1 post tagged “i don't think i'd ever pierce my back”
On the last day of my twenties, I got up feeling as fresh as a daisy in a field of hungry cattle with bowel infections. I wobbled around a bit, ate some noodles, and got on a train. With each stop that passed, we got higher into the hills, and the carriage filled with young 'uns. I nursed a bottle of Jacques and watched the trees jog by.
I alighted at an unfamiliar town, where the streets were awash with young revellers. Within two minutes, I bumped into a good chum of old, and we went to a pub. They had framed pictures of prostrate women's buttocks with tyre marks running across them in the gents. Classy.
We'd come to attend a small festival. So that's where we went next. The venue had been set up in a field nestled into the town. We did a quick circuit, and concluded that the current band were a bunch of tuneless oiks, cranking out 'songs' with no discernable (read 'hummable') melody. We also concluded that the kids weren't alright after all. Least of all the very large girl with pink hair and multiple piercings on her back, where at a short distance the ball-bearings were indiscernible from her pimples. We bought two rounds of upsettingly dear tasteless cider in plastic bottles, sat on the grass, and tried to pinpoint when we'd gotten so old exactly.
We decided to head back into town, in order to buy some decent boozahol, and lunch on something other than rat burger. We were told by security that there was to be no readmission. One chap even had the temerity to patronisingly tell me that this was on the small print of my ticket, which I should have read. As it happens, I had read the small print on my ticket, which contained no such stipulation. But they were resolute. So I came up with a cunning ruse, and my chum and I each went to separate gatepeople, and told them that we needed to go into town to use a cashpoint. A lady asked me why I hadn't brought more money. This gave me the perfect opportunity to sound off about the expensive low-quality booze. At this point, the exasperated security folk let me out, and I reunited with my chum on the walk back into town. Bizarrely, when we returned to the ground, we walked straight back in with no argument.
I spoke with a young lady on the phone (a friend of Busty Farm Girl's, who I have something of a soft spot for), who told me where to find her in the ground. Whilst in transit, I saw some callow goon throw a flat, unidentified object (possibly a coin?) at the crowd, which imminently thwacked me upside the head. Still reeling, we approached this young upstart. Now, I am a pretty mellow person, and don't flare up that easily. So true to form, I just said to this chap "Dude - don't do that again. It wasn't very nice." The bit above my temple was raised, throbbing and bleeding; but this seemed enough of a reprimand. He claimed that he had merely meant to throw the object into the crowd, and had not meant to hit anyone (a less than watertight defence, I'm sure you'll agree). My friend was less forgiving, threatened to beat the fuck out of the kid, and - in a moment of unrehearsed rage - called him a "prickshit". I think it was worth sustaining the injury just to hear this fabulous insult. I led my friend away, whilst calmly informing the bloke that it would probably serve him well to play nice.
Shortly afterwards, Busty Farm Girl and some other chums turned up, and the drinking gathered pace. I dived into the crowd to skank and cleave skulls to Reel Big Fish, which was fun - although the slamming wasn't quite as violent as I'd hoped for (did I claim to be 'mellow' above? Um...). I'm not sure of the exact order that everything else happened in, as things start to get fuzzy after this. At one point, it started shitting it down, and we all had to take shelter in a bush. I went to see a small band in a tent during the afternoon, and got slightly broody when I saw Busty Farm Girl's lovely friend dancing with a young girl of about four or five in her arms, beaming the winningest smile at her whilst chunky nu-metal raged away in the near distance. At some point we escaped the ground and went to a pub. I was bullied into skulling four sambuccas in about ten minutes, and my head began to melt. The rest couldn't be bothered to go and watch the headliners, so I made my way back into the ground (again, with no hassle wotsoever) by myself.
Paramore were up before the headliners. And they rocked! Although I was admittedly a little tiddly. The singer totally dominated the stage, and - considering she's only eighteen - had the most awesome presence. A star in the making!
Headliners Lostprophets were, however, a big satchel of spunk. I saw them in Auckland about three and a half years ago (long-term readers of my blobs might recall this (although I'd be genuinely surprised if they did)), and - back then - they did give it some serious oomph. However, they have become a coiffeured boy band in the meantime. The new songs are rubbish, and they only stopped half a step short of having dance routines. I stuck it for about three songs, and then walked off. The advantage of this, however, was that I got on a quiet train before the crowd spilled out of the festival. I fell asleep on the train, woke up, and asked a group of people if we'd passed my stop. We hadn't. I then overheard one little cunt saying, in earnest, "Shit - we should have stolen his phone while he was still asleep". In deciding whether or not to exercise an act of extreme violence on this person (there's that fabled 'mellowness' again), and whilst being admittedly a little confused by having only just woken up, I missed my stop, and had a twenty minute walk back home.
