a few miles away from the Park.
At his house, we chatted for a while before my falling asleep on his couch prompted them to hit the hey themselves.
That night I had the weirdest dream about Aliens (The ones with Sigourney Weaver) invading Gendros and running a mock! It was mostly about the panic to make my mam's house as locked down as I could, meanwhile through gaps in the boarded windows and the letter box of mam's house, I could see them running around outside and attacking a mutalating small children. It was horrible. It was a nightmare, I'd not had one in years!
- One of them horrible Alien fuckers that were wreaking havoc in Gendros in my dream!
It was bit like the gig at Littlesea.
Monday 24 August 2009
Freddy on Mercury part 5.
-Mercury is the innermost and smallest planet in the Solar System,[8] orbiting the Sun once every 87.969 days. The orbit of Mercury has the highest eccentricity of all the Solar System planets, and it has the smallest axial tilt. It completes three rotations about the axis for every two orbits. The perihelion of Mercury's orbit precesses around the Sun at an excess of 43 arcseconds per century; a phenomenon that was explained in the 20th century by Albert Einstein's General Theory of Relativity.[9] Mercury is bright when viewed from Earth, ranging from −2.0 to 5.5 in apparent magnitude, but is not easily seen as its greatest angular separation from the Sun is only 28.3°. Since Mercury is normally lost in the glare of the Sun, unless there is a solar eclipse, Mercury can only be viewed in morning or evening twilight.
Phil's alarm woke me at 5, we'd only been asleep a few hours and I was feeling pretty fucked up! It wasn't beer or lack of sleep though. There was something up, it felt like I was dying of some weird Spanish Bastard Flu. My throat was in agony and my head was pounding like there was a dwarf in my head trying to break out with a sledgehammer.
I was the last to leave the Villa, a trait that had become common place these last few days, leaving the Melon I had bought the day before. So much for best intentions eh? I imagined it feeling abandoned, alone and suicidal having being neglected by its keeper. I am a bad man.
- Melon, couldn't go on with life without me.
At the Airport, Ian was busy filling his lungs with smoke while we waited patiently in the line to check in. After all the security checks we were at a coffee shop, ogling at all the fanny that walked past. I swear we were all like bloody Meerkats!
"Hey Darren, look at that one over there... phwwwwwwwaaaaaarrrrrgh!" etc
On the plane, Phil learned from his mistakes and switched off his phone during the security announcements.
Once in Heathrow, Darren had left important car parking documentation as well as his passport on the plane and rushed back to get it. We waited at baggage claim for him. After what seemed like an hour we headed for Costa coffee for him.
When he turned up, Ian was outside filling his lungs with smoke. He explained that having no passport upon arrival is not generally taken well by UK security and so a host of procedures had to be conducted. But as he clearly is NOT an illegal immigrant (he's as much a chirpy cockney character squire as Bob Hoskins) this was shorter than it would have been if he was one of them free-loading scum.
Before Ian and I were to drive the 4 and half hours to back to God's Country, we all had one last fry up at Darren's expense, God bless 'im. Then it was back to the land of song for me and Ian. The weather upon our return was lovely. That was UNTIL we crossed the Severn bridge, no shit! I collected my car at Ian's and headed back to Swansea in time for tea.
What a weekend!
Sunday 23 August 2009
Freddy with some Mercury part 4
The second day here started much like the first; everyone waking up groggy sporting a slight hangover (Phil) due to the heat. Me, not so much so. I mean, it was hot but for fuck sake, stop whining about it you little bitches! We could still be in the UK! (which typically was having pretty good weather in our absence)
We headed off to the bar to shove another one of John's awesome breakfasts down our gullets. After chatting to him about his background, I was to discover that he used to run an independent Supermarket in Essex for over 25 years. I asked what made him sell up and move to Spain thinking it would have been Tesco's, Asda or another major name moving down the road. Alas it wasn't, "Retirement" he said was the reason. How cynical have I become eh?
The bar itself was something he started to relieve the boredom. His original plan was to have a quiet little Tavern to keep his hand in as it were. But never did he expect it to become so successful. He quite casually offered me to buy it off him, "It will be the best quarter of a Million you'll ever spend!" Hmmm, now where did I put my wallet?
After breakfast, we headed into the town and picked up some groceries. Ian picked up some baccy. I bought a Melon, it seemed like a decent idea at the time.
During the trip, Darren was looking in a shop for some shorts as he planned to lounge by the pool all afternoon with Phil and Gary. There was a Chinese owned/ran shop where they sold everything from socks to guns. Well, not really but it was like one of them pound shops where there's seemingly no catagorisation to the displays so you'd see powertools next to tinned foods etc. I asked the woman, "Perdone, ¿usted habla Inglés?" (excuse me, do you speak English?"
"No!" She replied. So thinking hard, I asked her,
"Bien, ¿dónde puedo encontrar el mayor pantalones cortos?" (Where can I find the largest shorts?"
Thinking my Spanish was still pretty good and feeling quite the international traveller she replied with,
"Yo no hablo Inglés!" (I don't speak English)
With my ego somewhat dented, I repeated what I said a lot slower and she seemed to get it this time. Which was a good thing because one more time and I would have been saying, "WHERE'S THE FACKIN' SHORTS!" She explained that they don't have any in his size (pointing to Darren)
So we headed back to the Villa. Phil and Gary went to the pool, I chose to go for a run feeling a little guilty at not doing any exercise and eating like Billy Bunter these last couple of days.
- Billy Bunter (strangely enough looks a little like Darren our bassist!) The run was ok, I basically set the timer for 30 minutes and ran around the blocks of Villas 3 times before the alarm sounded. It was rather tranquil for the most part but coming up to the 30 minute mark, my legs and feet were really starting to hurt. Running the roads is a far cry from the cushy treadmills of gymnasiums I can tell thee! Still I felt much better for it, even if I didn't look so as the boys pointed out upon my panting return.
The 20 minutes by the pool was sufficient enough to turn Phil into a burning Lobster, he was quite in pain! That's why I never do the sunbathing thing, even though I normally don't burn and go brown (much to the envy of any female company) I stay away from it. The health reasons are so scary; regular sunbathing increases the risk of skin cancer by 75% so none of us should ever go out with at least a wet suit and a welder's helmet. So given these health reasons, I prefer to stay in the shade and smoke cigarettes safe in the knowledge I have my health at heart.
The second gig was musically a lot better. There were more people there for starters so I thought we was going to have a bouncing gig, but they took quite a while to get into it. Gary did his Freddy bit which worked a treat even though it did seem to take a while longer than the previous night to take effect. Ian was doing his Twister thing with the keyboards, Phil and Darren both played well. On the whole, it was a lot better than the previous night. The bows at the end were strange, I always think that when people do that (unless they are really huge like U2 or Bros) they are showing oodles of showbiz wank.
- Naked beach twister, sort of like Ian playing keyboards with one on a stand and another to his right on a coffee-style table... sort of.
After the gig, we drank loads again, hung about with the staff (some of which were really hot) and generally thanked John for the risk in bringing us over. He'd made a few quid on the couple of days and we chatted about how we could save them money next time. As we had to be up for 5 am to get to the airport, we didn't hang around too long.
At the villa, we sat around on the veranda, ate Pineapple, drank coffee and smoked Cigarettes. I was sad to be leaving in a few hours. The last few days went so quickly but have certainly become the highlight of my year. It will take a lot of topping to beat it and judging from the gig sheet I have coming up, nothing is likely to compare.
Freddy and his Mercury's part 3
So after getting accustomed to the Spanish way of life by throwing as much alcohol down your throat before closing time (oh wait, that's the British way of life!) before being kicked out and then going to bed, we did just that. Next morning we were awake early (mostly through the heat) ready to get to the bar and set up and sound check.
The venue was a typical Spanish bar but the owner had erected a stage and canopy just outside for the gig.
The owner was a really nice chap from Essex. In fact they were all really nice and ALL from Essex (if not, certainly the around that area) staff and customers alike. The whole weekend we hardly saw a Spaniard anywhere, it was quite weird. It also puts a little in perspective when people moan about the hordes of immigrants in UK, spare a thought for all them Spaniards over the decades that have had to endure the smell of Pie, Mash, Fish and Chips, cries of "CAAAAMON YOOO 'AMMMERS!" on Saturday afternoon, being greeted in the street by, "awwwight geeza!?" Chaz And Dave records being played loudly and the endless ramblings about "Landan" but hardly ever going there. All this amongst other things must have really tested their resolve over the decades. Those poor people!
After a monster breakfast, we waited patiently for the pa company to arrive. When he did, he was in no rush to get any work done. This is typical of and more typical of a Brit in Spain; everything is done with a sense of "mañana" It must have been two hours before he opened the back of his Van! And considering this was his first job for the Bar, you'd think he would have applied a bit of urgency, but noooooo! He was a Brummy and given my experience with them this year, he was quickly showing the trait in them! Not that I like to tar with the same brush, but the coincidence is undeniably uncanny!
After a long time waiting about for ANYONE to do any work at all, we thought "bollocks to this" went back to the Villa and got us 'eds down - siesta style!
We got back there around 5ish and saw that they eventually got the pa up and put all the backline in place, sort of. The drum kit was pretty crummy but beggars aren't choosers. It was ok, certainly ok enough for the likes of me. It was however set up for a cunt to play; The toms were positioned flat and almost either side of the kick drum, the seat was so high I it looked like he'd been using it to pain the ceiling and it was filled up with so much cloth and fabric that it would have been a fire hazzard!
I started adjusting stuff which prompted the owner of the kit to pop his head up and come to the stage and 1. introduce himself and 2. make his feelings known about me making adjustments. He was subtle about it but fairly obvious. For fuck sake, what did he expect? I couldn't have played it the way it was if there was a gun to my head; the seat was so high I would have feared for my safety! One thing I thought I'd mention about this kit though, I've seen Cymbal stands used at Microphone stands; in fact by nature of their very design are far better than the typical microphone stand. But I have never before this day seen this:
- Yes, that's a microphone stand doctored to be used as a cymbal stand. It worked ok I will say, but it mars the idea of someone getting funny about his shit being messed with!
Meanwhile, another ruckus was kicking off off-stage. There were issues about the supposed backline and pa we were getting. In short, what they said we'd get we didn't get, not even close! The bass amp for Darren was a £100 practice amp and the guitar amp albeit better than the bass amp, was certainly not a Marshall or anything if it's quality. Thankfully, that mattered less because Phil had all his sounds pre-programmed on his effects unit he took with him.
Ian had issues too, they gave him two keyboards and but only one stand and didn't think to wonder how the other one was going to be positioned; perhaps they took it as red that Ian is in Fact one of the X-men and thus could just use his telekinesis to suspend the other keyboard into position. I mean, seems plausible doesn't it? Suffice as to say, this is NOT the case and so he had to improvise with a table leading him to have to twist his posture in a way that looked somewhat painful to be able to play both at the same time. Fair dos to him, anyone else would have seriously fucking kicked off but in true Ian's valley boy charm of "aye whateva butt'!" he proceeded with no complaints.
- keyboard 1 to the left, keyboard 2 to the right much lower down on a table, still with ickle bit of Ketchup on it from lunch.
The pa "engineer" then started getting a little lippy to Darren which was treading on thin ice to say the least. Darren is someone well high up on the "not to be fucked with" table. Think of the term used in the media as "East end hard-hard" men and you'd get an idea. He was cast to play Lenny McLean in a movie that sadly wasn't made. Darren has spoken about some of his "instances" of ass kicking, Method acting?!?! Fuck me!
- Lenny McLean "Where's me faaakin' guns eh?"
- The Krays "you go back and you tell Rutherman no-one fucks with us"
The Mitchells. Eastenders well 'ard men! 'Nuff said!
Anyway, we all tried to calm Darren down because he was seriously winding himself up to give the guy a tuning that he'd not forget in a hurry, nor would any siblings he may have in the future for that matter. Eventually, everything calmed down. We did our sound check and had another awesome meal from the bar! A shit load of steak worked well to calm tensions.
After a brief stop at the villa to change, it was back to the gig. They had a support band playing as we arrived that consisted of more expats. They were actually really good though the guitar player sucked. The drummer was using an electric kit.... er, thought I'd mention it.
Then it was our turn. Gary came out with all his Freddy gear on and boy did he have all Freddy's moves and banter off! Musically it could have been better but also could have been so much worse. There were no train wrecks and we all responded to each others' fuck ups really well leading to no-one spotting it was in fact our first gig and second time we were all in one place at the same time (musically speaking)
After the gig, feeling quite euphoric, we all went to the nearby tavern and proceeded to throw as much alcohol down our necks before closing time... just like the Spanish do... Oh wait, I've done this one haven't I?
-- Post From My iPhoneThursday 20 August 2009
Freddy And The Mercurys part 2
Did I happen to explain the name of this band before, no? Ok, we are NOT a Queen tribute as such, hence none of us other than the Freddy dude dresses up supposedly to impersonate any of the members. Which is just as well as it would be a fucking debacle if we tried. I mean, imagine me with a "Choose Life" T-Shirt, Blonde spikey wig and a pair of Ray Ban shades!!! Not only that, me trying to sing I'm In Love With My Car or something. Then Poor Phil with tight as fuck black jeans, tight striped T-shirt and a curly black wig that he'd have to fight Anita Dobson for to obtain. Then Darren, who's as far removed from John Decon's build that Nelson Mandela would more likely pass as a double. Then Ian, where would he come in? He'd have to be the session muso at the back on the live gigs that no one knows or gives a fuck about! (So what's new about that then Ian eh?) So, yeah, we are not a Queen tribute as it would be so woeful, blind folk would turn down a chance at sight if it was us they'd see first!
- Queen
But Gary does a pretty mean Freddy Mercury, especially when done up so I was to find, so that's as far as a normal Tribute act as we go. Though musically, we have tried to remain as faithful to the original Queen act as we can. So, on with the gigs.
After the brush up rehearsal, we packed the gear into Phil's van and proceeded along the M25 to Gatwick Airport. At the Dartford tolls, I had my normal rant about how the fact they (Tolls) are the sole cause of the miles and miles of tailbacks everyday; The tolls shouldn't even be there as they were originally put to recoup the costs of the tunnel/bridge, which have since been paid long ago. Fucking Charlatan Bastards! Same as the price of Fuel, Oil prices dip, Fuel remains high, Rip Off UK!!! Bring on the revolution, French Stylee!!!
- my proposed idea on how to deal with our self serving, plum talking, pompous prick politicians, French Revolt Stylee!
At Gatwick, we stopped into a nearby pub and ate something before parking up the van and checking in at the Ryan Air desk. I made that sound like it was routine and speedy, was it fuck! The hours of queues and hanging about I generally skipped but rest assured they happened. I hate Airports, well I do when they are chocka with Jonny Foreigner, but most appear to be leaving so I shouldn't be too down on them, I should in fact be helping with their bags and being generally really supportive!
Before I am bombarded with hate mail, that was just a joke for all you liberal do-gooders!
Then it was all the security checks. Despite them bastards being caught (Walthamstow Terrorists) they still won on some level with all the crap we have to go through just to take a plane. Before the flight we pitched a last attempt to get shit faced in the pub in the terminal, then it was the frantic rush to get to our gate.
On the plane, the stewardess, sorry, flight attendant (for fuck sake, TROLLY DOLLY!) was going through the whole, "This bit, goes through this fucking bit! And should cabin pressure decrease, Oxygen masks will fall down as if by bloody magic...." Meanwhile Phil was watching Night Rider on his iPhone. Miss T. Dolly took umbrage to this and proceeded to talk rather condescending to Mr. Walker.
"Excuse mee, doo yoo Jnow, jwhere, zee lif jackits 'r kipt?" (with J pronounced like you're clearing your throat of Phlem)
Phil was quite humbled by her Russian tone and demeaning manner with his response, "no I don't I am sorry!" This made her day this would seem, she felt rather smug about have to point out where there are. But seriously, if there was a crash, we'd all be fucked quite severely including miss T. Dolly and her all important life Jacket.
"News just in, a Boeing 737 has smashed into a mountain in the northern region of Spain after losing power in both engines at 33,000 feet... Fortunately, all but one passenger survived the crash. The reported casualty wasn't wearing his life jacket!"
- this was the face he made when she was talking down to him, the EXACT same face!!!
With us up in the air and levelled out, it was refreshments time; "Bring it on!!! Oh, excuse me what's that? We have to pay for it nowadays??? FUCK THAT!!!! I'd starve before I lined your pockets" The conversation with Miss T. Dolly went something like that.
Two hours later, we were on the ground in Alicante. It was approaching midnight and Ian was gagging for a power fag and a power pint! (For power fag, check blog entry Jersey show one)
Alan, the agent, met us, loaded us up into his car and proceeded to fuck off all that normal check-the-band-in shit and find us the nearest pub open at that time. Fortunately, the one he found us was only a yards from where we'd be staying. Within moments, we were suitably liquored up and my mind was awash with so many memories from when I lived in Spain. There's something about even the simple things that brought it back. In this case it was the typical design of the bar and the folk that ran it. It was like I had never left.
Alan, the agent, is a northerner and has been living on the Spanish coastline for about 7 years. But he typifies everything about an ex-pat. Think the TV shows, Duty Free and shit failed Soap Opera Eldorado and you'll know what I mean.
The Villa they gave us was lovely, though it could have seriously benefited from Air-con. I said Air Con, not Con Air!
It wasn't a problem for me as I'd been used to living in far stuffier environments to this, but the others weren't dealing with it that well. But it was very nice none the less and I wouldn't have rather been anywhere else.
We crashed out around 4 am. 6 hours later, we'd be up to go to the bar where were set to play and go through some hassle with the PA company. More on that in the next entry.
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