Notingham

I lie awake in Kev’s bed, watching the tv as Kev sleeps uneasily beside me. Thinking about the long day ahead, but pretty relaxed about it. After we play in Nottingham tonight we head straight for Heathrow airport for the seven am flight. Symsey and his gang had the same deal after they played London on Friday and I remember thinking how much that sucked for them then, knowing we’d be in the same position in a couple of days. It’s just sleep though, you can always handle more than you give yourself credit for. Sleep and playing shows are rarely on the same boat.

We take breakfast at the Waiting Room today, sat outside in the sun eating bagels and drinking black coffee. Miles is travelling with us in the van today, he’s coming to the show tonight and then continuing up to his home town of Barnsley for a few days. He’s been in Australia for a while and now he’s back he’s homeless, drifting from sofa to sofa whilst working a few different jobs. Not a situation I envy but he seems ok with it, he’s talking about moving up to Leeds. I’m amazed by the fact that he’s never been to Nottingham.

We can’t get into the Bird’s Nest until midday but we’re in no rush, we don’t have to be at the venue in Nottingham until six according to Andy EGS, although the guys have invited us to a garden barbeque at Jeremie’s place. That would have been really nice to attend, I was there last year with Polly, we had a punks and kids get together at his place with some friends from Nottingham, something that would be nice to make into a yearly tradition. Anyway, with a four hour drive and London traffic to navigate, making it for the barbeque is very unlikely. After picking up the gear from the Nest and dropping most of it off back at Marv’s studio, we say goodbye to the Deptford crew and head over to DIY Space with Kev to pick up a speaker cabinet that Steve from Molluch had left when they played here a few months ago. We’re punk DHSing it up to Nottingham for them, and using it at the gig tonight. We all help each other out, as it should be.

They’re having a clothes swap at DIY Space today, would have been fun to have a deek at, but time pressing we say bye to Kev and make our way north. Kev is looking forward to a well earned relaxing day at Ellie’s. He’s put shows on three nights in a row now and is understandably knackered. It takes a while to get out of London of course, and with me and Gordon sat up front nattering away we miss a couple of turns, which delays things a little. It’s great being able to catch up with Gordon properly though. I’ve kind of been looking forward to this journey today since I knew it would give us the chance to have a good talk, something we don’t get the chance to do all that much anymore. He’s still one of my best mates and we’ve been through so much together in Speedhorn, but life pulls you in different directions and that’s the way it is.

We have a really nice chat during the four hour journey whilst most of the guys snooze wearily in the back of the van. There is a lot of talk about Speedhorn, of course, but not only that, about life in general. About work, ambitions and what we’re hoping to do with the next few years, kids, marriage, the lot. I was Gordon’s best man at his wedding a couple of years ago, and he and Katy are very important people in my life, it’s too bad we don’t get to see each other more than we do. Gords tells me certain things about Speedhorn today that don’t come as any surprise, but it’s nice to hear that in general he’s really happy with how it’s going. We talk about the last record we made, and how in hindsight maybe we should have started a new witha new name before releasing that album. I’m kind of torn on that one. We’re both really proud of that album, and it was a bit of a departure from Speedhorn’s past, but at the same time we finally got the band to where I wanted it to be musically and I’m kind of glad that we put that out as our last album. At the same time, Gordon is right in suggesting that had we started with a new name then then the album would probably have had a bigger lift and we might have carried on longer. But I don’t know, it was probably time to call it a day anyway. As soon as we’d released that album I knew I didn’t want to write an album long distance again, it was far too demanding flying fucking Ryanair to practice over a the period of a year.

Gordon tells me that as much as he’s enjoying Speedhorn again, he still wants to start a new band, do something different. Something which he doesn’t have to run, where he can just play. I totally get that. That’s how I felt when I first started playing in Victims. It felt like such a relief to just play in a band. But of course, after a couple of years of just being a passenger it’s time to step up, and Victims is a band that demands at least a little from everyone. As it should be.

With all this gabbing, we miss the turn for Nottingham off the A14 and get stuck behind a horse transporter on a small narrow lane for about twenty minutes. It’s a bit of a pain in the balls but we get to see some of the English countryside up close. We get to Nottingham just before six, although it takes a while to localise the venue. We played here in 2009 on my first trip to the UK with Victims, but the venue is very anonymous, hidden above a pub on a one way street. We get to the right address anyway and I jump out of the van to find the place when I hear Jeremie shouting me from down the street, big smile on his face as always. Andy, Gords and Steve are just behind him beginning the load out into the small alleyway beside the venue. It’s good to see these guys again. It’s a great feeling organising shows with friends. I’ve said it fuck knows how many times but the thing I love more than anything about playing DIY shows is that in every town you get to meet good friends. And tonight that is very much the case with EGS and Skiplickers playing, plus a bunch of other friends who live in Nottingham coming to the show. Shame we’ll have to leave right after the gig…

We load the gear up three flights of stairs to the small function room above the cafe/bar above the pub. Henry Molluch from the 539 Collective who booked the show tonight has tubs of warm kale stew with him and Jeremie has brought a bag with a few leftover beers from the barbeque. The food is great, and this bottle of Hot Mint sauce takes the fucker over the edge. Absolutely stunning. I hadn’t planned on drinking at all tonight, the thought of feeling booze groggy at the airport in the middle of the night not particularly appealing, but it’s pretty balmy in here and the early evening sun is shining through the windows of the cafe. A bottle of San Miguel hits the sweet spot, it turns out. There’s even room for a second.

My old childhood friend James turns up and we catch up for a bit, always great to see him. We had our first band together, Morphine. We’ve both come a long way since then. James tells me that his band Grey Hairs has just recorded a new record. Looking forward to that. Steve Molluch is also here, he’s very happy about his cab being returned. He’s always smiling anyway, always got a cheeky look on his face.

After eating we take a walk around the city centre in the last of the daylight. It’s a very pleasant June evening here in Robin Hood town. There are people sat at tables outside of all the pubs and I could easily take a place at any one of them. How I now wish we were flying back later tomorrow. I’d seen Gords and Steve outside the pub beside the venue earlier drinking two of the most gorgeous looking pints of pilsner I’ve ever seen. Fucking gagging. But with two in the system already I knew I’d have to leave it. Gords follows us as we stroll around, we take a deek at the castle where of course there is a pub with a load of people sat outside enjoying themselves. We went to this very pub when we were here with DB a couple of years ago. It claims it’s the oldest pub in Nottingham, almost nine hundred years old. That’s quite amazing really. Funny, I swear the pub beside the venue had the same claim written on it’s facade too..

Anyway, time getting on, we head back to the venue, I don’t want to miss any of the bands tonight. Gords heads back to his van for a bit of kip so he’s rested up enough to catch us play later and then drive us three hours to Heathrow. When we get back the Skiplickers guys are hanging outside, I clock Weird Chris first in the gang mulling around outside. It’s good to see him and Bry. They ask how the London shows were, I tell them they were good. The DIY Space show was really fun, lots of people I tell them. “Did you enjoy some cucumber water?” snorts Weird Chris. He’s an outspoken critic of London in general and has previously made his feeling clear about DIY Space. God knows. To my amusement Bry says that he’s played there a few times and really liked the venue, Chris doesn’t look convinced. We head inside just as the first band start playing. You wouldn’t have known it since the cafe bar still has music playing, which seems a bit cack but then I guess there isn’t a bar upstairs and they want to keep people here drinking. I head up at the faint sound of drums and I’m a little surprised to see EGS already into their set. The small room is almost full. Henry sat by the door gives me a satisfied nod as I shuffle into the room.

EGS are absolutely superb tonight. The majority of the material they play is from their newly recorded album. It sounds fucking brilliant! Can’t wait to hear it when it’s out. Sometimes you forget what a fucking drummer Steve is. I mean, you don’t forget, he’s Steve from Heresy, an absolute legend, but he’s so unassuming, at least when he’s sober. I can’t take my eyes of him whilst they play, just a phenomenal drummer. But then Andy and Gords are both pretty fucking masterful on their instruments too. It’s an absolute pleasure watching them play, I wanting to just get up on stage and play now. Andy takes time out between songs to mention the seven inch they’re selling to help fund Victims, and then he speaks about how the song from it is about testosterone foaming bullies who infringe people’s lives with violence. He notes that this very town has it’s fair share of scum who thrive on making other’s lives miserable. “Fuck em, just fuck em”, he shakes his head solemly before furiously screaming the lyrics to the song whilst playing at breakneck speed. Blows me away, and at the same time leaves me pondering what he’d said.

Gords also takes some time later in the set to touch upon a poignant subject, namely the sudden passing of an absolute legend of the scene, Brandon Ferrell. Brandon was really young and suddenly, heartbreakingly left the world, leaving young twins and a wife behind. Vik was friends with him and he’s been really down about it. A lot of people have. It’s so sad. Brandon was an amazingly talented musician and songwriter, leaving a superb catalogue behind him with bands like Direct Control, Wasted Time and Government Warning, to name but a few. Nobody seems to really know what happened yet but it’s left a lot of people gutted, he’s one of those who had friends all over the world, many of my friends among them. Gords gives a heartfelt speech about how horrible it is to lose someone so important from the scene, people our age who just, die. After some gentle applause EGS go into their last song, a longish song from the new record that has a hint of Killing Joke about it. Brilliant way to end the set.

I’d been really looking forward to seeing Obstuct, who were added quite late to the bill, I really like their lp. But unfortunately their set is hindered by various technical problems tonight. The crowd is in full attendance and willing but it doesn’t quite get going. First off the one guitarist breaks a string, and not having a spare guitar takes a painfully long time changing a string, which drags out over three or four songs. He doesn’t look rushed in the slightest. It’s not too bad since they have two guitars anyway, but then the singer’s mic lead starts cutting out without him seeming to notice so they do a couple of songs with only three of the five members playing. They are really good though and the songs they do all play together sound great. The bass player has a great Totalitär t-shirt too. The thing that surprises me is how young they all look. And they also have a young kid with them, obviously a mate travelling with them, who is done up in all the right skinhead attire. I must be at least fifteen years older than this crew. Weird, I always assume everyone is the same age as me. Before they started I’d caught up with Avi, the Dry Heaves singer a little. Always a pleasure. He’s driving Obstruct and he tells me they’d came down from a Glasgow show the night before. That’s a good old drive.

Skiplickers, and Bry in particular, are as spot on as ever. Just a really solid d-beat band, but Bry’s persona gives them something extra. What a great fucking line up tonight is, a pleasure to be involved. Bry says between songs that the first time they played this venue was in 2008, which surprises me a little since I didn’t realise they’d been going that long. I think they’ve only released two seven inches in that time! “We probably played this song that night anyway,” says Bry as they blast into the last banger of the set. Proper fucking good!

We get set up as quickly as possible once Skiplickers are done. The room isn’t all the full by the time we start with Death Do Us Part, I’d suspected this would be the case, but by the time we get a few songs into the set the room is absolutely full. I love floor shows. I can only see the front row of people, where Jeremie is stood in the middle, watching Johan’s mic stand, as is Steve Molluch who is clenching his fist, lapping it up. I spot James just hidden in the second row, keeping a solid eye on me, as well as Gords Speedhorn stood up on a stool near the back as well as Gords EGS who is stood up high at the back taking photos. It sounds absolutely perfect when we play, the set just plays itself and leaves me the freedom to just flail around and enjoy every second of it. About half way through the set, as people are rolling around on hands holding them aloft, a wave of people come crashing on the “stage” and fall into Johan. I notice Jeremie picking them all up and placing his foot at the bottom of Johan’s mic stand to try and prevent Johan getting any teeth knocked out during the rest of the set. It’s a really, really fun show. I’m a little disappointed when I see Andy giving me the cutthroat sign afterwards as people are shouting for more, I guess he’s feeling fucked.

Jon is chuffed afterwards, he comes up and says some old boy had approached him as he was packing up and said, “I saw Discharge five times before they were shit and they blew me away. Tonight, you guys blew me away”. Strong words. As I head downstairs to take care of merch I pass Henry in the doorway looking chuffed, “Sold out on a Sunday night, can’t ask for more than that!”

I hang out downstairs with Gords and James, sweating my ass off whilst trying to participate in the conversation. Jon arrives with a perfectly chilled can of Bulmer’s cider in his paw. It’s about the best thing I’ve ever tasted. It’s enough with a sip though, we’re leaving soon and I can’t be arsed stopping for constant piss breaks on the way to the airport. The night seems to end very suddnenly and I don’t really get the chance to hang out with the Nottingham crew afterwards. I chat a little while to Kellp Apple, who has moved here from London since we last met, she seems to be doing well, seems happy. It’s quite nice to stand and talk about other things than just punk. She’s asking about how the family are and things went with school. She does take the time to bash the whole Temples thing though, she’s been an active combatant to the whole sham online, calling the asshole out who has fucked over a lot of people. Good on her. We, like many other friends, have been shafted by that guys ego. Although hopefully this weekend has gone some way to making us some of that lost money back. I really can’t afford to do this and lose money, which I do simply by coming away since most of the extra work available to me being a student, is at the weekends. So I’m double fucked. On that note, Andy EGS gives me fifty quid from sales of the limited seven inch he did for tonight. By that, I am truly, truly humbled. What a beautiful gesture.

It feels like it’s been a little too brief, Nottingham. It feels like before we know it everyone is packed up and ready to go. Gords EGS has made us some of his infamous keyrings, custom Victims ones. With that as a parting gift we get the van around to the venue and make to go. I’m still wearing my soaked through Paranoid t-shirt when we leave, I make a mental note to change that when we make a stop for petrol. I sit up front with Gords and chat for a while. He tells me it’s weird seeing me playing in another band, but at the same time he really loves it. He’s raving about this weekend, he says he’s had a really good time watching us every night. It’s been great hanging out with him. I’m so grateful to him for helping us out.

When we pull over for a gas stop I change tops, it’s fucking cold now and I’m freezing as I switch. I head into the garage shop and pick up a couple of packets of crisps for supper. We chat for a little while longer once back on the M1 until Gords kindly tells me to get my head down and kip. There’s a pillow laying on the front seat that Gords tells me belongs to Paul Cook, the Sex Pistols drummer. He’s been out in Gords’ van recently. Funny that. Cookie’s pillow comes in just handy. I close my eyes and the next time I open them time has moved on three hours and we’re pulling into Heathrow airport. It’s now three am. Check in for our flight begins at five. We line up to give Gords some hugs and thank him again. He says he’s going to give heading straight back to Cardiff a go since Katy is home for the night before heading off to Leeds for her next job.

I’m fucking freezing as we walk towards the departure hall. It’s the tiredness more than the temperature itself I think, although the we’re all shivering as we walk across the road. With not much to do, we print out our boarding cards and find some floor to sleep on. The lights in the hall were dimmed just nicely as we entered but of course, as soon as we lay down they brighten. I’m not sure if I get any more sleep, it’s hard to tell. The others seem to be clocked out though.

We wake at five and head through security after dropping our bags and we’re on the flight to Oslo at seven. I sleep pretty much the whole way. We have only a short stop there of forty five minutes and we’re on the short flight from Oslo to Stockholm at ten am. I decide from there on in there is no point in sleeping any more and order the first coffee of the day, the first of many that will be needed for the day ahead. It’s Sweden National Day today and everyone is off, including Polly, who will want to play when I get home.

I sit by the window next to a couple of women. The middle aged woman sat in the middle seat pulls out her laptop and begins to type furiously, she’s completely immersed in her work. She doesn’t look up once during the entire flight, not during take off, not as the wheels touch back down. I can’t help but look what is so engrossing. I’m a bit taken aback by it all. It seems very much like she’s writing a letter to her husband, Gustav, telling him that their marriage is over. It’s a very depressing letter, full of self loathing. I notice the woman in the aisle seat has put her book to rest and is now looking horrified at the woman’s laptop. The letter writer is hardly being bashful about writing this thing. Poor Gustav.

Fucking weird end to a hazy journey home.

Sheffield

Wake up and reach straight for the headache pills.  It’s nothing major, just a little tingling behind the eyes, enough to warrant a pill though.  Those of us with kids were talking yesterday about how no matter what time you hit the lights you still wake up early, the old body clock set to dad.  I check on Andy, his eyes are closed but I can tell he’s awake.

I give sleeping another go but it’s no good.  I give up and jump in the shower before heading downstairs to see if there’s anyone up for taking some air.  The sun is shining and I could do with a brisk walk to brush off those remaining cobwebs that the shower missed.  Karl and Alec are alive and up for it so we head down the road to see what’s about and end up in a café.  There’s a rumour that Flash is cooking up some breakfast later but there’s no telling how long that will be, judging by the chorus of snores in the house it’s going to be a while.  The café looks pretty decent and I order some poached eggs on toast.  It’s pretty disappointing though.  The toast is dry as sand and the eggs are petite, to say the least.  Still, nice to get away for a bit.

We head back to Flash’s where people are beginning to stir.  Kev looks fresh enough despite last night’s over indulgence.  I head into the dining room where Flash has put a veggie buffet on, looks fucking amazing. Those who are awake are mulling around the table, picking it to pieces.  Under the table lies Jon, fast asleep in his sleeping bag, completely oblivious.  Even when he stirs a short while later he just lies there rubbing his beetroot red face for the best part of five minutes.  Jamie catches me looking at him and smiles.  He tells me that Jon was stoating about the house last night confused and he stood right on him before falling flat on his ass.  He says he heard him later on in the kitchen taking what he imagines to be a slash into a can or a bottle; the sound of running liquid was interrupted by the sound of pouring every ten seconds or so explains Jamie. Jon eventually pulls himself to his feet and starts telling Jamie how he’d been sleep walking last night, says he always sleep walks when he’s had a drink and that if he doesn’t then he wakes up with an anxiety attack instead.  Fuck knows.  Jamie then points at his trainers and tells Jon how he’d also lent them in the middle of the night and fucked off into the back garden in them.  Jon just looks at me with the usual look of confused amazement.

Out of politeness I help myself to a plate of food from Flash’s buffet but I can’t manage much.  It’s far, far better than the eggs I’d eaten earlier.  Wish I’d waited.  Bad tour economics right there.  We hang out for a while in the front room waiting for everyone to ready themselves, me, Karl and Kev talking about the great emo bands of the Nineties like Moss Icon and the scene in the UK at the time with brilliant bands like Bob Tilton, Baby Harp Seal and Karl’s old band Tribute.  It’s soon time to get moving and we line up outside the van with the Link guys, Flash’s girlfriend and Skit, who Flash keeps shouting at in what sounds like Czech, but I’m not sure, and take a couple of pics.  A permanent reminder of a very nice evening.

The drive up to Sheffield takes around four hours with a couple of stops.  The weather is pretty schizophrenic, one second it’s sunny, the next the sky goes all fucking Mordor and the van is being pelted with hail and snow.  It goes back and forth like this pretty much the whole journey.  The van the guys have hired is a real top-end Sprinter, complete with TV and DVD player.  Kev has brought some discs with him and I think mainly to shock the Swedes, Karl puts on a couple of episodes from the second season of the British cult classic Love Thy Neighbour.  The racial humour in that show would simply not be tolerated today, even though the joke is of course on the racist character played by Jack Smethurst.  It pretty much goes right over the heads of the Swedes.  After a couple of episodes we switch to a documentary about the early years of Iron Maiden, something we can all fully appreciate.  Someone mentions that Steve Harris is supposedly a right homophobic twat though.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he is a bit of a cock since he’s openly admitted his hate for punk rock.

We pull up outside the venue around three pm, about three hours to spare until we load in.  It’s as cold as a witch’s tit up North, the kind of chill that forces your shoulders to hunch up in knots.  We sort the parking ticket out and head in to town in search of food.  It’s a shame it’s so fucking freezing because it would have been nice with a walk otherwise.  Jamie lived here for a couple of years so we follow his guide to a vegetarian café called the Blue Moon.  It takes a bit of a while for him to pin the place down but it’s worth it when he eventually does.  I opt for a mushroom and leak cheese bake which shows itself to be a superb choice.  We’re sat around various tables in the café enjoying the warmth as much as the food.  Jon takes a beer of course, as soon as I saw that they had Samuel Smiths Pale Ale on sale I knew Jon would be taking one, I was tempted myself in truth but decided that I needed some food in me before embarking on booze. Niki Nailbomb is sat at a table on his own when Jon approaches him and asks if he’s like some company. Before long they’re in to full flown conversation.  Niki comes up to me afterwards, “Ee’s alright that boy, we ave a common love of Yoof ov Today!”  Seems like the two of them have hot if off.

When we’re done at the café we walk over to the Crucible Theatre so Jon can have his picture taken in front of it, being a big snooker fan.  He stands there in his big sheepskin coat and Bolt Thrower beanie hat with a glowing smile as Kev snaps away.  As we’re waiting around Niki is talking with the other guys about his plans for getting home tomorrow after the gig, figuring out the earliest possible train he can take after Disculpe have played and when that will get him back to his beloved Southend.  Karl, shaking his head, “It’s amazing that you actually like playing in bands!”

“I dan’t really!  I just like the moosic.”  We all crack up laughing.  Kev points out that the main thing Niki is interested in is being on records and getting his hands on a copy.  We head back to the venue; Bryan and Avi are there setting things up.  It’s great to see them as always.  Tonight’s lineup is really strong and it should be a great night.  Link are playing again and then there is War All The Time and Bryan’s own band Skiplickers, both of which are really great.  I tell Bryan that we had some food at the Blue Moon Café and he laughs, telling me that the food they’ve got for tonight is coming from the very same place.  I think I’ve got room for more anyway.  The space the guys have got here is really cool.  It’s a unit on a little industrial backstreet just off the city center.  There is a small narrow room with some sofas in it as you enter and then a larger, square room off to that with a low stage along the far wall and a bar off to the side.  I think the guys have a studio upstairs since there is a white board in the first room with a recording schedule on it with all the guys bands booked in; Dry Heaves, Skiplickers, Detergents.  What a great little scene they have here.   We load in pretty quick anyway and then with not much more to do we decide to head for a beer.  There is a pub, The Lord Nelson, right next door.

Bryan assured us the place was alright but I’m a little tentative after peaking in through the door.  It’s a pretty small place and there’s a right rowdy crowd of middle aged chavs in there.  I open the front door and, “Come on you fucking twat!” pours out.  I hope they’re shouting at the horses on the box.  We think about heading somewhere else because the last thing I can be arsed with is hassle, I just want to sit down with a pint, but on reflection we didn’t pass that many decent looking places on our excursion earlier so we decide to take the chance.  Jamie leads the way without the slightest suggestion of hesitation.  “I lived in Bermondsey for long enough,” he chirps.

The pissed up crowd at the one end of the bar don’t even register us as we walk in.  There is a large, deserted alcove off to the side with a bunch of free tables so we head for there.  The landlord is a friendly enough looking guy who seems to be doing a gallant job of humouring the rabble he’s been left with.  There is plenty of good beer on tap and I go for a pint of Old Speckled Hen.  Two quid seventy.  Fucking dancer. It tastes like pure heaven too.  We’re sat there for about half hour when Bryan comes in and tells us the food is ready.  I’m just about to purchase another brew though, I really fucking fancy it, although I feel bad about not going to show my appreciation for the hot food.  I decide to make the second pint a quick one.  It’s really relaxed sitting there having a drink with everyone though, it’s warm in here, a lot warmer than the venue, and there is good cheap beer on tap.  Johan seems to be pretty relaxed today, he’s on to his third and is wearing a sly smile.  Jon and Niki are in full conversation about hardcore, new best mates, much to everyone else’s amusement.  The jukebox is playing crappy songs from the Eighties, really loudly and the shower are singing along.  And then a Bob Marley song comes on and they all start shouting along in diabolical Jamaican accents.  And lo and behold a black guy comes in and they all start cheering, pure delight at the sight of him.  “Jamaica!!!” one of them guffaws, holding his arms out to the guy for a hug.  The guy just smiles uncomfortably.  With that I decide it’s time to go see to that food.

Even though it’s lukewarm the veggie lasagna hits the spot, even if the spot is pretty small.  Karl has come with since he was also feeling guilty about not eating the grub.  Besides the food Bryan has got a couple of crates of beer in for the bands.  I’m sure it’s getting better in the country, free beer and food on the DIY scene wasn’t always a given, at least not beer.  It’s still pretty cold in the venue though since it’s not open yet so the cold beer takes a while to go down.  I think about heading back to the pub but decide against because it’s going to be another three or four hours until we play and I’m already on three beers, which is closing in on my limit.  I decide I’ll have another when Disculpe play.

The venue fills up pretty quick.  There must be a good two hundred people.  The first band is some doom/post metal/punk three piece whatever from Holland.  They’re not bad in all fairness but they don’t really hold my attention.  The main thing I notice is that the sound from the PA is pretty strong.  My friend Jeremié who sings in the band Beast as God has made the trip up from Nottingham and I spend most of the Dutch band’s set talking to him.  I’m shocked when I notice he attaches a couple of hearing aids to his ears, before I can form the question he nods his head in resignation.  Fuck.  He tells me all about it, how he’s been through the emotional ringer with it.  I can’t fucking believe it.  It’s a bit of a wake-up call to be honest, is this what lies in store for me too?  First Jos, now Jeremié, our friends in the scene are succumbing to it.  My tinnitus is constant these days but it’s still at a level I can zone out.  After speaking to Jeremié it makes me wonder how much longer that will be.  I don’t have ear plugs with me on this trip either.. I thought I’d made an adult step a few years ago by making sure I always have them in at the practice space since that is the most punishing environment we work in.  Still, Jeremié seems to be dealing with it pretty well now and we’re soon on to discussing happier topics, like our kids.

Disculpe are up next, and there I am, stood right in front of the PA stack on the left, no ear plugs.  It’s great watching them play, this is one of the best bands Kev has done in a while.  Funny watching Karl prowl around the floor in front of the stage, he looks like an enraged bin man on steroids.  Fucking awesome. There is great energy on the stage from Alec and Jamie too which looks ace with Kev stood there concentrating on the numbers on the back of his bass neck, he’s getting better all the time though, he actually looks the part now.  Some of Niki’s mates are in the crowd, shouting at him between songs, they look like a right crowd of piss takers.

Skiplickers are up next and being the home town kings the place is packed for them.  But fuck me, they fucking destroy.  Bryan is a great front man, full of energy.  The band are tight as a duck’s arse and they simply tear the place up.  I met Weird Chris right before he went on stage, he showed me his chest and the one straggly little hair sticking out the middle of it, placed right in the centre of a tattoo of stars and clouds, “I’ve been growing this out for tonight” he says.  Weird Chris…The crowd really kick off for Skiplickers, who are one of the best bands doing this style I've see for a while.  Boulty, our mate from Stuck on a Name in Nottingham, is here, towering above the crowd, fucking streamboats chugging on a bottle of Buckfast or something.  At one point he sprays the fucker all over the place and soaks every fucker around him.  I see that white foam spray heading right at me but it lands in Russ Stalingrad's eye which is blocking it's path towards me.  Boulty carries on, oblivious.

I have to say I’m a little disappointed by War All the Time.  I mean, I really like the LP they put out a few years ago, real nice Totalitär vibe on it, but live it’s a bit still.  Rob, the singer who used to be in the legendary band Kito, looks like a fucking monster with a wide eyed stare partnered with a menacing smile, daring anyone to take him on, but he doesn’t do much else.  To be fair, the sound isn’t the best, very muddy, which doesn’t help.  I laugh to Johan just before they start, you’d be hard pushed to find a more British looking band.  Don’t get me wrong, their set is fine, I was just expecting something else I guess.  Bryan Skiplickers is right down front dancing away the whole set, encouraging others to join him.  That warms my heart somewhat.

I don’t catch much of the Link set again, I’m out in the van for a chunk of it, talking with Karl who is wrapped up in his sleeping bag, lying there in the dark.  It is fucking freezing here in Sheffield.  Living in Sweden you’d think we’d be used to this but the cold on this island is a different beast.  Even if it’s technically warmer here than it is back home, the rawness of the moist island air tears you to fucking shreds. I head back into the venue and catch up with Gords from EGS/Geriatric Unit, he’d managed to find a lift up here.  He’s telling me it was touch and go whether he’d make it because his neck is fucked and he can’t drive.  I have to crack up, we’re all falling apart at the seams, us old punks.  I catch the end of the Link set, sounds pretty good, plenty loud enough anyway.  Niki is hanging out with his mates, cider can in hand, looking chuffed.  “Ad a bit more to drink tonight, getting’ pissed!” he laughs.

So it’s time for us to play.  The place is full, it sounds good up on stage, I’ve had a few beers but, not too many, just enough to loosen me up, and I feel ready for this.  Once we’re set we give Andy the nod and he counts us into the AC/DC style rumble we begin the set with.  It’s met with a big cheer and a feeling of impending crowd participation.  We blast into Death Do Us Part and about ten seconds in I notice, just out of the corner of my eye, a wave of punks flooding towards the stage, I can see they’re going to land on Johan but it happens so fast I don’t have time to react.  Johan goes down under a pile of bodies and with them the drum kit.  Me and Jon are left feedbacking and looking on in amazement as Bryan and Jeremié rush to Johan’s aid and Andy pieces his kit back together.  So this is how it’s going to be?  Fuck me!  Johan pulls himself and the mic stand upright again, he’s got a slight cut above the eye but he’s wearing a smile, and we let the feedback ring until Andy starts the song again.  For the rest of the gig Bryan and Jeremié are right in front of the stage, dancing and fist pumping whilst simultaneously acting as a barrier to block inrushing punks from hitting the stage.  They succeed for the most part but a few get through now and again.  Fuck knows how many times during the thirty minutes Johan gets the mic fucked off his mouth.  Quite simply, it’s a great fucking gig.

As soon as Avi realizes we’re not playing any extra songs he puts the disco into action, now playing cheesy pop/dance songs which suit the situation perfectly.  Everyone immediately starts to dance.  We chill out with a couple of beers after the gig but the whole time we have in mind the fact that we’re driving back to London tonight.  Bryan had asked me a couple of weeks ago if we wanted to stay at his and party, something I would have happily agreed to, but Kev is insistent that we have to head back to London tonight.  It is he who is putting the show on tomorrow and being that he’s booked about a hundred bands to play with us he has to be there relatively early to arrange everything.  Except now Kev is pissed up and mingling away. Jamie comes over around one am and tells me it’s time to move.  Jamie’s the poor bastard who has to drive tonight.  As it is, Avi brings the disco to an end anyway, “That was the last song for tonight folks, thanks for coming down now fuck off!”  Brilliant.

Of course, the last in the van is Kev.  I was leaving with him and he got stuck talking to some old bird on the way out.  When he finally arrives he’s met with a piss taking jeer from the rest of us.  “Well fucking excuse me for trying to have some fun!” he moans, and then continues to mumble under his breath about how he thought playing in a band was supposed to be fun, until we reach the city limits.

We hit the motorway and the van turns quiet, except for Alec’s hard rock classics mix on his phone, which he has playing up front beside Jamie.  A couple of hours in I can tell Niki, who is sat behind Alec, is getting twitchy,  “Are you gonna be playing that fucking music all night?”  Alec just looks at him, totally baffled by the question.

We stop a couple of times on the way back, each time the door opens the cold sends the body into shock.  I waste some money on a putrid portion of French Fries from McDonalds on one occasion but for the most part I just sit in the back, not sure whether I’m sleeping or not, somewhere in the haze I hear Jon's voice beside me going on about how's he's starting an Oi band with Niki.  I start to life around five am when we get back into London. Jamie must be fucking knackered, you can tell by the way he’s throwing the van around the deserted streets of London like a rally car.  It’s five fifteen when we get to Kev’s, my knees are aching from the strained position I’ve been sat semi-sleeping in for the last four hours.  Kev’s hard living room floor has rarely been so inviting.