WHOA HAVEN'T WRITTEN IN AGES. Manz has been busy with a new job here. I'm quite enjoying it so far, not much to rant about yet. Oh, apart from the fact that we're a solely second-hand retailer; not that in itself so much, but did you know that we sell porn? Yep. Second-hand porn. Srs, I try very hard to be completely nonchalant towards all the customers, no matter how shit the game/film/phone they're buying is, but when some nasty old Asian bloke with a ponytail and a lazy eye sidles up to the counter with "NASTY BRAZILIAN SLUTS 4" in his hand I can't help but be a lil bit sick in my mouth. For this reason, I keep a bottle of hand-sanitising gel next to my tillbank at all times. Ergh, semen.
Anyway, semen aside, I thought I would tell all of my fans what I've done in the past few days; they've been rather unfortunate, and I'm sure that the thousands of warped minds who so clearly read my blog in secret every day want to hear about it.
Aite, so our story starts with the Coventry-ese/ite band Bolt Thrower; if you don't know them and are partial to a little steam-rollering death metal now and again, download nao. Word got round of a tour; soon turned out they were playing London ULU. Now, far be it from me to be a snob, but ULU is fucking SHIT. Everything about it is SHIT. It's a student bar, so it's full of check-shirted arseholes with 2ft plugs wandering aroound trying to show off their neck tattoos; which obviously contributes to it being shit. It's just a shit venue. It has no ambience whatsoever; it's like being in a library with a bar. Oh, and did I mention that the bar staff are students, hence meaning you have to wait about 20 minutes to actually get served, and when do get served, your pint is 89% frothy. Which is obviously not the correct head/beer ratio. All this angst aside, however, BT were playing there, so obvioulsy I couldn't bitch.
Oh, but I can. You see, Bolt Thrower have been a band for about 24 years; hence, they have quite a large following. ULU has a capacity of about four, plus the 30million students who hang out there to look cool. So obviously, the gig sold out. Perhaps I should've booked a ticket sooner; but no. I can assure you that there was NOTHING I COULD'VE DONE to stem the pure gutrotting evil that stems from that venue.
SO yeah. Decided to go down to fair Birmingham (LOL) to go and see the band in their home town, in an undoubtedly better venue, and with fewer trendy twats. All was well; booked train/gig tickets etc, got down there in time, got a t-shirt (HAHAAAA SCREW YOU PEOPLE THAT AREN'T COOL ENOUGH TO HAVE BT MERCH), watched one of the support bands (Benediction, if you care. They were alright, bit lacklustre) and then, suddenly... I realised it was 10.15pm. 10.15pm?!?! What support band leaves the headliner 45 minutes to play a set, I thought in an angry protaganist voice? OH... Right. I'm not in London. There is no ridiculous noise curfew here. Ah. Right. My train comes in half an hour. Bolt Thrower won't be on for another 20 minutes at least. Ah.
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-"
Thankfully, the friend I was with had a friend at the gig who said we could stay at his house. I deliberated for a bit, seeing as I had work the next day and I didn't want to turn up smelling of Birmingham and a gig, but in the end decided there was no was I was watching 15 minutes of the band I had travelled 2052935 miles and paid £30 in train tickets to see.
Obviously Bolt Thrower shat all over my ears and filled me with glee, no surprises there (nb: at this point I'd like to interject and just say that nobody from Birmingham understands sarcasm or irony. Is that a northern thing in general? Please send replies. I'm concerned). Went to get my coat etc, had a smoke outside whilst waiting for this dude to get out and take us back to his abode in deep Leamington Spa territory.
Fifteen minutes later and my pal and are I a bit confused. So he calls his friend... And he's already in the car home. The drunk bastard didn't realise we were coming back with him. At this point it's about half midnight. Trains from Birmingham - London cease running at 23:23 (and that train stops at an airport for like, four hours. SO FUCK THAT SHIT). Proper screwed, init.
Lots of hilarity ensued (sort of). We ended up roaming around Birmingham New Street from then until 5:30 in the morning for the first train. It was cold, slightly raining, and worst of all, up north. We spent about an hour and a half trying to find a 24-hour McDonalds that my friend had DEFINITELY been to last time he was in Brum at 2 in the morning; we eventually found it, and it was closed. We proceeded to sit on some sort of joke cast-iron bull statue in the middle of a shopping complex (which, I am also going to point out, was definitely not engineered for climbing on. Wtf is that shit? It was also not very comfortable, and it's anus was far too realistic) until it got too cold/wet, bought some shit magazines (you know, "MY MUM ATE MY SISTER'S FACE" "I GAVE BIRTH TO A TRANSGENDER SWAN" etc) and considered ways to kill ourself in the station waiting room for another three hours.
I arrived back in the loving bosom of Watford Junction at 7:30am; went home, slept for an hour, then went to work. Until 7pm. I started writing this on that said day, but unfortunately I died and failed to compelte my works. I was miraculously resurrected from the dead this morning in order to go to work, but unfortunately I believe this is only a temporary resurrection and I will most probably die in the next few hours.
You slags.
In conclusion: Fuck ULU. Don't go to Birmingham. If you do, ensure you take someone who has the endurance to give you a piggy back all the way back to London.
BEARZ HAS NO REREVANCE!
