Sunday 20th March 2011.

Once again I found myself at Basingstoke train station.  The fact that I was there meant heavy metal was afoot.  Strangely I wasn’t on Platform 3 heading to Camden via Waterloo and the Northern line.  No sir!  I was on Platform 4, which could mean only one thing…I was catching the 18:47 train bound for Oxford, but I was cunningly getting off at Reading.

First obstacle to negotiate was the ticket gates.  Simple you might think.  Place ticket inside, ticket pops out, grab ticket, gate opens, hey presto!  Nope.  This gate was already open, so I casually strutted through cool as a cucumber.  Sadly the gate began to close on me mid strut.  I let out the type of high pitched scream only teenage girls at a Justin Bieber concert can emit.  In fact I think it was too girly/feminine even for them.

It was at that moment I thought I was going to die, crushed to death in the ticket machine at Basingstoke Train Station.  Not really how I imagined I was going to go.  My life flashed before my eyes…That didn’t take particularly long.  There was no way I was going out like that, so I pulled myself free and rather sheepishly made my way towards the platform.  At this point I was joined by someone who wants to remain nameless, but as he’s not Clint Eastwood we shall call him ‘P’.

P and I (That’s P and me, not P and somebody else called I.  To clarify nobody else will be entering this story called I).  So P (Him) and I (Me) made our way to the Pitcher & Piano bar for a pre-gig beer.  It was a fairly swish bar and was charging £3.95 a pop for a beer.  If the beer was expensive, you’d expect the toilets to be spankingly clean.  I headed to the toilets to stock up on tissues as we were seeing Napalm Death tonight and I know their romantic numbers always tug on my heart strings, bring a tear to the eye.

The plan was simple, duck in the cubicle, grab some bog roll and leave.  What I didn’t expect to see was a sight which will stay with me forever.  It looked like someone had fallen off the toilet seat, half way through their business, if you get my drift.  Then rather than using the aforementioned toilet paper, they just wiped their bum on the wall.

Shortly after this we were joined by ‘C’, but in no way am I insinuating that he perpetrated the toilet incident.  In fact he wasn’t even in the building at the time.

After another swift pint we made our way to the venue.  Tonight’s venue was the salubrious Sub 89 bar, which was probably half full, but half full with a full metal crowd.  As we sauntered in, the first band were just finishing, ‘Mutant Zombie Foetus’ they were called.  They were wearing studded leather wristbands, that tells you all you need to know.

It was at this point in the evening I decided to pull from my pocket with dazzling effect a packet of ‘Pom-Bear’ crisps.  I’ve never eaten Pom-Bear before, so this was an exciting moment.  I glanced at the back of the packet, it read “Pom-Bear created these yummy teddy shaped snacks for you and your friends to enjoy anytime”.  What it clearly should’ve read was “Pom-Bear created these yummy teddy shaped snacks for you and your friends to enjoy anytime, unless you are in a dirty rock club in Reading as they are forbidden”.  This was because as I was nearing the end of the packet a bouncer came over.  “No eating in here sir” he said.  “Err…they’re only Pom-Bear” I replied.  “No eating in here sir” was his monotone reply.  “But they’re pom-Bear, do you want one?” I replied quizzically.  “No eating sir” was his robot like reply.  So what he was telling me was that it was against the law for me to eat a packet of crisps in a dingy rock bar in Reading on a Sunday night.  He couldn’t even see the humour in a fully grown man (in his mid twenties) eating a packet of childrens crisps whilst watching death metal bands…I don’t know.  I could understand if I bought my own 3 course meal with me and a full waiter service.  Then assembled a fold out table and chairs and sat and ate the meal in the middle of the room, but I didn’t.

Speaking of bouncers, this was the third time that weekend that bouncers had annoyed me.  On Friday night in Basingstoke town centre they had stopped me and some friends getting into two bars.  First up the Rhu bar.  The Polish bouncer decided not to let a friend in as she did not have ID.  I don’t have a problem with him being Polish as I have a few friends that are Polish (although maybe not as many as I thought), but I do have a problem with him being a moron.

Anyway we then tried ‘Pure’ bar (Pure turd if you ask me).  Again my friend got turned away, but I guess that was because she is too good looking.  That’s the reason I usually get turned away from clubs, because of my intimidating good looks.  Just a glance through the window of this pretentious dump shows you that the majority of the clientele in here have fallen from the ugly tree, hit all the branches on the way down, then hit a carefully positioned trampoline at the bottom of the tree…  Whilst not getting let in I noticed a couple of women tottering about on high heels wearing dresses that they probably bought ten years ago when they were probably ten stone lighter.  I was tempted to run home and get my harpoon gun…I hate bouncers.  I digress…

Next on stage were a Welsh band called ‘Desecration’.  I wasn’t a big fan of this band, nothing to do with them being Welsh, just didn’t like them.  Sound wasn’t good, couldn’t hear the bass or the drums, could just hear the high pitched crackle of the guitar turned up way too loud.

Finally Napalm Death rolled on stage, now we were talking.  As expected they started with a Lady GaGa cover….Noooo! Of course not.  I must admit to not knowing too much of their material but they were excellent.  Fast, super heavy and raging against everything.  Always amusing to hear Barney’s inbetween song rants.  Anti-war, Anti-religion, Anti-dandruff and Anti-oxidants, generally Anti everything.

Halfway through their set C decided it was time for him to bid farewell.  He was concerned his local kebab shop would shut without him.  As he had ran a half marathon earlier in the day, who could begrudge him a kebab?  I’m sure Paula Radcliffe does the same.  Shortly after P decided to leave.  This was always on the cards as he had been drinking a bottle of water for the last half an hour and it was becoming embarrassing.  Eating a packet of Pom-Bear was supercool, but drinking water was unacceptable.

I decided to move a bit closer for the end of the set.  Excellent stuff.  It was a good night and I even got the drummer’s autograph, though not whilst he was playing, though that would have been very impressive.

It was 23:00 hrs and time to leave.  On my walk back to the station I noticed my left shoe was squeaking.  The only way I could stop it from squeaking was to almost invent my own Ministry of Silly Walks style walk.  Most embarrassing. 

After spending £1.60 on a Cadburys Twirl it was time for the 23:35 train home, calling at Reading West, Mortimer, Bramley and Basingstoke.  No falling asleep this time, hurrah!

The last obstacle to tackle was the taxi home.  Easy you might think…  Not when you have to share a taxi with a miserable as sin driver like this one.  £9.60 it cost to travel maybe three miles, then the fact he couldn’t even be bothered to tell me how much the fare cost.  I know it was in big glowing red digits in the front of the taxi, but it would have been nice for him to politely ask rather than sitting there with his hand out.  He didn’t say a word to me the whole journey, then sat there with his hand out.  I’m not expecting him to point out places of interest along the way, or give me a plotted history of Basingstoke from say Cromwell’s battle of Basing right through to the rise of Liz Hurley in the late 1990’s (nothing much has happened since).  However if he had I would’ve said “This has been a most insightful and educational journey home, why don’t we call it a tenner?  You can keep the change”.  However he didn’t so I told him rather sarcastically it had been a wonderful drive home, snatched my forty pence change, then slammed the car door and squeaked my way off into the distance…

Monday 21st Feb 2011.

Blimey!  It’s been over 2 weeks since the date above,  could be difficult to remember what happened.  Let’s see…

After another eventful and thoroughly rewarding day at work I headed off to London again.  Yep, that’s right, barely 2 days had passed since the incident of the previous blog, but I had obviously not learnt my lesson as I was going to jump right back out of the frying pan and into the fire.  So here we go, hold onto your hats again and fasten your seatbelts as this could get bumpy (or not, you never know).

Climbed aboard the 18:15 crazy train to London, final destination Camden Town (again) via Waterloo Station and then the Northen Line.  Fairly standard journey into London, nothing out of the ordinary appeared to be happening.  I must admit I was beginning to doze off on the train (and this was at 18:00, let alone say 23:00 hrs).  Even though this train terminated at Waterloo, there was probably a reasonable chance I would fall asleep, the train would arrive in London, then leave and I would wake up to find myself back in Basingstoke and effectively missing the whole evening.  I had to find a way of staying awake, how about scrutinising the other passengers in the carriage?  Ok, let’s do that…So the guy in front looked normal enough, but unsure as to what he was listening to on his Ipod.  Can only be described as the sound of a wet cat bouncing up and down on a set of Bagpipes during a thunderstorm.  It was either that or he was merely listening to a loose Jazz trumpet solo.

So what about the 2 guys opposite you may ask?  Well it appeared that one had got dressed in the dark, as he was sporting a fashion faux pas of the highest order…Well, it looked decidedly wrong to me, but what do I know?  Especially as I gave up modelling a few years ago due to me getting fed up with being treated like a piece of meat.  Looking back they were some of the worst years of my life.  I hated the fact that people were only interested in my looks, they didn’t seem to realise I had brains as well as beauty.  Don’t even get me started on having to spend every night out partying with Heidi Klum, Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell et al…  It was a very superficial world and I was glad to get out of it.  I digress…

Anyway, the guy opposite was wearing black trousers with vertical grey pin stripes, so far so Ralph Lauren you might say.  However he had matched the black trousers with vertical grey pin stripes with a black jumper with thick horizontal grey stripes!…This was too much for me to bare.  The combination of vertical and horizontal stripes had driven my eyes into a state of frenzy.  My eyes were crossed and my mind was discombobulated, somehow I had pull myself away from the human magic eye puzzle opposite me and focus on the job at hand, ie staying awake.  I know!  Focus on the wet cat bouncing up and down on a set of bagpipes during a thunderstorm….Ahh, and relax.

I made it!  I was now back in Camden (around 19:30).  I was on a solo mission as sadly nobody else was interested in seeing the bands.  No matter, I didn’t need to hold someone’s hand to Rock out!  First of all time for a swift pint in the pub upstairs, nothing really happened in here I’m afraid.  There may have been a couple of couple’s getting a bit smoochy near me, which was was mildly annoying.  However not as annoying or as unnecessary as seeing a couple in their late 50’s or early 60’s getting smoochy in the swimming pool the other day (Sunday 6th March).  Do I really want to see that?  No!  I’m swimming.  Anyway, I digress.

So pint 1 was consumed, so I headed back down to the Underworld, the scene of the crime barely 3 nights previous.  Pint 2 was bought, merch was avoided as it was expensive and cheap at the same time.  First band up were ‘Burn Alaska Burn’.  Unsure what to say really, they were ok, didn’t really get me going one way or the other.  Back to the bar for pint number 3, then back to watch ‘Carpathian’.  These guys were pretty good, much better than their name suggests, pretty heavy hardcore and very polished considering it was the first night of the tour, infact they sounded the best all evening.

Back to the bar for pint number 4, before watching the main band ‘Defeater’.  For a very heavy hardcore band with incredibly depressing songs and depressing lyrics, they had a very large following of ‘cool’ kids.  If you weren’t wearing a back pack and a hat and weren’t experimenting with a newly grown beard (and that was just the women…Joking) then you weren’t worth knowing.  Nonetheless, the band were pretty good although a short set mixed with long gaps in between songs gave the impression they may not have been quite with it.  A good gig though.

So 23:00hrs and time to hot foot it back to Waterloo and make sure I get the not remotely crazy train back to Basingstoke and at no point fall asleep and wake up in Bournemouth or France.  Stage 1 of Operation ‘Negative Snoozefest’ was to buy the now legendary Taw Valley Cheddar Cheese and Ham Baguette and a full fat sugar rush balls of war bottle of Coke.  Bingo.  Next up, consume them on the train in a timely manner, preferably using my time management skills so as not to finish the food before the train even leaves the station.  At least have something to eat by the time we get to Clapham.  I don’t think I lasted that long…

I could feel myself starting to doze off, dreaming about Heidi Klum and Cindy Crawford playing Jazz trumpet solo’s in the rain  (I don’t think that’s a euphemism, but not sure).  I couldn’t fall asleep on a school night, I had to work the next day.  I couldn’t miss another day of work in case they decided to take my pilots license away.  I decided to stick the Ipod on and crank the volume up 11.  The sheer Rock power was the only force which could keep me awake, and no doubt probably keep the rest of the people in the carriage awake.

‘Welcome to Basingstoke’, get in there!  I had made it, and not only that but I was also back home and tucked up in bed by 00:45.

A true story.