It was one of those where the weekend turns into the week in the most disorientating way possible. It started on Saturday, predictably enough, we were playing in Brighton at the Great Escape & we were on pretty early - 7pm. So we started preparing at about 2. I'd brought down a bottle of Buckfast for some beach based drinking & was pissed by soundcheck. The actual gig itself, I remember odd bits. I remember heads bobbing around and my stool falling over. But who needs details? After that we were approached by Piers from Maths Class
who asked us if we wanted to play at a party with them at Kings Mansions on the sea front. There wasn't much time spent debating it, we packed up the gear and headed over after watching the lovely Klaxons
. How lovely they are!
The flat was big, with a similar sized living room to 61 & plenty of other corridors and rooms to get lost in. We set up and drank what was left of our rider waiting for people to arrive. The flat filled up at about midnight, I wandered around and got into a conversation with some stoned chaps and didn't realise what time it was until Joel came through to get me, sweating and bare chested, saying they'd been trying to find me for half and hour and everyone next door was shouting "Drummer!" like deranged retards.
So we went through and played at half one or two. We were positioned at the far end, the window side of the room, with the windows wide open and the English channel beyond that. It was like reversing up a wind tunnel, but fantastic. Between songs I could lay back with my head and back out the window and watch the waves on the black sea, going on forever into the horizon. No matter how mashed you are, things like that are fucking cool. Half way through the set the residents in the flat stopped things for awhile cos the floor was bending, asking people not to jump or dance very hard. It was a nice try. Things continued, with those concerned for their safety leaving the room.
By the time we got to Reactor Party, there was fully fledged, near constant crowd surfing in the living room, Joel even jumped off the drum kit and gave it a shot. In retrospect I should have too, but someone had to keep the drums going. After we played the remix of Kung Fu and some new songs, Jan put his bass down exhausted and found some booze, while Joel danced and me and Joe played on, playing nothing in particular, just keeping the dancing going. Has to have been one of our longests sets, the 12" version of SHITDISCO, but it was big fucking fun, I remember that much.
Maths Class played after us and fun continued, although god bless em, I can't remember what they sounded like. I remember I was dancing tho, and according to the above photo it looks like I was joining in on the mic, can't remember that. Check out their myspace
page anyway, they're smashing fellas.
Later we went for more of the same on the beach and spent a rainy Sunday morning staggering around Brighton looking for booze. Joel and Danny, (our erstwhile driver and the director of the video for Reactor Party) slept in the van. Grim.
Later that day, we had to go round and pick up the gear from the party. Every piece of furniture had been destroyed, (Whoops). They didn't mind too much though, it was all worth it in the end. Then we drove to London to support The Gossip
at the Elbow Rooms, I think I slept a bit in the van. We were late and missed soundcheck but the gig went well and The Gossip were class. Then I headed down to New Cross to see Klaxons play at some warehouse thing, the rest of the band going to bed LIKE LOSERS. I got there just to hear the last bar of the last song, then hung around while a young man with an elasticed face showed me strange new music making technology he'd devolped himself to do with gently electrocuting one hand while touching computer screens with the other. The warehouse was closing, but there was another party going on downstairs, so me and some friends I'd met there went to buy K cider from the booze shop down the road. When we got back the gates had been locked, so we had to climb this 12ft fence, and I'm rubbish at climbing. We somehow clambered in without any injuries, using a billboard as a climbing frame and wandered inside to find a great soundsystem and munters galore. We stayed there until morning and then headed to a flat in New Cross to expand our minds further. Monday came and went, I ended up spannered and incapable, with my phone off and my passport lost while the rest of the merry band of SHITDISCO gave up on finding me and drove back to Glasgow. I realised this at about 9pm, they'd gone at about 3.
So, stuck in London, I blagged some shelter and waited it out until morning to get a megabus back, although I missed the 12pm one and so spent my day killing time in central london. I smoked joints and watched the police photograph people protesting against the removal of Brian Haw's anti-war protest
outside Parliament, more than a little paranoid myself after my intake and the fact there was fucking CHINOOK ARMY HELICOPTERS flying all over the place. I had a few hours to kill before the late night bus so I ended up taking a pill and going to see the Philharmonic Orchestra at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, which was great. I missed the first half an hour but trotted in quite happily to take my seat after the interval, plastic bags in hand. Looking around, the place was packed to the brim with receeding hairlines and posh clothes. I on the other hand had been wearing the same shirt for about five days and as I sat down I was reminded of the red paint splattered up the side of my trousers. I rolled down my blackened shirt sleeves as a gesture to my new aristocratic peers. The woman to the left of me wasn't ready to accept me into the inner circle however, and from the moment I sat down she shot me these derogotary glances, shuffling away from me in her seat and intermitemtly moving her bags closer to her, like I was going to steal them right there from under her nose. Eventually she left, rather noisly shuffling through the entire row when there were exit stairs one seat to her left. Manners! I got the midnight bus back home, getting into Glasgow at 8am on Wednesday morning, what a fucking weekend.