London

So much for plans. Our ten thirty flight became a three thirty flight. First world problems I know but still, a bit of a fucking pisser. We’d planned to spend the afternoon in Deptford with our friends, hanging out in the sun, eating dinner at Alec and Mucky’s new pub the Full Nelson, bit of record shopping at DIY Space maybe? Nah, flight is fucking delayed five hours. Still, we got a couple of hundred kronor food coupons to get some scran whilst we sat waiting by the gate. Vik spent his on beer, Luc on croissants and me on a selection of snacks, one item of which a packet of dried almonds that had no salt or oil and literally likened eating wood chips.

The atmosphere by the gate was tetchy, tempers were frayed. People get so wound up over delayed flights and the poor bastards manning the gate were taking it from all sides. When the two thirty pm London flight ended up leaving before ours it drove a pair of ladies mad, they couldn’t believe that they wouldn’t just let us take that flight instead. As if that’s how it works. Like Vik said, typical behaviour from people who don’t travel that often. It was a relief to finally get going though. The flight over was pretty nice anyway, we were on a brand new plane, actually the first ever passengers on it. Never experienced that before. We get talking on the plane, debating the likelihood of Kev retiring from the whole punk thing within the next few years. He seems to have been on a bit of a disconnect with new stuff recently, moaning saying that the only bands he likes are DB and Herätys. Plus he seems to have really gotten into the whole black magic, witchcraft thing pretty heavily and he joked the other day about retiring after DB tour Japan in a couple of years, something Vik has been speaking about trying to sort out with the Kriegshög guys. There is some humming and hawing whilst the debate goes on and we all agree that if he does then he’s certainly given a heroic service to the scene this last thirty years. I mean, he is almost fifty for fuck sakes, it wouldn’t be that surprising if the end was in sight…

We landed around four thirty and were getting off the train in New Cross around an hour and half later. Kev texted telling us to come straight to the rehearsal place. We were pretty fucking tempted to stop off at the Albert pub on the way though. That wouldn’t have impressed Kev too much, he’d already been making trips back and forth to the Bird’s Nest, lugging gear for the show tonight. Would have been a right piss take to stop for a pint.

We met up with Kev at John Conflict’s studio, him and John sat outside drinking a beer. Always great to see John. We had a quick chat with him and then pushed a guitar amp and cab up the road to the Nest. Luc and I went back to Kev’s to pick up guitars. I haven’t seen my red SG in a couple of years and I wasn’t sure how it was feeling. The strings were fucking minging, totally rusty, and the strap smelt like disease, but hopefully a bit of touching up and it would be okay. Last time I played it it sounded shit though, I hope it works out. It’s nice to sit at Kev’s for a bit, but before getting too comfortable we pull ourselves out off the sofa and walk down the road to the Nest. Vik and Kev are sat with Jonah from Fucked Up/Career Suicide having a beer. He lives in London with his wife who is from here, they live on a canal boat and have to move every two weeks. Pretty cool. He’s known Vik for years and biked over here to see us play tonight. We order some dinner from the bar and a beer and head outside to make the most of the fading sun. It’s still pretty warm and for the first time today I feel completely relaxed.

Whilst we’re stood drinking Bird’s Nest IPA and waiting for our food to arrive Jen calls saying Polly wants to say goodnight. They’ve just done with her bedtime story and they’re about to turn the lights out. It’s really wonderful that Polly is now at the age that you can talk to her on the phone. I talk with her for about twenty seconds before she cuts me off, “I want to say goodnight to Lucas and Viktor. Put Lucas on first and then Viktor”. I have to interrupt Lucas and Jonah’s conversation and give him the phone, Luc asks me who it is but I just give him the phone without saying anything. Luc looks a little confused, “Hello?.... Heeeeeey Polly!” a big smile breaking out on his face. And then it’s Vik’s turn. Jonah understands what’s going on and says, “Oh my God, that’s so beautiful!”

We end up getting a table, it’s pretty busy so we squeeze in amongst some other guys. It feels like everyone who is sat out here have been here all afternoon. This young Irish guy in a bright orange building site jacket is eyeing us up, obviously a bit boats. It’s the usual, “Are you guys a band?” and “Where are you guys from?” stuff but it turns out he’s actually a really nice guy. This builder associate of his, some Italian guy starts spouting some racist shite at this beggar guy who comes around and the Irish guy, Joe, gives him a slap and asks him why the fuck he’s saying that shit. Italian is steaming and just mumbles, “I’m bored”.. He starts trying to talk to me and I tell bluntly I’m not interested in talking to him. We shunt him out and engage fully in conversation with Joe for a half hour or so, me, Luc, Vik and Jonah. I feel kinda sorry for Joe, he has a real melancholy vibe about him. He’s pretty pissed though, so it’s probably got a lot to do with that.

After the food I head back into the pub and downstairs to the cellar to change the strings on my guitar, doing my best to scrape the rust off of the pickups whilst I’m at it. I miss a couple of the bands that are playing upstairs during the time it takes, they sound pretty good too. Jamie comes down after a while and I sit catching up with him for about twenty minutes. It’s been ages and it’s really nice to see him. When I’m done with the guitar I head up to the pub with Jamie and watch his band Split Veins play their set. There aren’t exactly loads of people in whilst they play. There are a few hanging outside still and all of our crew haven’t arrived from the Nelson yet, they’re all either working or hanging out there. Kev is looking a little stressed, reasoning to himself, “It is Thursday after all. Fuck knows.” I enjoy Split Veins set anyway, they sound great. Carlos has a great voice. The few that are there watching in the tiny little space in front of the stage start moshing and before I know some punk has spilt his pint all over my arm. Wonderful. He apologises for about the next five minutes, seemingly unwilling to accept my assurances that’s ok. I eventually move off to the side and watch the rest of the gig, gutted that my nice grey sweatshirt is covered in stinking beer.

We get set up pretty much straight after Split Veins finish since the music has to be done by eleven and it’s getting on. I guess the short set is always an advantage in these situations. The family start arriving as we’re setting up anyway, Karl and Jules, Alex, Viv has been here a while and Misa is walking around with two pints laughing at everything. The sound guy is some old boy who used to play in Ozric Tentacles and he’s being a bit pissy because a mic seems to be missing. Luc doesn’t have one and he’s moaning saying that one has been nabbed or something. It seems to resolve itself soon enough though. After the most basic of line checks we’re good to go. I give Vik a quick look, tell him to watch the tempo, and we blast into Viles. From the very first moment you can feel it’s going to be one of those really fun shows. The space is pretty packed now and people are flying about. During the second song Kev gets thrown into me as I’m facing Vik’s drum kit and I in turn fall into Vik’s crash cymbal knocking it over into the wall. Vik doesn’t notice until he goes to hit it and only finds air where the cymbal should be. Love it.

Normally we play really fast, like too fast, because we get carried away, which means that a lot of our shows I struggle to enjoy because I only end up playing half of the notes, and it’s not that fun feeling like you’re playing really sloppy. Tonight it’s perfect. And my guitar sound is good too. Pretty clean in contrast to Luc’s bass which is simply screaming out of the amp he’s lent. People seem to be having a really good time too and I spot Jonah stood right in front of Luc with a huge smile in his face, filming certain songs. We play sixteen songs in about twenty two minutes, which must be a record for us.

Afterwards we pack up, sell some records and then head down to the basement to gather our stuff, once we’re dried off. Jonah is there and is telling us it sounded like good old Cleveland hardcore, which will do for me. We get talking about other things and then somewhere in the mix someone mentions that we’re having a party for me and Kev next year, fortieth and fiftieth respectively. Jonah looks shocked as fuck, “Wait a minute! There’s no way Kev is fifty! He’s not a day over twenty nine!” Kev looks at him, puts his arm around Jonah and then looks at us, “I like your mate now Vik. I thought he was a cunt at first!” We all burst out laughing, none more so than Jonah.

We get paid and get sorted. The Bird’s Nest staff are getting a bit annoyed with the time it’s taking to clear the place and keep shouting at us to move. The thing is the kick drum pedal from Kev’s kit has gone, someone must have taken it by mistake and left the Nest’s inhouse pedal. Trying to work out what to do Kev asks Vik, “Is the Nest’s one better than ours?” Vik looks at the sorry thing stood on the floor, puts his foot on and tests it out. It literally falls apart. “That’s no good”, affirms Johna. We decide that Luc and I will push the cab and amp back to John’s studio whilst they sort this shit out and then we’ll all meet at the Full Nelson where they’re having a lock-in in our honour. It’s fucking raining when we wheel the amp out though so we have to lend a plastic bag to drape over the amp to keep it dry. We push it down the high street cracking up at the situation.

We get back to the studio and hang out with John and Sarah for a little while. John tells us he’s making one of the practice room into a gig space soon and we should come over and play. Would be great. Sarah is offering an assortment of olives and humus around but we’re in a rush to get to the Nelson and hang out. We say bye and head back up to New Cross High Street. The bar the guys have is fucking magic. First time I’ve been since they opened. It’s really small and intimate and looks like a bar you’d find in New York’s Lower East side or something. All of our friends are here and the atmosphere is brilliant. Vik and Jonah are both looking pretty sauced, Vik smiling broadly telling me to get a pint of the Gamma Ray IPA. I’ve only had the one pint all day and I feel fresh as a daisy. Was really nice playing a show completely sober, Now I’m ready for a nice beer. And fuck me, it tastes like heaven.

It’s really nice being sober amongst everyone when everyone is drunk. I love these people and I enjoy drinking a couple of pints of superb beer whilst making sure I get around to have a good fifteen/twenty minute chat with most of them. Tobs, Karl, Jules, Viv, Alec, Sean, Misa, as well as chatting with Luc, Vik and Jonah at the table we’re sat at. This is the perfect end to the night. I barely see Kev though, he’s at the other end of the short narrow room, eyes all wonky chatting to some girls. Ordering my second pint I have a really good chat with Alec who despite working behind the bar is pretty sauced. It’s his pub, I guess he can do what he wants. As we’re talking a couple of guys who were at the gig are stood just down the bar, really pissed and lively. They nudge one of the metal drip trays off the bartop and it makes a crash on the floor behind the bar. Alec gives them the evil eye for a brief moment and they look over at him like a pair of kids who know they’ve just made dad angry. Alec walks over silently, picks the tray up and then slams it down on the bartop right in front of them with an almighty crash, stares at them with a look that could freeze water, and then walks back over to me and continues telling me about life with his new baby boy.

After a couple of beers it’s time to head down the road to Kev’s. There have been some shots going around that I’ve happily avoided and now Vik is looking fucked. His eyes are barely half open and he’s sat beside me, nudging me as I talk to someone moaning, “Gaz, are we going down the road?” I tell him yes, in a minute. But seconds later he’s repeating the question, slightly more annoyed. I tell him yes and go look for Kev to get his keys. Kev is properly pissed, hanging out with some girl, slurring all over the place he says to me, “Pappa”. I laugh at him, asking what he’s going on about. “You are the pappa int you. You are always the pappa in the band. Is it ok if stay out for a bit?  I’m onto something here”, a pissed smirk peeling out of his mouth. I tell him it’s no problem of course and ask him if they’re going to be getting it on back at his place later, thinking to myself that I probably shouldn’t sneak myself a spot in his bed later in that case. “Dunno, my place, the bog, doesn’t matter” he says like a sleazy old bastard. I just take his keys, laugh at him and walk back over to Vik to put him out of his misery and tell him we’re going home.

Jonah is leaving too, repeating a few times that he’s smashed. Cycle helmet on, he bids us farewell and waddles off on his bike. Luc and Vik are wanting food and Luc starts walking to the LFC chicken joint in the search of chips. Both me and Vik tell him that the chips there are bogging and there’s a lot better chip shop at the end of Deptford High Street closer to Kev’s flat. Luc not totally convinced steams off down the road. Of course when we get there the place is long closed. Luc looks at us with utter contempt in his eyes, “I hate you two right now”. Vik is perplexed by the whole situation and gives knocking on the steel shutters a go, as if that’s going to reap any rewards.  Fucking desperate attempt.  There is some ridiculous talk of dropping the gear at Kev’s and walking back to LFC but that is quickly dismissed.

We get back to the flat and as I open the main door to the apartment building Vik charges through ahead of me moaning about the need to eat. Now. I hold the door behind me for Luc and finding him stood with his cock pointing forward out of his jeans pissing in the bushes, silly smile on his face. The smile remains as he then walks up the stairs to Kev’s flat with his cock still pointing out. When we get into the flat we sort the spare mattress out on the floor and Vik says he’ll take the couch, that he doesn't give a fuck about bed right now, he only gives a fuck about food. Pickings are slim in the kitchen though. There are a few slices of bread but no butter. I find a bit of peanut butter and have that on toast whilst Vik decides he’ll go for Sriracha Hot Sauce as a butter substitute. He fucking plasters is on as if it was Bregott and walks around the small kitchen eating it wincing every time he takes a bite, “Argh. it’s fucking hot!” He doesn’t stand still the whole time he battles through the slice. Fucking pillock.

We retire to the living room and I get ready for bed and join Luc on the double mattress and climb into my sleeping bag. Vik grumbles as he lies down on the couch, shoes still on, fully clothed and pulls Luc’s jacket over him as a quilt. Lights out Bergman. Goodnight London Town.

London - Day Two

Sleeping on a hard floor is fine as long as you lie on your back. It’s actually quite nice for someone like myself who has a back that constantly aches. It’s only when you roll onto your shoulder that the floor becomes less comfortable. Which I’m constantly compulsed to do. Other things that make sleeping on a floor less fun is a nipping head. At eight am and after five hours sleep I’d woken and had been lying there trying to get myself back off but to no avail. I look over at Jon who is bent almost double on the small sofa, completely out, and wonder how he does it. Realising it’s no good, I have to find a cure for this headache. As usual, I forgot paracetamol.. But thankfully Kev is up and pottering about and the coffee is on the go. He doesn’t seem to be displaying any signs of last night’s over indulgence. Another one of life’s great fucking mysteries staring me in the face.

Ellie has gone off to work now so me and Kev laze around on his bed, sipping coffee and listening through the rough mixes of the DB album on his laptop. There’s still a bit to do with the record but I’m chuffed with how it’s sounding. Kev has done a great job on the vocals and lyrics. He seems to be really happy with it too. Really looking forward to getting it out and playing some shows again. Once everyone is up and showered and Gordon has came in from his bed in the van outside we head down the High Street to to Bianca’s Cafe for a fry up. Jon has been looking forward to this since we booked the trip. The veggie sausage and mushroom sarnie on crusty white bread with a side of greasy tea hits the spot. Kev now seems to be feeling the wear from last nights booze. Afterwards we head back down to the Waiting Room for some more coffee and catch up with the Deptford crew who have this and the tattoo studio as their hub. When I meet Alex I remember I’d been banging on about getting a tattoo done, but my fuzzy head is now saying fuck no! It would have been nice, I’ve got a few things I want doing, but I’m in no condition. Alex has plenty of other work on anyway. I sheepishly tell him that I’ll see how I feel later, knowing fine well it’s a no go.

We head over to the Nest around midday to load in the gear for the gig tonight, after which the day is ours to do with what we will. We’re all feeling sluggish after the fry up breakfast and feel that a walk will do us well. I ask Gordon if he’s coming along but his priority is finding a belt. He’s been walking around in his shorts all morning after his belt gave way last night. Said he can’t walk around looking like a tit all day so heads off up to Deptford market in search of something. The rest of us walk along the river up to Greenwich. Kev stays behind to chill out. I get a pang of longing for Polly as we walk along the river. Last time I was here it was just me and her, we’d stayed at Kev’s and she’d been sick in the night. We’d had the day together the day after chilling out and I was taking pictures of her by the statue of Peter The Great. I’m finding it harder to leave Polly the older she gets. And I’m feeling pretty guilty about being away from Jen when it’s our ten year wedding anniversary. All this amplified all the more by the hangover of course.

We get to Greenwich and walk about the place for a while, it’s buzzing as always. It’s certainly a nice day for it. We walk about the market and I pick up a couple of presents for the girls, easing my conscience a tad. Afterwards we head Observatory Hill in Greenwich Park and sit around on the grass with some coffee, taking in the views of the misty skyline on the other side of the Thames. Starting to feel better now, the headache subsiding. We sit there for a good while, idly chatting away, watching the folks go about their Saturday in the park.

We head back over to Kev’s in Deptford around four pm and chill out for a while at his watching crap tv before going to the Nest at five. I have no idea how tonight’s show is going to be. I know that if we played here and announced it in plenty of time then it would be absolutely insane but it’s hard to tell given tonight’s circumstances. It’s still by the far the best option we could have chosen for tonight anyway. There’s a Fest on over at T Chances called Play Fast Or Slow Fest, which offered us a spot but no money. A lot of friends are going there and others are working. Goy is away on his stag-do in Portugal, Kev miffed about that. Says that Goy is having a couple of do’s, one for his rich mates and another for his punk mates. Fucking wanker, Kev snorts with a sly grin on his coupon.

We grab some grub at the Nest with Karl and Jules and a friend of theirs called Tom. They have a pretty decent burger menu here and all options are available as vegan or vegetarian, the seitan burgers themselves have been made by Jules. We tuck in enthusiastically as the robust burgers are placed on the table. Gordon arrives shortly after, wearing jeans and looking chuffed. He says he’s been taking it easy on the beer recently but he’s off to the bar and when he comes back he has a smile on his face that says he’s going to relax tonight. There is some middle aged guy spinning records over by the stage on the other side of the bar, total brain numbing dance fair, and the pub is filling up with people who look like a Victims gig would scare the piss out of them. Could be interesting.

Nasty Bastard, Niki Nailbomb and Mad John’s new Oi! Band, or post-Oi! as Kev called it, POi!, are nowhere to be seen. They’re supposed to be playing at seven fifteen but it’s now almost seven and they haven’t showed up. And there still aren’t that many punks in the place. I’m starting to wonder if this “secret gig” isn’t going to be a disaster. We’re sat outside drinking a pint with Bram from Restarts, talking about the Temples fiasco and a similar situation both are bands were in with Cruststock in California last year where both our bands were booked. That fell apart for all the travelling bands since the guy booking it, having offered everyone flights, simply never bought them. At least we didn’t lose any money on that one. Bram tells me that there was some band from Texas booked at Cruststock that actually got their tickets mailed to them but when they turned up at the airport and tried to check-in were told that the tickets had never been paid for so they couldn’t travel anyway. What a fucking joker! Bram hands Kev a fiver and tells him to put in the donation jar for tonight’s gig.

Niki turns up alone just after seven, same old grin on his face. Guess the others are still lost somewhere between Southend and here. Given that there is another gig on after we play tonight, and that the pub was kind enough to squeeze our gig in as a bonus, Kev can’t let the curfew go over, so if the rest of Nasty Bastard turn up too late they won’t be able to play. Which is a scenario that gives Kev a little chuckle. Mad John turns up bang on seven fifteen and they’re up and running about five minutes later. There are about twenty people gathered in the tiny space between the bar and the stage, John introduces them, “This is a secret gig, so keep your voices down” he smirks making a shushing motion. When they start playing I can’t help but smile, and I realise that no matter how this turns out it’s going to be a laugh anyway. The play for about half hour, chirping out songs like Everyone’s a Cunt and Do One. John infrequently asking the others in the band what song’s next. It’s great to see Niki banging the beat with that smile on his face the whole gig.

By the time we’re ready to go there are a few more in, Misa amongst them with a huge smile on as usual. Of course, it turns out to be a really fun show. I feel a great surge of joy as I stand on the floor in the small crowd, it really is like a drug, playing this music. There are a couple of faces from yesterday mixed in with the crowd of the familiar Deptford crew, everyone smiling. It feels like it’s going great, but then I notice Andy looking distressed between songs. The lanky bugger is so cramped in on the tiny stage that his elbow keep banging off the back wall when he’s playing. When he clocks the smirk on my face he cracks a smile himself. What are you gonna do?

The small crowd gets livelier the longer the set goes on before the end there are a couple rolling around above heads and others falling into Johan as he sings. Kev gets up and sings We’re Fucked with us, he’d been saying earlier that he wanted to but it seems he’d really been practicing, sounded absolutely great. Karl, not to be left out, spontaneously sings along to the choruses on This Is The End. This gig turns out to be exactly what was needed after the downer of Temples Fest, a small party show amongst great friends. Karl grabs me afterwards, all emotional like he tends to get, “This really meant a lot to me, seeing you boys here. Fucking history mate! I’m welling up here”. I love this man, truly love him.

Afterwards Kev walks about the pub with a beer glass asking for donations to help us out and he comes up to where we’re stood selling merch afterwards with it full of notes. Some other guy grabs me, totally chuffed, “You guys were amazing both last night and tonight. I bought a shirt yesterday, but here, take this,” and gives me a twenty pound note. I ask him if he wants to buy merch but he insists that he doesn’t, he just wants to help out. I’m truly touched by the sense of community in our beautiful little scene. A few others come up to us afterwards and offer support, it’s a great feeling. Niki Nailbomb is chuffed as fuck, says he can’t believe he saw Victims in this tiny place. We chat for a while before he tells me has to head back to Southend. Of course. Nailbomb is only away from his beloved town as long as is absolutely necessary. Gordon is stood there with a big smile on his face, saying how he really wants to play here with Speedhorn, telling me how it’s these kind of gigs he really wants to do. I know exactly how he feels. As much as Hellfest, or Download, or fucking Temples are an experience, there’s nothing like playing these shows. Nothing.

Once packed down and all the gear is back in the basement we dust off and decide to head over to the Waiting Room which is serving drinks until ten pm. There is some bizarre band now playing the next gig, two old guys dressed who looks like Old Father Time and a Wizard, playing weird droning folk music. Mad John is encapsulated by them. The rest of us head to the Waiting Room for cocktails. I walk ahead with Misa and Jules. I don’t notice him at first, but some guy is silently tagging along, just kind of starring into nothingness as we walk along the road. I come to understand that he’s an old fling of Misa’s. Jules, who is pretty streamboats, makes no secret of her dislike for him to Misa, who is also pretty steamboats. The pair of them shouting and laughing hysterically as the guy just trapses along beside us. “I don’t trust him Misa, get rid of him!” It’s a pretty painful ten minute walk as this continues the whole way, me just kind of nervously laughing. The guy doesn’t seem affected in the slightest though, gives me the creeps. He looks like the kind of fucker that would slit your throat in the middle of the night.

We pile into to the Waiting Room, it’s a balmy night and the tiny cafe is like a sauna. Colm, the young skinhead who works at the tattoo shop is behind the bar with Viv, making drinks. He really puts his back into shaking the cocktails, I’ve never seen such a boisterous cocktail shake. We all order drinks, the rest of the gang now having caught up. Andy and Gordon go for an Espresso Martini, which looks and tastes superb. I go for a Plantation Punch which is the strongest cocktail I have ever tasted, the volume of rum in the fucker hits you like a poke in the eye. Johan and Jon have similarly strong beverages.

We hang out on the street, must be around fifteen of us. Good times. Serial Killer is still stood there on the periphery, spectating. Andy has also noticed that he’s a bit odd, really clingy. Andy is probably also a little bit tipsy, he’s starring at him and repeating the fact he doesn’t trust him. Misa and Jules, still insanely loud, are back over, drinks in their hands. Jules asks Misa why she’s hanging out with him again, says he’s weird. “But I like weird people… Like Kev!” she says, bursting into a fit of Japanese laughter. Doubt Kev would be too chuffed with being compared to this guy. Normally I’d feel a bit of sympathy for this guy but he’s making it hard. When I happen to cross his path he says to me in a horridly childish tone, “Hey maaaan, you’re that guy in the band!” He has hate in his eyes.

We end up back at the Nest, I’m hoping the pub is going to be quiet, it’s one of those second nights where no matter how much you drink it doesn’t affect you. I really fancy just sitting down with a quiet pint. No luck though, there is some eye gougingly boring ska band playing. They’re on their last song as we arrive but it goes on for about twenty fucking minutes. We take a table at the back. Gordon has disappeared, back to his van I assume. Kev is looking shoddy again. I take advantage and coerce him into buying a round of shots for me, him and Johan. I’m quite taken aback by the price, six fucking quid! You wouldn’t get one for that in Stockholm. The cost of booze at him really is fucking scandalous. We sit down and go to neck them, but Andy notices what we’re up to and insists we wait whilst he purchases one himself. Love it when Andy is in this mood.

We sit around and natter for a while, Colm and I, a little drunk himself, talking about bar jobs. We’ve both been in the game for a good few years. There is some guy walking around dressed as an axe wielding executioner. Random. Someone subtly mentions in my ear that they think Mad John might be getting a bit freaked out by Jon. They’ve been talking all night apparently. I hadn’t noticed. When I go for a piss I find the two of them in there, immersed in conversation. To be fair, it’s Mad John doing most of the talking. They barely notice my presence. I leave them to it.

There will be no Meistros tonight. I’m far too tired and don’t need the hangover tomorrow. We leave when the Nest closes and head back to Kev’s. Ellie is not home tonight so I have my mind set on the right half of Kev’s bed. We hang out in the kitchen talking with Karl for a bit, munching away on Marmite on toast. Kev has fallen asleep, sat perfectly upright, making bizarre sounds that Karl feels the need to film.. We head to bed around half one, the guys making their beds in the living room and myself striding towards the bedroom. Kev shuffles groggily to his room, “Oops, condom,” he mutters as he scuffs the rubber away with his foot. I try my best not to think about that as I settle into bed beside him.

Dagens Fel:

According to Kev, Goy was not away on his stag do, other than it was Graham's 50th. birthday party.  Although Kev definitely said it was Goy's stag do, no matter what he says now.  He was obviously very drunk.  I'm not usually wrong about these things...

That being said, Karl claims to have not been anywhere near Kev's place after the Nest.  So fuck knows who I was talking to in his kitchen.  I have a clear memory of talking to Karl in Kev's kitchen.  I guess I was more drunk than I realised.  Either that or Karl was there and obviously very drunk.  Fuck it, as my dad says, don't let the details get in the way of the story...

London (Peckham)

It took a while to get going this morning.  Woke up first around ten thirty, closed my eyes for a second and then it was eleven thirty and Andy was all showered and ready to go.  It left me confused for a couple of seconds.  We had big plans today since we had the afternoon to do what we pleased with.  We’d spoken about walking over to Greenwich for a look about, maybe go to the Maritime Museum, or maybe head over to London Bridge and walk along the South Bank, take in the Tate Modern, fuck knows why but I’ve never been.  Of course, we’d neglected one major issue.  It’s January.

Once showered we head down to the High Street with Kev and make our way to Café Bianca for a sitting of English Breakfast.  There’s a big gang of us, all of Victims and Disculpe, tucking into to various fried breakfasts.  Jon is in his element here, mad for the fry up, “The tea actually is greasy too, I love it”

I go for the veggie breakfast of course and for once I don’t feel sick afterwards.  You always get a ton of food and I usually spend the latter half of the meal bloated and nauseous but continuing onwards like wounded soldier marching stubbornly into no-man’s-land.  Not today though.  I actually leave half an egg and a hash brown.  It’s tough though.  It’s like the fuckers are staring at me, mocking my stomach.  One moment of madness that catches my eye during breakfast is Niki, sat across from me pouring vinegar on his poached eggs.  It’s as if he hasn’t a care in the world.  Fully satisfied we head back outside, the icy rain dampening our commitment to our afternoon of sightseeing.  We trudge back along the road to the Waiting Room and as soon as I take a seat and sup on a cup of London’s finest coffee I realize I’m going nowhere for the next little while.  Andy and Jon head off for a wander but they’re back soon enough and we hang out in the warmth of the café with the gang.

We’re supposed to be at the venue for three and so with an hour to kill, we head back to Kev’s to chill out for a while.  Cue everyone sitting around on their phones.  Karl has headed off to practice with his other band Bad Meat, who he has together with Mad John, who are playing at the after party tonight.  Yes, not only are there ten bands playing the gig in honour of Karl’s fortieth, there’s an after party at the Birds Nest starting around midnight with another four bands on the bill.  The thing is, Karl gets in touch after a while and says to Kev he’s not going to make it for Disculpe’s set time of five thirty and wants to push it back a bit.  Kev is flummoxed.  He says they can’t put it back, it’s all organised.  As soon as they decide the Disculpe gig is cancelled, Niki fucks off to catch the first train back to Southend, delighted.  So that’s that, no Disculpe tonight.

We meet back down at Marv’s practice studio just after three to load the gear for tonight into the van.  We need to bring drums and a few extras for tonight.  Kev and Karl have warned about the potentially poor sound at the venue tonight, The Montague Arms in Peckham, having experienced some pissy sounding shows there previously, the problem being there’s nowhere else in south London that’s the right size for the show according to Kev, so they’re doing all they can to take precautions, one of which is bringing a decent drum kit.

It’s pretty fucking cold in the venue, although with doors opening shortly and the expected onslaught of punters through the door, that should change soon.  The venue itself is a big old pub with an oblong room with the bar lining the back wall.  The interior is very Maritime with wooden steering wheels here and antique globes there, as well as an array of dead animals about the walls, it’s quite a place.  The high stage is in a separate room at the bottom end of the pub and although you can see through to the stage if you’re in the bar area the sound doesn’t make it through.  Quite nice really, means you can stand and have a nice undisturbed chat with a beer if any of the ten bands on the bill don’t tickle your fancy.

We’re here early so we can soundcheck since Kev has concerns with the PA.  It’s just as well we do and all since it turns out Kev’s bass head is fucked.  Don’t know what’s up with it but it sounds like it’s under water.  Johan plonks away on it for a bit, looking around for eye contact with somebody.  The sound guy, some young Scottish bloke who looks a bit lost, asks when we’re ready to go... Jamie comes to the rescue with another head.  Soundcheck goes smoothly otherwise and despite the concrete interior of the room it sounds pretty good up on stage.

Jay and Dave Speedhorn turn up during soundcheck, their usual mischievous grins firmly in place.  It’s good to see them as always.  I have to admit it’s been strange at times watching Speedhorn from afar, my band, the band I started and wrote a great deal of songs for, now out playing again.  Of course, I declined the offer to reform many times over the six years since we called it a day in 2008, and I felt that I could no longer keep the other guys from doing it again if that’s what they really wanted.  For me the band finished at the right time though.  But who’s to say what’s the right time or wrong time?  I’ve always been against this huge wave of reunions we’ve been witnessing this last decade, it’s almost like the new thing is the old thing.  For me it really took the fucking biscuit when Refused reformed.  But then, who am I to say?  And isn’t it just entertainment, after all?  If people are enjoying themselves then what’s the harm? Anyway, as much as I’ve supported the guys in their choice I’ve kept myself away from a lot of the press surrounding it, which hasn’t been so hard to do living in Sweden.  It’s been a little strange...  I’m therefore very happy about the fact that there’s no strained feelings with Jay and Dave, I don’t know if it’s because they come to the band a lot later and have a bit more distance to it or whether it’s just because they’ve always been easy to hang out with. Whatever.  It’s good to see their smiling faces again.  These guys were with the band when we toured with Victims and now here we all stand, chit chatting.  Funny how things go.

Soundcheck is done just after four and we’re on at eleven, nine bands between now and then.  Thing is we’re kind of stuck in the middle of nowhere and when I asked Alec earlier about going for a walk around Peckham he just laughed.  Kev is manning the door for the night, he’s got a lot of work on.  He tells me that he’s got around twenty tickets left to play with and within the first ten minutes most of them have gone.  He tells me it’s looking like being about thirty of forty over the two hundred capacity for tonight.  I’m tempted by one of the fine ales they’ve got on sale here but I don’t have much money left and have to spread it out over the night, plus I can’t really get started on the piss now when we’re not on for another seven hours or so. And Kev, bless him, has bought a hundred beer tickets for the bands, even if it’s Carlsberg, it’s at least free Carlsberg.  Free for us anyway, not for Kev so much.  Before any drinking takes place I need some food anyway, so we decide to take a walk down the road on the back of some tips from the pub manager and pick up some dinner.

It’s dark out and the rain is drizzling down miserably.  There really isn’t much around and we take a kebab shop over a rather looking dodgy noodle place, that doesn’t have much in the way of vegetarian cuisine anyway.  Falafel it is.  And it’s fucking good.  Really clean and fresh, the hummus is to die for.  So glad we went for this.  The place has a coal fire on the go where some guy is sat roasting meat on a stick, it looks pretty disgusting but there’s no denying it smells pretty good.  We take a seat by the door and watch the take away clientele pass through the place as we tuck into our grub.  Most of them are wearing jogging bottoms, real give up on life garb.

We head back to the venue, stomachs filled and satisfied.  When we get back I’ve got two shocks in store. One is that the place is fucking rammed, the bottle neck that runs along the bar is jammed and I can see it’s going to take a long time to get served.  The second shock is that our good friend Jos from Holland is here. I look across the mass of heads in confusion, he looks back with a wry smile.  There are a whole load of other mates here too, the Deptford Crew of course and then there are some old mates from home who have travelled down with Jay and Dave, people like Dix from Scurge and Scott from Defenestration, people we’ve grown up with in the music scene in Corby and Kettering.  It’s great to see everyone, this feels like it’s going to be a hell of a party.  I slowly make my way through the crowd to Jos, “Well hello, what the hell are you doing here?”

I fight through the crowd back to the bar to get myself a beer and then check in on the band currently playing, Organised Death Machine, which has our mate Pablo and Kiwi Chris amongst its ranks.  From where I’m stood, just near the door, the sound doesn’t travel to all that well and most of the bottom end on Pablo’s bass has drifted off somewhere into the ceiling.  Seems like they’ve had a pretty good gig though, there’s plenty watching them.  They’re the only band I even catch a glimpse of until Regimes play a couple of hours later.  There are simply too many people in here, I can’t be arsed battling my way back and forth about the place so opt to station myself in the vicinity of Kev and catch people there for a chat.  I hang out with Viv and Wayne for a while, and Misa is flying about the place like an atom, laughing her ass of as always.  She comes powering through the crowd towards me with her compulsory two pints aloft, resting on her head.  She gives me a big hug, “Gaaaaaaaaaaaz!!!” we spend about a minute just laughing without actually conveying anything to each other.  After a while Misa laughs, “Gaz you are so…how do you say?  Is cuddleable a word?”  Cue more hysterical laughing.  Misa is fucking crackers and I love her.

A while later Vik arrives with Bea.  Funny being with Vik and Kev in London and not doing a DB show. Vik turns to me, “There are far too many people here, it’s ridiculous!”  It is actually starting to feel a bit crushed in here at times, if a fire kicked off right now we’d all be fucked.  Kev has at least put a SOLD OUT sign on the window now, but with extra admission and band members its way too much in here.  Kev looks chuffed.

Another friend that’s made the trip from Holland is Ester from Flees and Lice, she’s another real character and an old friend of Misa’s.  Together they make quite the team.  Ester doesn’t recognize me from being in Victims at first, I guess that’s the cross to bear as the “new guy”, I empathise with Ronnie Wood.  Once me and Ester remake our acquaintances, the last time we met was when we played her place the Crowbar in Groningen, she’s into full flow.  She tells me I look tired and says she has some stuff for that, if I’d like some. It’s a nice gesture but I’m good.

I make my way back through the bottleneck and up to the raised area where Johan and Andy are sitting with our merch.  I catch Karl and his wife Jules sat beside them and take a seat myself.  I get talking to Jules about kids TV shows and she gives me some good tips. We talk about Backyardigans, the Canadian TV show that Polly is insane about right now.  Jules is Canadian and she smiles when I tell her how much Polly loves it.  It’s funny when you’re a parent and you realise that the battle for the TV with your kid is a battle you have absolutely no chance of winning, and then before long you start to get into the shows yourself.  All I can say is, Backyardigans has some brilliant tunes on the show.  To be honest, Polly only really discovered the television a few months back and it’s easy enough to draw her attention away from it, all I have to do is put on a record, any record, and start dancing and she’s right there with me.  Still, when you’re making dinner or the doing the laundry or whatever other chore there is constantly to attend to, the TV is a handy distraction.

Regimes are on and then there are two more before Victims are up.  Regimes haven’t played for a long time, except the warm up show for this a few days back, and I’m really looking forward to seeing them.  This will be their last show, I think.  It’s fun seeing Mucky Marcus play guitar again, my SG come to that.  I didn’t really know what to expect from their gig but as much as I always liked the band, I’m not sure I remember them ever being this good!  It’s tight as shit, works great with Jamie on bass too, and the crowd are packed in and going mad.  Kev is in great form too, I’m buzzed to shit watching them.  When they play Chemical Cosh the mosh pit are all singing along to the chorus and a few stragglers make it up on to the high stage to launch themselves immediately off it.  What a fucking bonus.

I catch up with the Victims guys and Vik afterwards and everyone is smiling, surprised by how good the set was.  As soon as Kev is done he’s back to the door.  The squeeze in here just seems to be getting tighter.  I exchange glances with a few familiar faces around the crowd, all of them deflecting back the same sigh I send them.  Kev tells me that the bouncers, who have been a bit freaked out and are acting like cunts, patting everyone down all the time, have said that’s it’s one in/one out, irrespective of whether you have a wristband.  I look through the doorway to the smoking allotment and there is even a crush of people there, waiting to get back in.  I happen to catch little Jay’s face in the mass, shaking his head and smiling.  I hope he manages to get back in before Victims play.  That would be ridiculous.  One person who won’t be getting back in is Kyle, the old bass player from Scurge, who has been caught with a bag of the naughty stuff.  As he’s being led out I ask his mate who is following him out what happened, “Only got himself to blame, fucking blatant!”

I get talking to Kelly Apple for a while, I don’t know if she’s boats or what but she’s going on about Jon, “your guitar player”, she says she’s thinks he’s really hot.  She recalls the last time she saw Victims play, must have been the Grosvenor a few years back, my first tour with Victims, she says that she approached Jon, really nervous and really drunk, and told him that she thought he was really attractive and then threw up on her shoes.  When she repeats the story a few times I begin to understand that she is pretty steaming.  She keeps saying to me that I can’t let her go near him tonight.  I look over at Jon, flummoxed by the whole affair.  I catch up with the guys later and tell them what Kelly said, Jon eyes light up, it’s actually really sweet, I’ve never seen Jon flattered in this way before.  “What can I say?  The ladies love Jonny” he says.  He just about pulled it off.

The set times are running late, how could they fucking not be with all these bands?  I was thinking that it was covered, that the music curfew was midnight and with Kev setting the Victims set time at a very ambitious ten fifteen we were ok.  It turns out in fact that the curfew is eleven, and there are still two bands to go before we play.  I can tell Kev is for the first time, starting to get a little nervous.  He says we’ll get things moving along and he’s cursing one of the earlier bands who took ages at change over.  Well go figure.. Paco Mus’s band, The Lowest Form is up next.  I’ve been looking for him since he has some records for me that I ordered a while back.  The first time I clock him is when he’s up on stage setting up.  I don’t see much of their set, I simply can’t be arsed fighting my way through.  The sound is pretty bad from where I’m standing though, the bass amp sounds like a wet fart.  Shame.

I catch Paco afterwards anyway and he tells me he’s given the package of records to Andy.  It’s nice to finally meet him, to put a face to someone you’ve been corresponding with.  Kluster Fuck are now on stage, and we’re after them.  These are good friends of Kev, good people, we’ve met them before at Ungdomshuset in Copenhagen where they’re involved.  Kluster Fuck are the first band that have played today that you can trust when they say they’ve got a fifteen minute set.  Most of their songs average out at thirty seconds.  It’s not totally my thing but what they do, they do really well.  Anos, who’ve I’ve only ever seen sing, blasts the fuck out of the kit and Kristine has an insane set of lungs and is absolutely manic on stage.  She sounds like a pit-bull being tortured.  Fifteen minutes and it is indeed done.

We get up on stage as quick as we can, knowing time is against us.  The room is packed, the anticipation almost boiling over, I am fucking ready for this.  And then I hear this little Scottish voice, almost apologetic, as if excusing itself for existing, it’s coming out of the monitors somewhere.  “There’s nothing from the bass drum.”  Johan and I look at each other and then together in the direction of the sound guy in his little hut at the back of the room.  Johan asks if we should change the mic but gets nothing in response bar a shrug of the shoulders, the guy looks completely fucking scoobied.  He mumbles something about us just starting and he’ll sort it but somehow I don’t trust that.  When we start looking to address the problem ourselves, amidst shouts from the crowd of  “Just get on with it”, we‘ve been stood here a while now and it’s getting uncomfortable, the sound guy appears on stage.  Johan suggests he swaps the mic with the hang tom, he does as told.  He tries the broken mic lead, blows in it a little, Andy shakes his head but Johan confirms that’s actually a valid course of action since moisture can cause glitches and blowing it away can work. Eventually he gets things sorted and with bass drum now sounding we launch into Death Do Us Part.  The wait was worth it.  The crowd kick off from the very start.

It’s one of those gigs where you feel like a fucking King up on stage.  The place is packed, the crowd is swathing about the dance floor, I clock Jay and Dave in the middle of it all, getting tossed about and loving every second of it, people are stage diving, Kev amongst them, kicking the mic into Johan’s mouth, he doesn’t care.  The gig flies by, it’s one of the most fun shows I’ve played in ages, and last night was no cack affair either.  We drop one of the more mid tempo songs, weighing the feeling in the crowd, we just keep it going.  We’ve got four songs left and I hear that little voice again, coming out of the monitors.  “Last song.”  I can’t work out if it’s a question or a demand although I couldn’t give a fuck either way.  I know the other guys haven’t heard him, even when he repeats himself, so I just carry on.  We finish with This is the End again and it feels like I spend more time pumping my fist in the air than playing guitar, I look over to the right hand side of the room and see Kev and Misa, raised above the crowd with one arm around each other, the other lofted in the air, singing along to the chorus.  Feel like fucking AC/DC up here.  Magic, pure fucking magic.          

How do you top that?  The crowd moves out quickly after the show, everybody I’m sure desperate for a bit of legroom.  I’m fucking desperate for a good pint now but Jamie are Kev and wanting to get moving since they have to take the gear and the van back to the practice room where it will be safe for the night.  We contemplate walking, I could certainly do with the brisk air, but it seems stupid to blow off a lift, and plus, there’s an after party to get to.  Everyone seems to be heading there and up early or not, I need a couple of pints.  I just hope the Birds Nest isn’t as stupidly packed as this place was.  We all squeeze into the van, making space for Vik and Bea as well as Goy, who spends the entire trip laid up behind the back seats on the luggage shelf, pissed up and moaning about the state of music, saying he missed UFO.  Love him.
If it’s even possible, to my horror, The Nest is more crammed than the earlier show.  Fuck.  I’d envisioned sitting down for one thing, with a pint and a nice easy catch up with some mates.  It’s not happening.  It takes about half hour to get served and you can forget sitting, there’s barely room to stand.  Wayne’s band Nembutal are playing, as is Karl, Mad John and Nige’s hard rock band Bad Meat, and Kluster Fuck are on again and our travelling partners Link.  I barely see anything of any of them, you can’t see fuck all in here.  I’m on the other end of the bar with Jos and his mate, Andy and Johan, Vik, Bea and Viv.  The others fleet about but we station ourselves here.  Alec is with us for a while but leaves early, stating he can’t be fucked with the crush in here.  Can’t say I blame him.  Jon is over by the left hand side of the bar, he’s made a connection with Misa.  When I was on my way to the bogs I catch Misa trying to pronounce Jon’s name, it goes on for ages, “Jo? Joe? Joon?”  ad infinitum.  The two make a great match.

We hang out for a couple of hours, I’m surprised we make it that long.  Jos is taking the piss out me and my beanie hat.  I have to admit, I’m going for the Ian MacKaye look, I figure you gotta go with the flow, roll with the punches a thinning hairline throws you.  Karl, suffering with the same problem, age and thin hair, tells me I look prime, bless him.  Jos calls me on it though, takes my hat off me, starts pissing around with his own flat cap, turning it backwards and making faces at me.  Piss taking fucker.  Point taken big guy.  We cuddle up for a photo together.

Another piss taker arrives, Kiwi Chris, although is piss taking is a little more venomous.  He says he saw the gig and thought we were shit.  This is his usual approach.  Don’t know if he has a really small penis or what but there is definitely some insecurity issues there.  Funny, I clocked him down the front when we were on, huge smile on his face.  Viv lambasts him but I can take it, I know where it’s coming from and I know he doesn’t mean any harm, although his tongue constantly purchases him black eyes.  He asks me if I saw his band.  I could easily say that I did and that I thought they were shit but that’s just not me.  He doesn’t believe me at first when I say what I saw I thought was good but when I repeat myself a little smile appears on his coupon.  Kiwi Chris…

We leave around two, we’ve managed to say hello and hang out with most people, although I wish I could have made more of it.  One of those occasions where you’ve talked to loads of people and really haven’t spoken to anyone.  I meet Jay before he leaves, he’s heading off to the Amersham Arms for some drunken debauchery, the rest of that crew are there.  He cracks up, tells me Dave is wearing a boot print on his cheek that he received during our set.  The only person I haven’t really managed to hang out with tonight is Wayne, but we catch each other on the way out.  I’m sure we’ll be back with DB at some point, otherwise I’ll have to make a private trip over with the family.

We get back to Kev’s just after two.  The alarm is set for eight, six hours of sleep on the floor.  I like a hard bed though, good for this shit old back of mine. I hear Kev coming back sometime around three with what sounds like Kiwi Chris’s voice behind him. It sounds like Kiwi is boats.  I get up for a piss once they’ve gone to bed and find the bathroom mirror has been taken down from the wall and laid on the floor and various plastic bottles have fallen into the tub.  I wonder if Kev will need waking in the morning…probably not.  He always seems to make it through somehow.

I retake my position on the floor between Andy and Jon, glad we’re on the afternoon flight.

London (Deptford)

Woke up on the floor of Kev's living room and for a minute I thought it was all just a shitty fucking dream.  The feeling of relief was fleeting though, barely there a second.  It wasn't a fucking dream.  My passport was gone.

Somewhere between the departure room at Gate 17 Arlanda and customs at Gatwick my passport had disappeared.  That feeling when you go for your pockets and realise it's not there, and for a split second you tell yourself to calm down, it is there, just look again.  But it wasn't.  I spent the morning on Kev's phone trying to track it down, trying to get a travel document to get me on my flight Monday morning, hoping for a miracle.  It's not happening though, my only option is to head to the passport office in Peterborough on Monday and order a new one.  I'm hoping I can get home by the end of the week.  It's fucked up feeling like a prisoner on your own island, I'll be gutted when the lads leave at four am on Monday morning for their/our flight home that I won't be getting on.

The bastard is we'd had a really fun time on the flight over last night.  When we boarded the pilot had warned of possible light to moderate turbulence on route.  Now light I'm ok with but moderate had me ordering a gin and tonic from the bar service.  Me and Vik had a couple each and we spent the entire flight laughing and taking the piss out of each other.  The turbulence never came either.  I felt a little buzzed when we landed, not pissed by any means, but in a very good mood.  Chuffed to be out playing a couple of shows with the guys.  I was hoping we'd make it to Deptford in time for a pint at The Albert.  Needless to say any such good mood was soon to be extinguished.

Of course, I was expecting nothing but a piss take all day but the guys can probably tell it's not the time.  Grateful for that I decide there's no point in destroying myself over it, what will be will be.  There are still some shows to play and if I don't forget about this shit for a while then there is no point in playing the shows.

I had an appointment with Mucky for a couple of tattoos and although I wasn't exactly in the mood, it was his day off and he'd kindly agreed to come in to the shop already.  It was actually nice getting them done, took my mind off things for a while,  Mucky joked about how I seem to do this every time now, getting tattooed before playing a run of shows.  I guess now it's a tradition you can't mess with it.  When we were done we grabbed some lunch with the boys at the café, adhering to another tradition that is the mighty Sith Burger, quite possible one of the hottest burgers around.  Veggie patty, jalapeño cheese, extra jalapeños, Sarrachi hot sauce, and the legendary Deptford Death Sauce to boot.  It's a fucking monster but it tastes great.  We were joking about the stench that was bound to be left in his living room tomorrow morning, Luk just shook his head at me and my burger, “Plain ignorance”.

We were practising at Overdrive Studio which is ran by Marv and John Conflict, we had a few hours booked in to go through the set with Kev.  Always good to see Marv.  His band are on the bill tonight, Smack Battalion, who has our old friend Pablo on bass, looking forward to seeing them.  It's a great little scene here in Deptford, with the shop, the café and the studio, the Bird's Nest just round the corner.  Kev seems to know everyone here, every one that passes him on the street has a hello for him.  There's this crazy old guy. Rupert, I think he's from Uganda or something, he always sits outside the tattoo shop, shouting and laughing.  We sat and listened to him and Kev talking for about five minutes, I didn't understand a word of it but Kev translated afterwards.  He had been joking about the upcoming Scottish referendum, saying that where he's from you don't get a yes or no vote, you vote no you get chopped up and hidden in a box.  He was pissing himself laughing the whole time he was saying this...

Anyway, practice went well.  The set was sounding tight.  Afterwards we all helped Marv push the back line from the studio to the Nest on a trolley, along the main road littered with brale pavements.  Marv joked, “I bet you won't find Speedhorn doing this”.  I just laughed uncommitted, not wanting to get involved in that conversation.  We had two trips back and forth and then the first thing Viktor has to do once we're loaded in is gaffa tape a leg on to the Nest's bass drum that we're lending for the night.  With enough tape and a brick in front of the drum it should stay in place though, Vik seems fairly confident.

We have nothing to do but hang out in the bar and have a couple of beers whilst we wait for the crowd to show up.  The Nest is so small it doesn't take many to make it good but I notice by the time the first band go on, Don from the tattoo shop's three piece, there aren't that many people in the house yet.  It feels a bit strange since there's been a bit of a buzz about the gig, it's kind of a release fest for our split tape with Hello Bastards who are on before us tonight, as well as a fund-raiser for Jocke D-Takt who lost a lot of his label's stock, including our records, in a flood.  And then the word goes round that some asshole has been acting weird at London Bridge station and causing a security risk, being that it's 9-11 the cops are extra sensitive and the station is closed down, making it hard for anyone north of the river to get here.  Fucking typical.

By the time Smack Battalion go on though a pretty good crowd has amassed.  There are a lot of friends here of course, Jamie, Chris, Karl and the tattoo shop gang, the whole Deptford crew.  And of course Misa, our crazy Japanese friend who always has two pints on the go at the same time and is always laughing.  She always used to obsess over my cabin bag I would have with me on my travels but now here attention had shifted to my new crew cut.  When I meet her the first thing she does is rub my head furiously and then grabs it and rubs bonce against mine, laughing crazily.

Being that we have an eighteen month old daughter at home and I haven't slept properly since she came into the world it usually only takes me a couple of pints before my head begins to numb and I start to feel drunk.  I've had a couple already by the time Hello Bastards come on although I'm actually feeling fine, I still decide not to risk it though and tell myself I’ll look forward to a cold one after our set.  The Hello Bastards set begins with Max their singer talking about 9-11 and makes the point that there are 9-11's going on today, all over the world, in some countries it's 9-11 every day.  It's a fair point well made.  They then blast through about twenty songs is as many minutes and leave the floor over to us.  Good job.

It takes a while to get going.  Marv has hooked up a guitar cab on either side of the small stage but I have no idea how any of that works.  I track Marv down, he's stood outside having a pint, and he's happy to help get me sorted.  Time is pushing on towards the eleven pm curfew and I'm raring to go.  I've got Pablo and his girlfriend Raquel stood in front of me looking chuffed and I'm dying just to do this thing.  It feels a bit strange starting with the slow song from the tape, Hypnotic Eye, but it works as a kind of intro and then we're into DB, back up to normal speed and flying.

The set flies by in a whirlwind of chaotic noise, I can barely hear Kev or Luk although that doesn't effect me, as long as I can hear Vik's snare, which I can, somewhere over there in amongst the feedback.  Not being either a) pissed or b) hungover really seems to work for us when we're playing shows, we should try it more often.  I have a feeling we won't be keeping that up though over the next few days.  It makes a huge difference though when you get to ten minutes into the set and you can still breathe...

At one point in the set my guitar cab over by Luk cuts out and I see Luk motioning to me to stop, Jamie on hand to sort it.  Back up and rolling again and of course I break a string.  Always.  Jeff from Hello Bastards lends me his although I was more than happy to play on with just the five, it would have worked, we only had a few songs left and I could have pulled it off, but when I put Jeff's guitar on I'm happy to have it.  The set ends to the shouts of Kelly Apple, demanding two more songs, but we're done.  The lights in the bar are already on and someone has put Black Sabbath on the PA.  I didn't want to do more anyway.  I hadn't noticed but Kev's tells me as we're packing down that the pub had cut half of the PA off during our set due to noise complaints from the neighbours.  Luk jokes, “Good gig review: Noise complaint”.

There's a good buzz after the gig though, it felt hard to judge during the set, although it always is since I never really look at the crowd.  We sell a lot of merch though, Kev and Luk are chuffed.  Vik's girlfriend Bea has been shifting a load of shirts for us.  Good girl.  Funny that this is where the first met just over a year ago.  Misa comes up to me afterwards, laughing and toasting a glass as always, “Gaz your band is so awesome!  You play your guitar above your head!”.

Kev is chuffed with the all-star array of old punks in attendance tonight.  One of the guys from Icons of Filth is here and he's bought a couple of shirts and records, another guy from Corrupted is here, John and Sarah Conflict.  Kev is in his element.  We pack down as quick as we can once money is sorted in order to make it to The Albert for a pint.  It closes at midnight and me and Vik are fucking gagging!  Kev is stressing a bit about getting up early for the old Mega Bus in the morning and Luk is starting to hint that he's tired but we're having none of it.  I don't want to get pissed by any means but I do want an after show pint and I want to be able to hang with our mates for a while and have a chat.  Kev moans about The Albert being a hipster pub but he's always fucking moaning about hipsters.  Soon enough there is a convoy of us striding determinedly up the road with all the gear.  A beer will be had.

We only manage the one but I'm happy with that.  It's fun just hanging out with everyone.  Kev is taking the piss out of Misa, proposing to her on one knee, telling her they could have beautiful yellow babies.  Misa is shouting and laughing at me, “See, see he's laciest!  This guy, fuck him!”  I often think Kev and Misa should marry, they'd be a great couple.  The girls from the café are here hanging out too, they seemed to really enjoy the gig.  It's obviously way beyond any kind of music they normally listen to but being artsy dancer types themselves they really seem to appreciate the whole sub culture vibe of what we're involved in.  Kev is chuffed that they're into it.  He keeps saying that.  It's only twenty minutes and then the lights come on and it's time to leave.  Could've done without hanging maybe a little longer anyway...Wayne and Clara have just turned up after finishing work, asking if we want to come back for a drink at their place.  Sucks not have seen them more tonight but an after party would be a bad idea, of that I'm sure.

There had also been a hint of the New Cross Inn up the road and for a second pint and I'm tempted but I know it will only lead to regret in the morning.  We're all stood around outside the pub, chatting away, Misa holding dearly to the last dregs of her pint, Kev holding her arm and dancing, singing to her, “Misa, do you believe in love?...”,  Luk is showing off some tropical dance moves to the café/dancer girl squad, Kev moaning, “Look at that cunt!”  Eventually Vik and Bea jump in a cab going back to her place and we head down Deptford High Street, carrying our gear towards Kev's house.  Luk is moaning about his heavy bass case, asking to swap with me, just for a minute, just so I can appreciate what he's going through.  It feels like he's got a fucking corpse in there.  Fuck that, he gets it back immediately.

We end up back at Kev's place around one thirty, hell of a difference now Pat and Gemma have moved out, the place feels about twice the size now.  We check through the money and the merch before settling down in front of the box with a cuppa and Marmite on toast.  Alarm is set for eight, not too bad.  I takes me a while to get to sleep though, thoughts of that fucking passport floating around in my head.