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…