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Chinese folk music, Russian Hip Hop, Arabic Rock (only the stuff in 6/9) and British flamenco.
Punch drunk love, Miss congeniality 1 and 2, dumb blonde, barb wire, snake on a plane.
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Only thing ever worth reading..................................................... ..................................... Akey's Diary:10th March 2007 : Bristol - Portsmouth - GatwickIf this little round trip had gone ahead without any major mishaps then i probably would've been slightly disappointed. You expect these things. And besides, there's nothing quite like lost passports, tropical diseases and anally-intrusive customs officers to get the blood pumping. I would add ladyboys to that list but Jimmy (the SuperTech) was really pissed and it doesn't count unless you cum, that's what my mum always told me anyway. What i didn't expect was the lack of transport even before we'd left Bristol. No van, no driver and our hopes of making the Portsmouth gig fading fast. It was at this realisation that i learnt a very important lesson : Don't talk to Zena (our tour manager) about transport issues. Half an hour and a burst eardrum later we decide to bring in the cavalry. I've lost track of the amount of times we've called upon Kat's driving prowess to dig us out of a hole so a massive thankyou to her, again. No doubt I'll have to take one for the team and get Mr Thankyou out to show her just how grateful we really are. Despite the initial setback, we managed to borrow a dodgy looking van for the equipment and persuade Kat to drive it, got Green hair Mark to drive his own suburban camofloage-mobile with the rest of everyone in it and navigate our way to Portsmouth without a map whilst talking about Lost In stupid amounts of depth (where the fuck have the polar bears gone?) and managing to arrive in time for a cheeky sound check. Things were looking up. The venue was the Pyramid right by the sea. We were supporting the Eagles of Death Metal again who were their accommodating selves, as usual. Their bass player, Brian, has the biggest hands I've ever seen. His fingers hang from his palms like slabs of authentic chorizo. He could easily satisfy 5 women on each hand and people would pay good money to see shit like that. And when i say that what i really mean is that I would pay good money to see shit like that! It would be like adult Punch and Judy! Amazing!The gig went swimmingly (bad gag : the venue is a public swimming precinct during the day). We shot forth our 20 minute set like a stream of white-hot man fat to an unsuspecting yet joyously receptive crowd. Bazza had his little jail-bait fan club in the front row who screamed every time he hit his snare, which was quite a lot. Luckily only dogs could hear it, (and Baz if he turned his hearing aid up full). I went for a chinese with Jimmy & Kat afterwards and ordered the black pepper fillet steak with house special fried rice. Spot on. The rest of the boys suprisingly occupied the bar back at the venue and by the time i'd got back they'd managed to lubricate themselves sufficiently. Both vans had to make it to Gatwick airport hotel that evening so considering Kat had to drive back to Bristol the next morning and then up to Wakefield before lunch, it made sense to leave a.s.a.p. It was around 11:00pm, we had to be up at 6:00am, Portsmouth to Gatwick takes around 90 mins so we figured we'd get about 5 hours sleep. We were very wrong.I blame Zena. Everything was going according to plan until she started telling me just how brilliant it was that everything was going to plan. The next thing you know, Kat's ripping through the gears trying to get us over the next hill but all she can manage is the waft of something burning. We pull over and sit there for a bit. Then we try that classic international manoeuvre that works on anything mechanical or elecrical. We turn it off and then on again. No joy! We accept defeat, coz there's no way I'm going to stick my head under the bonnet and pretend i know what I'm doing. We get out and stand up on the bank. I go for a really steamy piss coz its so fucking cold and Zena rings lots of people, including the RAC luckily. "it'll be about an hour", they say. They lied! The only thing that turned up within the hour was Green hair Mark and the rest of the boys who subsequently pulled onto the hard shoulder and went for steamy pisses too. Baz then decides to puke up loads of brown looking tar, as if he's been eating too much of someone's bum hole. The police drive past at which point Green hair Mark decides it's time to get back on the road and off the hard shoulder. The boys disappear like a fart in the wind leaving me, Kat and Zena to freeze our extremities off in Baltic conditions. However, 20 mins later we're in the tow truck and still manage to beat the boys back to Gatwick hotel. Pete (Soundman) snores like the fucking Krakan and denies the rest of the room any sleep. I even stuck my plums in his mouth to shut him up but he just breathed through his nose and it tickled too much.11 March : Gatwick - St Lucia6:00am came quicker than Baz on a first date. The chain of events had left me dazed and confused. I remember Baz drinking Stella at 7:00am whilst checking our equipment in. I remember him trying to run to the plane in his cowboy boots resembling a crab ejaculating. I remember the whole plane watching Borat and cracking up. I remember little else, I slept most of the way. When i walked off the plane in St Lucia the heat felt like a big Caribbean mama had just sat on my face! It was hot and humid with a faint hint of squid. I looked around to see the smile on Ingo's face (the boy loves his heat) but he'd slept on his hand which had subsequently gone numb and he was worried it was going to drop off. Pianists! Sounds like penis doesn't it? Customs was a breeze. A lovely lady called Yvonne took us straight through and by the time you could say 'sweaty back pussy' we were in an air-conditioned minibus on our way to the Bay hotel at the northern tip of the island. Still not really sinking in at this point. We stop off a few times to look out at some of the amazing views of St Lucia. Take some classic tourist snaps. Even stop off to receive some St Lucian goodie bags consisting of mini cricket bats, coffee, dried fruit, a magazine and a double-ended doll. (don't ask). The hotel is lovely. Couple of pools, air con, jacuzzi, Fox soccer sports, no porn channels though but you can't have everything. I share a room with Ingo, he's clean and doesn't snore. Everyone dons their beach getup and meets by the pool although Baz manages to make himself look even more German with a dashing pair of tight red short shorts with white stars accompanied with brown Lonsdales and black socks (and a tash). Some of us hit the bar, the rest hit the beach and slowly but surely it actually begins to sink in that someone has been stupid enough to pay for us to fly out here for 3 and a half days to play a gig! Proper!12 March : St Lucia (day off)Breakfast is at 8:00am. It consists of a massive buffet spread which includes a local delicacy called saltfish along with fruit, cereal, pancakes, fry-up and even a little lady customising your very own omelette to your specification. Baz is still busting out his Captain America shorts and looks a little worse for wear. He's had an eventful evening which I'll let him tell you about in case i disclose too much information. We'd organised a boat trip the night before so down went brekky and off we went to the harbour where a couple of St Lucians were waiting for us in their bright yellow speed boat named 'Hawkeye'. First thing they did was warn us that in the event of a fire we should all go to the back of the boat where the engines were, which was reassuring. Then they handed out some beers and even though it was 10 in the morning, it seemed rude not to. I think Baz found his first a bit lumpy but he perked up when me and him sat up at the bow of the boat and held on for our lives as the driver ragged it across the bay. I ended up pouring most of my beer in my eyes because it was impossible to get the bottle anywhere near my mouth and Baz's face started hurting because he was busting his Kodak smile out with such German force and giggling uncontrollably.We stopped off at some caves with loads of bats in them. They fucking stank and the captain informed us that they use the bat shit as fertiliser for growing sweeter and stronger Mary-Jane. We take notes. The rest of the day comprises of a minibus ride up the steep and winding volcanic terrain to the island's caldera in Soufriere. This is the crater left behind when an active volcano erupts or in this case collapses. The last major eruption happened back in 1766. See, you're actually learning something! There's loads of bubbling mud pools and the place hums like a diet of boiled eggs and rotten chicken. Ingo's nostrils are permanently flared from the stench which momentarily plunges the rest of the island into darkness.We go and swim in a waterfall for a bit and do our best Peter Andre impressions in Mysterious Girl. Pete wins with a very dominant power pose beneath the pounding, cascading waters. Fuck me..... where the hell is this shit coming from?!! I sound like Jilly Cooper. Anyway, we have a proper feed overlooking a stunning bay with the Piton mountains rising up from the sea on the horizon. It's paradise! I was stuck on the side of the fucking motorway freezing my sweets off about 30 hours ago, what happened? We bust out some snorkelling and Ingo pretty much tries to drink the ocean. I think he just likes the salty taste in his mouth.We bomb it back for 3:00pm where we're driven up to one of the highest peaks on the island for the first of 3 live radio interviews. We say our piece, they play our next single, 'Sparkle'. We pick up some of the local lingo and then head back to the hotel for a few casual Pitons (local lagers). Apart from the horrific sunburn that's been inflicted upon the end of Zena's scottish nose, Bazza's hunchback and the whole of Pete's persona, everyone's in a state of uber-relaxation. That is until Baz cracks out the Bolivian marching powder that he'd picked up the night before, insists it's not very pokey and goes about racking up some Calvin Kleins that would make Scarface weep. Enjoying the relaxed vibe, Shandy and I pass. The rest is hoovered up by the fucking Dyson posse who return to the pool side looking like they've all been given a Fishponds facelift and an ExtraStrong mint poked up the exit only! Couldn't sit still for a second. A raging thirst ensues so they hit the local bars and i retreat to my hotel room, have a jacuzzi and sample some of the local sensimilia. By the time Ingo gets back I'm already in a sublime state of vegetablisation. He talks to me but i can't really understand him or see him for that matter. No change there then. Deep sleep washes over me.13 March : St Lucia (gig)8:00am. Once again, brekky doesn't disappoint. There's a slight chill in the air so i warm my hands over Zena's nose. We're picked up at 9:00am for the second of our radio interviews. It all goes very well. Luckily no one has asked us about the cricket yet because none of us have a fucking clue who's who apart from Graham Gooch coz he looks like Baz! They play 'Sparkle' again and then play the b-side 'Red Hands On' and we all agree that Fortune Drive sounds a hell of a lot better in a Caribbean accent. The final interview flies by without a hitch and its back to the hotel for a quick Piton before sound check. West Indies beat Pakistan so the whole place is buzzing now and it becomes very obvious just how much the Cricket World Cup means in the Caribbean. It's actually time to do some work though (if you can call it that) so we make our way over to the venue and are more than impressed by the size of the stage and the PA. I've never seen Ingo with so many monitors, in fact i don't think i've ever seen Ingo with any monitors. We make fair bit of racket, pretend we know what we're doing and try to convince the organisers that they've made the right decision in booking us for the gig. I think we just about blag it. Its only a few hours until we play so I make the most of it and hit the beach with Shandy. He goes for a dip and pulls out his best doggy paddle to impress the middle aged women lined up on their sun loungers. A few slip off into the sand at the mere sight of his magnificent nipples, jutting forth like The Piton mountains themselves. I stay on the beach and witness a full on brawl between two St Lucian jet-ski dudes. There was a misunderstanding with this Canadian bloke about payment and they ended up rucking and getting the police (who were packing glocks) to step in. I don't think it did their jet ski business any favours seeing as everyone was shit scared of them after that. (apart from me coz [a] I'm fucking nails and [b] I was packing my trusty sawn-off down my cherry blossom speedos).Its time to head back and get ready for the gig so i tell Shandy to stop chirpsing the grannies and charging them money for hanging their beach towels on his nipples. Always after a quick buck that lad! We return (together), shower (separately), shave (my balls) and are ready to leave at 7:30pm on the money. We arrive at the venue about 15 mins later and make our way to the bar where an old grumpy lady serves up a lethal rum punch, which should be renamed 'donkey punch', coz thats what it felt like (not that I should know). The first band on were a covers band and the lead singer looked the spitting image of our landlord Stu which with my juvenile state of mind was a source of much hilarity. Watching Bobby's buttcheeks tighten and his forehead vein start throbbing when they ploughed through 'In the morning' by Razorlight was also quite amusing. Did you know he's their biggest fan?We keep our set pretty up-beat seeing as the St Lucians appear to be up for a boogie. The temperature is still warm so i lose about 3 stone in 40 mins, (still not as hot as the Croft at the end of last year though). The English crusties there got a bit of a shake on but it was the Lucians that really went for it. They don't really get much rock over there so there were a lot of dreads flying about which made Ingo feel at home. Having said that, Ingo looked like he was home. I'm suprised people weren't asking him for directions! The set whizzed by as usual with just enough time to squeeze in some shockingly bad gags which mostly came from me. We finished the set, finished the Gianluca Vialli, finished the old lady's rum and got involved in some serious crowd participation for the last band, who were wicked! We hit a few bars to finish off the evening with the unfortunate realisation that our time in the Caribbean was coming to an end. I crashed out around 3:00am having spoken enough shit to fertalize Columbia twice over, although it made perfect sense at the time. Honest.14 March : St Lucia - Antigua - London (Gatwick)6:00am. Too early for breakfast so i just get up and go and it seems as though everyone else does the same. The group is looking pretty special at this point. We drive to the smaller airport on the island and check-in, take some classic snaps on the beach nearby before realising that we should actually be boarding the plane. We say goodbye to Yvonne, who did a fantastic job of looking after us whilst we were there, and make our way to a small propeller plane at the far end of the runway. Ingo looks nervous. He doesn't like the fact that only one propeller is working either. We get squeezed on there and end up sitting right at the front of the plane, with me and Baz actually facing the rest of the passengers as if we're the air stewards. There's only one air hostess and she takes us to one side and explains that because we're sat next to the only emergency exits on the plane then we're responsible for opening them in case of disaster. She points to a leaflet that explains how to open the emergency doors. Ingo grabs it and commits it to memory, pretty much chanting it out loud to the rest of the plane whilst tightening his seat belt to the point of cutting off the circulation to his legs. Despite all of this though, the take off was smooth and the flight went ahead without any problems. Antigua looked completely different from the sky. It's very flat and a distinct contrast to the volcanic mountains of St Lucia. We land, pile off the plane and skip through passport control with aspirations of hitting the nearest beach a.s.a.p. before our evening flight back to the U.K. Unfortunately, those aspirations were dashed when a customs officer decided to swab our luggage and equipment only to discover very strong traces of cocaine everywhere. How the hell did that happen i wonder! Things get rather serious rather quickly and the group is split into two interrogation rooms. Me, Bobs, Jimmy and Shandy are bundled into one room and Baz, Dinger, Pete and Zena are escorted to another. Everyone is still properly hungover so it doesn't help that we all look like a bunch of skag heads. They start swabbing everything with their special rizzla that picks up on any traces of illegal substances. Bobby's forehead was of particular interest seeing as it almost broke the testing machine when he was swabbed. Jimmy sat in the corner and looked suitably uncomfortable. He'd been in the room a little longer than me so i began to wonder if his dream had come true and he'd been violently intruded by the big, black Customs officer. They sliced up my wash bag, emptied all our bags and pockets, checked our instruments and threatened to smash them open to find the cocaine that they were convinced we were smuggling. They definately saw Bobs as the ring leader. Most of the questioning went through him. The spotted his passport. It's an American passport."You American Bobby?" says the officer."Yep" says Bobs"FBI know you do cocaine Bobby?" the officer continues.Silence (Bobs realises that cracking up would not be the smartest move at this point)"There's a lot of cocaine in here Bobby! You can make all of this stop right now if you just tell us where it is Bobby!"Silence (Bobs has watched too much 24 to break under such feeble interrogation)"You're too high to get on that plane Bobby!"Silence.They get nowhere and can't find anything so they take it to the next level by threatening X-ray inspection followed by a good old-fashioned internal. Jimmy perks up a bit which obviously unsettles them and they decide to let us go but still keep Bobs behind for special treatment. I definately got the impression that the bigger one of the three officers had taken a shine to him. We meet up with the guys from the other room and find out that they got it pretty easy depsite Pete and Zena testing positive for heroine and explosives! Who the fuck employed these people?!!! We go outside, chill in the shade and wait for Bobs, praying that they don't have to take him away for a thorough examination, Code Name : Ring Raiders. We've only got a small 2 hour window to connect from Gatwick to Heathrow and off to Austria so any delay would fuck the Vienna gig royally. Bobs luckily waddles round the corner after only 20 minutes with a boyish grin on his face. He obviously hasn't been violated although i did notice a creamy residue in the corners of his mouth. Maybe he was just thirsty. We all laugh nervously at how serious it had all gotten so quickly and thank the lord that he blessed Ingo with the kind of nostrils capable of dispatching large amounts of evidence. At least we knew that if they'd searched Bazza's ass they would've found more of Jimmy than anything else!We check the bags in and hit the beach. The nearest one was packed with sweaty, greasy, American tourists (that may be unfair because its purely an assumption) so we hide down the far end and get some food in, followed by numerous cocktails to make sure we all sleep on the flight home. The barman's speciality was a 'Superman'. Very tasty and very pokey. They don't shy away on their portions over there. Really don't want to go but all good things come to an end. Baz shores his jetski and we drag our feet up the beach, into the taxi and off to the airport where, considering what had happened earlier, everything runs smoothly. The cocktails go to work and i conk out as soon as i sit down on the plane. When I wake up we're just about to land in Gatwick and i wipe the dribble from my very dry mouth. I smell.15 March : Gatwick - Heathrow - ViennaIt's about 8:00am and a very nice man meets us with a board with Fortune Drive written on it. He drives us to Heathrow and I sleep all the way, waking occasionally to nuzzle Ingo who's sat next to me. He doesn't complain. Another check in, another aeroplane, another flight which i sleep all the way on. You've got to get it in when you can, (That's one of my favorite mottos). Another nice taxi man is there to meet us in Vienna. He looks a little suprised when he sees us but we think nothing of it and continue on our merry way. The drive takes about half an hour although the address the driver has leads us to a church just up from the venue. It turns out that the street numbers are the wrong way round on his directions and what should've been 59 was in fact 95. He then explains that because he thought he was dropping a group of 8 at the church, he automatically assumed that he'd be taxiing a group of priests. A fair assumption considering. So when we all stumble out at the airport and head straight for his Fortune Drive sign, he got a little worried. "you don't look like priests", he said. Thank fuck for that! Although Baz does get mistaken for the Messiah on a regular basis. (maybe not so much now he's got his Used car salesman's tash on the go).WUK is an awesome venue. They put on a proper chinese buffet, stack the fridge with booze and even powder my plums with sherbert to refresh me after a long journey. Sound check was exactly that....... sound check. No real suprises there. We head to the hotel, shower, I watch some football coz there's no porn on yet, but they do have RTL which is good news. I share with Dinger again and he sleeps until the gig. I resist the temptation to draw on him.The Gig was amazing! The crowd were up for it which is always nice and we slammed a 40 minute stonker. Quick shout out to Hannes and his crew who got the drinks in afterwards, always much appreciated. We stuck around for a couple of hours but as the adrenaline wore off the last 5 days gradually crept up and took its bodycount. Not everyone though. Jimmy, Baz and Dinger went in search of some Tina Turners but found out that it would be easier trying to get swigged on Kaliber than it would be trying to find persian rugs in Vienna. Pete, Shandy and I went in search of food, although it could've been anything considering how hungry I was and how swigged Andy was. Chicken Kebab was the first port of call but that didn't even touch the sides. I think Shandy actually inhaled his. So it was quickly followed up by a large bratwurst, or weiner as Pete likes to call it. I'm not just saying this as a cheap gag but when I bit into mine it did spurt a torrent of hot sausage saliva about 6 foot into the air, leaving Pete opened-mouthed and Shandy with another mans weiner juice in his hair. It reminded me of a Peter North classic called Latino Babes 2. That episode finished me off and I went to bed. Ingo woke me momentarily at about 5:00am wearing a life jacket, twisted.16 March : Vienna - Heathrow - Brizzle Get up, wander around Vienna's old town which is absolutely stunning, drink three hot chocolates, get a taxi to the airport, stop off at a crazy looking house designed by an artist who called himself 'Underwater', take piccies, check the bags in, fly, land, get a lift to Bristol, have a pint, drift into a blissful, deep, uninterrupted slumber. The end. x
Any one who botherd reading any of this. And ofcourse any anyone who behaves in a disordaly fashion. .. width="425" height="350" ..