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» Rock and Roll Stories

I tell you whats really not rock 'n roll in the slightest?

Picture the scene. You've been given a lift between two gigs with a good indie band. Very kind. You're sitting next to the singer.. you've not been drinking (unlike everyone else) and you're not on any form of drugs. But you vomit. Lots. Into coffee cups.

But you don't stop there! You continue to vomit despite filling your first cup.. try to hand the full cup to the singer who leaps into the backseat and ends up sat on the drummers head. Putrid sick goes all over your jeans and the bus, with guitarist, keyboardist and friends all trying hard not to chuck up, the singer looking positively terrified and the drummer being suffocated by aforementioned singer's arse.


But the problem's don't stop here, oh no. The band and bus are on their way to a radio interview in the most rock 'n roll of places (that'd be High Wycombe then..), and already sligthly late. Add to that the problems of sick in a bus, and it's not pleasant.

So, an irate tour manager pulls over to the hard shoulder, gets all five members of the band, plus himself, plus two crew, plus a mutual friend out of the van to stand on the side of the motorway for 10 minutes whilst you change out of your pukey jeans into your pyjamas.

Which you proceed to go to the radio intervew in.
And almost to the gig later that night, until your beloved friend offers you her trousers.

That's very, VERY not rock 'n roll.
Don't throw up in tourbuses..
Tour managers tend to hate you for it.
(Tue 4th Jul 2006, 22:00, More)

» Public Transport Trauma

national express..
Last Easter, I wrote this.. and a nightmare it was, a bloody nightmare!


Have you ever felt like you're in some shitty, low-budget indie short film? That's how I felt for five hours yesterday.

Now, normally National Express coaches from Leeds to London are absolutely fine. This one was not.

I clamber on at Leeds at 3pm, sit myself in the second row and am happy because noones sat next to me. Wave farewell to lovely friend.

Aaaaaanddddd... cue the latecomer who promptly shuffles into the seat next to me. Fantastiche, a fatty.

And off we roll! Luckily, I manage to sleep for an hour or so (3 nights of being out til 4am and getting up around 8-10am does this to you, kids!), until I am awoken by a hand on my leg. Yes, fatboy is touching my thigh. Urgh, no mate, let's not do that - I squidge myself against the window and pray he'll go away.

He doesn't. Instead, he decides he wants to sleep now, and decides my chest is a perfect pillow and that he will invade my personal space and flop all over me. Now, those of you who know me well, will know that I can be person-claustrophobic at the best of times - touching happens on my terms, and I can be funny with people being too close to me, even if they're people I love.. so this wanker decides it's a fantastic idea to keep me pinned against the window and keep *touching* me. ARGH.

Then the snow starts. We're around Nottingham, and it's blizzarding. This is when I feel someone grab the back of my head. I turn around - a baby. Clutching and pulling at my hair. Gurgling and dribbling at me. Oh god, please no. It's mum beams at me in an "Aww, isn't it cute, he likes you" fashion - I'm thinking "Urgh. Foul sprog".

Then the inevitable happens. Babies tend to make lots of noise. This one is no exception. It shouts and screams when it's happy, and bawls and yells when it's not. Then the one I had failed to notice in front of me did too. I sat there, staring out the window, trying to block out the noise and ignore fatman's hand on my knee.

This is when the chav sat opposite me starts playing music on his phone. Loudly. As if things couldn't get any worse, the large indian family all around me beging having a bit of a singsong. They have a fucking singalong, in a blizzard, on a motorway, in a coach, on Easter Sunday. They are singing Bollywood songs and I have officially lost the will to live.

I didn't have my mp3 player, or a book, and my phone wasn't working properly. I was contemplating if it was possible to kill yourself with a travel sized issue of Cosmo and a packet of salt and vinegar squares. Incidentally, I managed to make that packet of crisps last for 45 minutes whilst fatboy kept trying to slip his hand up my skirt.

4 hours later, we arrive at Golders Green coach station. And here is where the emotional bit comes in. There was a man stood there in the snow, and he had a lovely face. Not hot or owt, but just looked really friendly and excited that he was going to be seeing someone he'd missed. He shuffled over the the door of the coach, and stood there, waiting expecantly, with a huge excited beam on his face. You know when you've not seen someone you love for ages, and you know they're on their way, and you're waiting and you're so excited and it shows on your face? That was him. He watched every person get off the coach until noone else was coming. Still he stood there, waiting, watching, grinning. Then the doors closed and his happy face just crumbled, he hung his head, pulled up his collar and stepped back to find some shelter from the snow. Bought tears to my eyes that did, he just looked so crushed that his beloved person hadn't come off that coach.

I then froze my tits off walking in the snow from the coach station to the bus station. The end.
(Tue 3rd Jun 2008, 21:41, More)

» Rock and Roll Stories

Let's see
1) Driving over Paul Weller's lawn. He was not best impressed.

2) Playing a pubquiz with a certain ex-guitarist of Blur. Question comes up: "In what year did Blur release 'Parklife'". Silence. Look to guitarist. "S'fucking '94 innit". Applause. He was right an' all, fancy that!

3) I'm not proud of this. Richard Archer (yes, that twat from Hard-Fi) trying to chat me up at his aftershow. Ugh. I hasten to add that he failed miserable and I was rescued. If I'd have been sober enough to recognise him, I'd have been more insulting.. I was only there for the support band!

4) Being rescued from certain death and taken in for the night in a POSH hotel by a member of a band commonly known as "Kaiser Chiefs".

5) Ask me next weekend after I've done my VIP stint at T in the Park.

I'm clearly a very, very rock and roll person. Ahem.
(Sat 1st Jul 2006, 0:58, More)

» Losing Your Virginity

..funny you should mention that..
I happened to lose mine in the wee hours of this morning! Was originally planned for Valentine's day, but illness and other things got in the way. We're both 15, and it was both of our first times (i'm just happy that i stole someone's virginity woo :D)

It wasn't bad I spose, no bleedage (thank fuck for horse riding!), no pain. Orgasm for both of us but not particularly good ones I dont think.

Thing is we spent the whole time laughing. Both of us just in hysterical laughter for no apparant reason, apart from the occasional squeal or silent breathy bit. It's odd.. I never thought I'd be *laughing*.

We also spent about 20 minutes arguing about who was going on top. Like Hell I was, next time maybe.

But yes all is well, I'm glad it's done and I'm not actually regretting it at all :D

As for girlie virginity, as far as I'm aware it remains intact (as does my anal v's!). I could be wrong though, alcohol is a terrible terrible thing..!!
(Sat 5th Mar 2005, 13:06, More)

» Local Nutters

No apologies for length coz I'm a whore like that.
In Cheshunt, Herts, a tres boring town...

I live in the middle of two nutjob houses. And the special bus comes every day and takes them away, and delivers them back again. Odd sounds coming from both sides. One one side, there is:

-1 x hugely obese 28 year old who still thinks she's 5. This woman is close to 30 stone I believe, and by God she's scary. She constantly dresses in short silk/lace nightgown thingies, and will frequently run out of the house at the best speed she can for something that resembles fourteen white elephants, and promptly lays down in the playground of the local primary school.
-1 x 17 year old girl, skinny as fuck, who likes to hang out with 5 year old girls and teach them all she can about lesbianism.
-1 x 40 year old slapper who dresses in leaopard skin and spends all her time over the pub. Normal, yes, but still deranged.
-1 x stuffed corpse in a wheelchair. Her 'beloved' father.

To make it worse, this group always leave their doors wiiiiiiiide open for all and sundry to see.

On the other side, there's an oddly thin woman who spends all day and night in her van outside as far as I can tell. Not doing anything, just staring at the sky and occasionally grinning widely. She lives with her husband (who I'm pretty sure beats her) who keeps a wide variety of birds and bees and tries to force them to breed together.

And I live smack bang between them both. There's always an ambulance/police/fire/special vehicle outside, and it serves for great amusement.

At my stables, there's a loud, scary scottish bloke with hair shaved off and ripped out in tufts and patches, coke-bottle glasses and a habit of spitting verywhere and blinking too much. He wanders around aimlessly, talking to himself and will occasionaly get very irate (with himself, obviously) and I've had to rescue himself from the other 'self' which was a pitchfork wielding maniac as he tried to batter himself round the head or stab his own abdomen with it on more than one occasion! Nic eneough guy though.

Have been told that there's a batty old lady down a friend's street whom, like Micheal above, argues with herself and subtly tries to spy on the neighbours. About as subtly as a whale humping a Jack Russel.

....And there goes my posting virginity.
(Sun 19th Sep 2004, 16:23, More)
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