RIGHT SAID FRED, ST. JOHN'S AMBULANCE & A NASTY HEAD INJURY
One time at the Leeds Festival years ago (when Pearl Jam headlined, fucked if I remember the year; can barely remember my own surname most of the time), I was stood round on bag guarding duty; essentially my mates had all fucked off in the pursuit of a) beer, b) a poo, c) a wee, d) food, or – and this was stretching it a bit on account of them all being uglier than a troop of chimpanzees who’d been involved in a particularly nasty car crash involving fire – e) some sweet hot snatch action.

I was getting pissed off. I’d been stood round for about half an hour looking like an Essex bird in Rumours on handbag guarding duty. (Ever tried looking mean and moody when you’re essentially guarding a few ruck sacks full of baby wipes, bottles of water, KP crisps, a shitload of those little tubs of ketcup we’d nicked from McDonalds to help flavour the utter shite food they sold, and a couple of packets of jammy dodgers?) Just not fucking possible...

To make matters worse the mighty Pearl Jam were about to come out on stage. There was an air of awed silence... And instead of twatting my way to the front to dance about like a spectacular twat, I’m stuck at the back, looking like a single parent guarding the broods gear as they fuck off and have some fun.

Then there’s a surge behind me as the guitar techs come out on stage and start twaning about with Jeff Aments bass. I get knocked clean off my feet by the big fucker behind me and land heavily on the bags. My head actually disappeared inside one of the open bags for a few seconds. Fuck me. I was pissed off. This man mountain reaches out an arm, apologies for inadvertently knocking a skinny streak of piss like myself off his feet like he was swatting a teeny tiny fly, and then he stops dead and looks scared. “You ok?” He says. I start mumbling something then he says: “You’ve hit you’re head, mate. You’re bleeding like FUCK!!!”

I reach up and feel a wetness caked in my hair, feel something sticky dribble down my forehead and over the bridge of my nose. There’s shitloads of claret pouring out of me. Oh, fucking MARVELLOUS!!! Then, a little of my blood reaches my lips and trickles inside. It’s not blood. It’s tomato sauce – several of the vast quantities of the pesky little containers packed inside the open ruck sack belonging to one of my mate’s have burst on impact and splattered me.

“You sure you’re ok, mate?” said the big fucker who’d accidentally knocked me off my feet.

Now, I was pissed off like a muthafucka on so many different levels. Don’t know why I did it, but I just snapped back: “Do I fucking look, OK? I’m bleeding like a cunt here!”

With that the big dude lifts me up and carts me off, another one of his mates (even bigger and harder looking than the first fella), comes and holds me up from the other side, he says: “Don’t worry about you’re bags. A few of our group’ll look after them. We need to get you over to St. John’s Ambulance. You look fucking awful, mate.”

I started to protest, to say I was ok, but it wasn’t any good. The two fellas literally carried me to the first aid tent. They explained what had happened to the old lady in the uniform; that I’d hit my head and was proabably concussed, and what with the blood they thought it best to get me here as quickly as possible.

“Thanks, lads,” I said. “You can leave me to it now. I’ll be fine from here,” I said, silently shitting myself.

“Nah, mate – wouldn’t dream of it. We’re gonna make sure you’re ok first.”

I was put onto an examination bench. Another St John’s Ambulance volunteer put on a pair of rubber gloves and started poking round on my scalp: “Does this hurt?” They said sternly.

“Erm... yes....?” I replied meekly, my two saviours standing just to one side, arms crossed, looking concerned. It was then I got a really good look at them. They looked like the two dudes out of Right Said Fred, only on more steroids and not at all camp. They were, to put it short, fucking hard. I gulped and felt a bit sick.

Then the ambulance person said: “Can’t find any wound.... hmmmm... funny....” then, slowly, they lifted a glove hand, smeared in red, to their nostrils and took a plaintiff sniff. After a short pause the kindly looking lady said: “This is tomato ketchup.”

I shrugged, “Is it? Erm.... Are you sure?”

The two lads, my saviours, the good samaritans, looked a bit confused. Then one of them said simply: “You fucking cunt,” and they left.

And I watched Pearl Jam from the very edge of the crowd, keeping one eye out for the hard looking lads, and another out for one of my chimp mates – so I could explain why I’d rather kill my own mother than go back and retreive our bags from where we’d left them.
( SpankyHanky, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 12:21, 9 replies)

Heeheehee
nice one!
(richardthehead, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 12:35, closed)

thats the best post
i've read this week! *click*
(Grrrrr Tigers, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 12:39, closed)

Saucy!
have a well deserved click you idiot
(stonethecrows is badder than a bad thing on, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 12:41, closed)

Jeff Aments bass......
.....surely? ;)
( Evil Bastardo, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 16:48, closed)

My mistake
cheers and duly edited.
( SpankyHanky, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 16:50, closed)

Mugged last month apparently..
www.rollingstone.com/rockdaily/index.php/2009/05/13/pearl-jams-jeff-ament-injured-in-robbery-outside-atlanta-studio/

Wonder what a famous rock star would be buying with 3 grand in cash? :P
( Evil Bastardo, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 16:58, closed)

Hopefully drugs and prostitutes
I'd be severely dissapointed if they were out buying a new armchair or a power shower.
( SpankyHanky, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 17:01, closed)

:)
Damn right.

I want my heroes shagging and snorting. Not saving fucking trees and fighting with ticketmaster.
( Evil Bastardo, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 17:05, closed)

Know what you mean
Don't get me wrong; I fucking love Pearl Jam and always have - but the whole ticketmaster battle was a bit, how can I put this??? - ahh, yes, it was just a bit irritating. Don't imagine it'll be long before Eddie Vedder joins forces with Bono and saves the entire world from itself...

Where's the overdoses in hotel rooms? Where's the downing a bottle of scotch before going out on stage?

Have a line of coke before you go and play, not a fucking strawberry and banana smoothie...
( SpankyHanky, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 17:10, closed)