I remember a time before most people had internet access. The internet, or BBS (pre World Wide Web – called Bulletin Board Systems) was only the preserve of the rich. Or, 'lab coated intellectual university types'.
[dons a smoking jacket, and swills around a glass of port while puffing on a cigar]
The 'information age' is all very well and good. It's amazing the way people can communicate online via the medium of social networking sites and forums. It's great how it has made the world smaller if you look at it in a certain fashion, and how it brings people together. Such as this hallowed forum to quote nearly infinite numbers of online examples, You can even go as far as checking this place out on a smart phone wherever you are. Hell, you can even look at the forum while you're on the toilet in a random Starbucks somewhere. Instant communication. The stuff of dreams.
Or...Is it?
[Cue Dvorak's 'New Age Symphony' at this point]
Back in the late 1990s when I finished college, Windows XP had yet to exist and internet connections were expensive. Most people either rang people up, met them down the pub, invited themselves over for tea and biscuits – maybe even a few beers. The only way I kept in touch with college friends that split and went to University while I got a job was writing to one or two people, We aimed to stay in touch with several others but they all disappeared into the ether (to be found a decade later lurking on Facebook with kids, a mortgage, a job, probably some grey hairs and a bit of weight. Maybe even a bit threadbare in the old barnet department for blokes. It varies).
I used to enjoy writing to a friend of mine. Every week, without fail, I would write about how things were and just about anything that we believe that mattered. Not piddling observations either. Elaborate tomes on A4 margined paper, spanning around 10 pages. With decent spelling, punctuation and grammar. These never suffered from connection problems, or needed technical know how. Just a bit of time, your favourite pen, and a 20ish pence for a sticker with The Queen's Profile on it stuck on the top left corner that officially paid for it to reach the destination outlined on the envelope.
Occasionally, I would ring him up too. Using my shiny new mobile phone, which not many people had. Which looked ever so flash and 'looked like it cost a bit' and would raise an eyebrow to use some of my 100 minutes monthly allowance on my contract. There was something in the manual about 'SMS Messaging' – and often wondered what it was like to receive such a thing on my phone.
Every month, or every other month depending on financial circumstance I would take a train down to his University Digs and crash out over there. Meeting in person, having a good old pint down the pub or several. And getting up to madcap high jinks with the occupants of his Digs. I would also splash my wages on shiny new CD's, or better still – Vinyl. Second hand Pink Floyd, Mike Oldfield, and one time I was blown away by the majesty that was 'Floodland' by Sisters of Mercy. Even brand new vinyl. New releases by my favourite extreme metal bands like Emperor, Napalm Death, Deicide, and a record by a bunch of men in Badger-esque make up that had an indecipherable band logo. It was either Darkthrone or Cradle of Filth. I can't recall. I still have them somewhere. And, a couple by this band called The Mission.
I would often stick the hi-fi on, and just write away to these friends. They done the same thing too. And this may looked like I was being anti social, but I also had friends that were more local to me that I used to catch up with and have a pint with them too. I made sure I made the time.
Fast forward back to modern day:
Sometime, not so long ago on a broadband connection browsing Facebook somewhere in a North West town in a spare room, I read an interesting status. It read that they received a letter from their Grandmother that was beautifully wrote, with correct grammar, spelling and was moved by it. She felt the need to switch the PC off and write back. The stati claimed an 'epic number of like clicks' with many people reminiscing of those times. Amongst the sea of drivel that read “I ad my fish n chips 4 my tea n it wuz gret likh, aha” and such like.
Don't get me wrong. I don't want to go back some strange Victorian era where we all wrote with a quill and ink, but don't you miss the days of this sort of thing outlined in this post? In some way, technology has helped communication but has also depersonalised it to some extent.
Make of this what you will...
Thursday, 24 February 2011
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Obituary gig - A Soiree In Sheffield
Greetings loyal subjects,
Again, it has been a very long while since I have created a blog. At the time of writing it is a very boring Sunday afternoon/evening and things are are bit fuzzy and I am suffering with 'Holiday Comedown'. At the time of writing (14th March 2010), it has been a good couple of hours since my return from Sheffield; my bags still require unpacking and I am at a loose end this evening. I really hate coming back from somewhere, and returning 'back to reality' after having a good time over the weekend. Back to the drudgery or returning back to Bastardoshire, and going to work at Unimatrix One towers the following morning. Returning back to reality totally sucks arse.
Anyway, enough of my bitter complaining and lament.
I was quite pleased to discover that Obituary were touring, and I decided that I MUST attend. However, one of the biggest problems to face with being a fan of extreme metal (Death and Black Metal being my specialist subject) is that in the UK most of these bands just appear to play just in London alone as the sole UK date. If you are a 'Northern Metaller' like myself, this can become rather annoying as you feel that the rock scene is somewhat neglected compared to our southern cousins down in “Lahndahn”. However, much to my delight I discovered they were playing in Sheffield.
The tickets had been ordered for myself, but unfortunately due to a lot of complex shit I will not get into here the hotel was booked last minute. And I mean VERY last minute, quite literally the night before with the laptop in the kitchen while me and Dave Taxidude searched for locations to crash at, along with Countess Bastardo searching for places on her PC. Fortunately, we hit up a place in in Beighton, Sheffield. Which unfortunately was as close as we could get. We ended up crashing at a Bed and Breakfast in town that only set us back £40 a night for a twin room, or £25 for a single. In our case, we chose a twin room due to a lack of rooms at the time.
There were further setbacks getting to the place which resulted in us getting into Beighton for something like 1930hrs. As a result, we literally had to check in, and bugger off straight out of the building as soon as we arrived. With part of the journey speeding through Snake Pass, which is probably one of the most treacherous roads in the UK for any motorist worth their salt. Incredibly, there was still snow in parts on the hills and for half of the duration there is no phone or radio signals of any shape or form whatsoever. Before travelling through there, I recommend that your car is in optimal mechanical condition before going, as it's the last place you would want your vehicle to thrown it's hand in at.
It was also a poignant journey, as it was the last journey in 'Luciferia - The Ethereal Vehicle of Darkness'. Which is the name that we referred to Dave Taxidude's car, a Rover 75 Connoisseur SE 2litre CRTDi, which has an imposing gothic looking presence due to its retro styling and black colour. I only hope that Luciferia goes to a good home and is looked after. I know, it sounds a bit odd having feeling and sentiments for a vehicle - especially a vehicle that isn't my own. It must be a bloke thing, I don't know...
Due to the late arrival, I am not entirely sure of what other support bands were playing. The doors were open from 1830hrs onwards, which is an insanely early time for a venue to open that hosts gigs. Upon arrival, we discovered that there were next to no staff around the building to point us in the right direction, and nobody to check who had entered the premises. Most unhelpful, and not forgetting a security risk as we actually attended the concert with our tickets, and the ticket stubs still intact as there was nobody to verify our tickets. Come to think of it, one could have actually sneaked into the gig without any suspicion and attended the gig for free. Bad move, Sheffield O2 Academy!
Neuroma were a pretty interesting band, that appear to be in the 'Progressive Death Metal' vein, very much like Opeth. Involving clean vocals in places and keyboards and synths wrapped up into the mix. It is with regret that we only managed to see half of their set, but they are certainly a band worthy of note and recommendation, and their material is certainly worth tracking down if you got on fine with Opeth and like Death Metal and Black Metal bands.
Next up, naturally, was Obituary. I had managed to get a decent spot at the front which was relatively easy as the room was small and intimate. Something I like to see in a metal gig; I like it when you can see the band close up and personal and where you can see the whites of the band members eyes and I am not a fan of larger gigs such as in stadiums, which I feel distances the band from the fans and depersonalises the whole experience (one of the best gigs for being close up and personal was Esoteric, playing in Club Phoenix, Manchester).
They certainly worked rather well, with the spectacle highlighted by the singer John Tardy and his 'Rapunzel' style barnet moshing away like a whirling dervish - which is quite incredible for a bloke who must be in his mid 40's (there is nothing wrong with my own barnet but I couldn't help but be jealous), with crunching riffs from Ralph Santolla, Trevor Peres and Frank Watkins. The crowd went several shades of mental when old classic were played such as 'The End Complete', 'Rotting Ways', with the closer being 'Slowly We Rot'. The curfew of the gig was quite frankly ridiculous, with the crowed being booted out of the building not long after 2215hrs (the ticket stubs actually said a curfew of 2200hrs!).
Clubbing for the remainder of the stay:
The rest of the night out in Sheffield on Friday was something of a damp squib. It appears that the discerning Metaller and Goth chooses to go out on the sauce in Sheffield on a Saturday. Various establishments were visited such as The Nelson, Boardwalk, and Casbah and we found them to be particularly dead with not too much activity, apart from the occasional moronic trend that happened to enter the premises jumping around like a prick to tunes that they have heard on Kerrang and Scuzz on UK Satellite and Cable TV.
By far the worst, was The Corporation. We had only attended for a mere quarter of an hour and were horrified with what was being played. Turns out, that on Friday The Corporation plays all this horrid 'Radio Friendly Unit Shifter' rock that is commonly featured and played to death on the likes of UK Satellite TV channels Kerrang and Scuzz. Awful stuff and other Emo 'Hitler Fringed' nonsense while upstairs played chart and dance stuff, believe it or not. Upon exiting, we quiz a bouncer about it and it transpires that due to 'The Recession' (groan) the venue is no longer making enough money and that they now have to appeal to the trend moron count on Friday's just to generate money.
A difficult thing really. Granted, the place has to make money and put bread on the table but if I owned the place I would rather stick my cock in a pickle slicer than do such a thing to a night club. It really pisses me off; I see this happen with other venues such as The Krazyhouse in Liverpool on a Saturday to name on example. The trends have plenty of other places to go to, so why the fuck should they ruin and pollute OUR nights out? Personally, I would have very strict quality control to keep these morons out as they are the ones who cause most of the trouble on these nights out. It must be known that there is dramatically less shit occurring on rock nights than there is on the average trend night, as I witnessed when I used to 'double agent' down King Street in Wigan.
Saturday was by far, infinitely superior. A lot more of the decent Metal and Goth crowd were out and the music in The Corporation was how it usually is when I have attended in the past. The place is comprised of four rooms, which Countess Bastardo reckons is too many. The first and largest floor (where bands usually play) is usually where the Hair Metal is played and the more popular Rock and Metal music that you would hear in other establishments similar to that of The Krazyhouse, Maximes, or Jilly's Rockworld. The second room is one of the smallest, but by far my most favourite room as the room is centred around Extreme Metal music such as Carcass, Hatebreed, Bloodbath, At The Gates, Killswitch Engage and a lot more in-between.
The third room is practically nirvana for the Cybergoth persuasion as there is usually a lot of Industrial/EBM/Aggrotech type of music played in there which I don't mind at all. There is a fourth but I think this is the balcony area (apologies for vagueness but the place is very much like a maze) and fuck knows how you get to the cloakroom. You would think that logically, like most nightclubs you would be able to hand your coats in somewhere around the ticket booth area like Jilly's, or at least within spitting distance from it. Oh no, it's ferociously confusing after quite a few beers but fortunately I was wearing a German army shirt/coat affair which I just tied around my waist.
So, in conclusion: AVOID FRIDAY like the plague. Go out on a Saturday. I did this, so you didn't have to!
Daytime stuff:
During our stay, we had a wander around the shops. A particularly cool feature of the locale is the usage of trams to get around. In our case, it was a 10 to 15 minute walk up a steep hill away from the Bed and Breakfast and you sort of go around a bend and nearly double back on yourself to get to the Beighton stop. Which isn't recommended if you have Asthma and lungs with the consistency of Swiss cheese.
The tram journey was super efficient and went through all sorts of strange little villages and areas before going to Sheffield centre. With curious place names like Crystal Peaks, Heckinthorpe, and other typically Yorkshire sounding place names. Granted, we may have dropped a bollock on booking a place to stay but it was certainly worth it to see these strange and mysterious places you wouldn't normally have seen if you stayed in the centre of Sheffield. The tickets are £3 for a full day pass type and are usable on Stage Coach badged buses. Me and Dave Taxidude had invented a name for the Tram; it was like a bus, but it isn't, with the efficiency of a train but it isn't a train. Therefore, we referred to it as 'The Trus', or 'The Brain' – an amusing portmanteau of the words Bus and Train.
Conclusion:
All in all, despite last minute faffing with booking somewhere to stay it was a good weekend indeed. The Beighton Bed and Breakfast is a pretty cosy place to stay, and is easy enough to get out to the town centre and relatively cheap in a quite village where it seems not very much goes on. I also recommend Marilyn's sandwich bar over the street as they do a pretty mean Bacon Sandwich. I purchased something called The Full Monty, which consisted of basically an all day breakfast shoved on a sizeable barmcake which is open at daytime hours. An ideal morning food to mop up the alcohol in your system the night before, if you are up to it.
Stay tuned for more, and hopefully frequent updates!
Again, it has been a very long while since I have created a blog. At the time of writing it is a very boring Sunday afternoon/evening and things are are bit fuzzy and I am suffering with 'Holiday Comedown'. At the time of writing (14th March 2010), it has been a good couple of hours since my return from Sheffield; my bags still require unpacking and I am at a loose end this evening. I really hate coming back from somewhere, and returning 'back to reality' after having a good time over the weekend. Back to the drudgery or returning back to Bastardoshire, and going to work at Unimatrix One towers the following morning. Returning back to reality totally sucks arse.
Anyway, enough of my bitter complaining and lament.
I was quite pleased to discover that Obituary were touring, and I decided that I MUST attend. However, one of the biggest problems to face with being a fan of extreme metal (Death and Black Metal being my specialist subject) is that in the UK most of these bands just appear to play just in London alone as the sole UK date. If you are a 'Northern Metaller' like myself, this can become rather annoying as you feel that the rock scene is somewhat neglected compared to our southern cousins down in “Lahndahn”. However, much to my delight I discovered they were playing in Sheffield.
The tickets had been ordered for myself, but unfortunately due to a lot of complex shit I will not get into here the hotel was booked last minute. And I mean VERY last minute, quite literally the night before with the laptop in the kitchen while me and Dave Taxidude searched for locations to crash at, along with Countess Bastardo searching for places on her PC. Fortunately, we hit up a place in in Beighton, Sheffield. Which unfortunately was as close as we could get. We ended up crashing at a Bed and Breakfast in town that only set us back £40 a night for a twin room, or £25 for a single. In our case, we chose a twin room due to a lack of rooms at the time.
There were further setbacks getting to the place which resulted in us getting into Beighton for something like 1930hrs. As a result, we literally had to check in, and bugger off straight out of the building as soon as we arrived. With part of the journey speeding through Snake Pass, which is probably one of the most treacherous roads in the UK for any motorist worth their salt. Incredibly, there was still snow in parts on the hills and for half of the duration there is no phone or radio signals of any shape or form whatsoever. Before travelling through there, I recommend that your car is in optimal mechanical condition before going, as it's the last place you would want your vehicle to thrown it's hand in at.
It was also a poignant journey, as it was the last journey in 'Luciferia - The Ethereal Vehicle of Darkness'. Which is the name that we referred to Dave Taxidude's car, a Rover 75 Connoisseur SE 2litre CRTDi, which has an imposing gothic looking presence due to its retro styling and black colour. I only hope that Luciferia goes to a good home and is looked after. I know, it sounds a bit odd having feeling and sentiments for a vehicle - especially a vehicle that isn't my own. It must be a bloke thing, I don't know...
Due to the late arrival, I am not entirely sure of what other support bands were playing. The doors were open from 1830hrs onwards, which is an insanely early time for a venue to open that hosts gigs. Upon arrival, we discovered that there were next to no staff around the building to point us in the right direction, and nobody to check who had entered the premises. Most unhelpful, and not forgetting a security risk as we actually attended the concert with our tickets, and the ticket stubs still intact as there was nobody to verify our tickets. Come to think of it, one could have actually sneaked into the gig without any suspicion and attended the gig for free. Bad move, Sheffield O2 Academy!
Neuroma were a pretty interesting band, that appear to be in the 'Progressive Death Metal' vein, very much like Opeth. Involving clean vocals in places and keyboards and synths wrapped up into the mix. It is with regret that we only managed to see half of their set, but they are certainly a band worthy of note and recommendation, and their material is certainly worth tracking down if you got on fine with Opeth and like Death Metal and Black Metal bands.
Next up, naturally, was Obituary. I had managed to get a decent spot at the front which was relatively easy as the room was small and intimate. Something I like to see in a metal gig; I like it when you can see the band close up and personal and where you can see the whites of the band members eyes and I am not a fan of larger gigs such as in stadiums, which I feel distances the band from the fans and depersonalises the whole experience (one of the best gigs for being close up and personal was Esoteric, playing in Club Phoenix, Manchester).
They certainly worked rather well, with the spectacle highlighted by the singer John Tardy and his 'Rapunzel' style barnet moshing away like a whirling dervish - which is quite incredible for a bloke who must be in his mid 40's (there is nothing wrong with my own barnet but I couldn't help but be jealous), with crunching riffs from Ralph Santolla, Trevor Peres and Frank Watkins. The crowd went several shades of mental when old classic were played such as 'The End Complete', 'Rotting Ways', with the closer being 'Slowly We Rot'. The curfew of the gig was quite frankly ridiculous, with the crowed being booted out of the building not long after 2215hrs (the ticket stubs actually said a curfew of 2200hrs!).
Clubbing for the remainder of the stay:
The rest of the night out in Sheffield on Friday was something of a damp squib. It appears that the discerning Metaller and Goth chooses to go out on the sauce in Sheffield on a Saturday. Various establishments were visited such as The Nelson, Boardwalk, and Casbah and we found them to be particularly dead with not too much activity, apart from the occasional moronic trend that happened to enter the premises jumping around like a prick to tunes that they have heard on Kerrang and Scuzz on UK Satellite and Cable TV.
By far the worst, was The Corporation. We had only attended for a mere quarter of an hour and were horrified with what was being played. Turns out, that on Friday The Corporation plays all this horrid 'Radio Friendly Unit Shifter' rock that is commonly featured and played to death on the likes of UK Satellite TV channels Kerrang and Scuzz. Awful stuff and other Emo 'Hitler Fringed' nonsense while upstairs played chart and dance stuff, believe it or not. Upon exiting, we quiz a bouncer about it and it transpires that due to 'The Recession' (groan) the venue is no longer making enough money and that they now have to appeal to the trend moron count on Friday's just to generate money.
A difficult thing really. Granted, the place has to make money and put bread on the table but if I owned the place I would rather stick my cock in a pickle slicer than do such a thing to a night club. It really pisses me off; I see this happen with other venues such as The Krazyhouse in Liverpool on a Saturday to name on example. The trends have plenty of other places to go to, so why the fuck should they ruin and pollute OUR nights out? Personally, I would have very strict quality control to keep these morons out as they are the ones who cause most of the trouble on these nights out. It must be known that there is dramatically less shit occurring on rock nights than there is on the average trend night, as I witnessed when I used to 'double agent' down King Street in Wigan.
Saturday was by far, infinitely superior. A lot more of the decent Metal and Goth crowd were out and the music in The Corporation was how it usually is when I have attended in the past. The place is comprised of four rooms, which Countess Bastardo reckons is too many. The first and largest floor (where bands usually play) is usually where the Hair Metal is played and the more popular Rock and Metal music that you would hear in other establishments similar to that of The Krazyhouse, Maximes, or Jilly's Rockworld. The second room is one of the smallest, but by far my most favourite room as the room is centred around Extreme Metal music such as Carcass, Hatebreed, Bloodbath, At The Gates, Killswitch Engage and a lot more in-between.
The third room is practically nirvana for the Cybergoth persuasion as there is usually a lot of Industrial/EBM/Aggrotech type of music played in there which I don't mind at all. There is a fourth but I think this is the balcony area (apologies for vagueness but the place is very much like a maze) and fuck knows how you get to the cloakroom. You would think that logically, like most nightclubs you would be able to hand your coats in somewhere around the ticket booth area like Jilly's, or at least within spitting distance from it. Oh no, it's ferociously confusing after quite a few beers but fortunately I was wearing a German army shirt/coat affair which I just tied around my waist.
So, in conclusion: AVOID FRIDAY like the plague. Go out on a Saturday. I did this, so you didn't have to!
Daytime stuff:
During our stay, we had a wander around the shops. A particularly cool feature of the locale is the usage of trams to get around. In our case, it was a 10 to 15 minute walk up a steep hill away from the Bed and Breakfast and you sort of go around a bend and nearly double back on yourself to get to the Beighton stop. Which isn't recommended if you have Asthma and lungs with the consistency of Swiss cheese.
The tram journey was super efficient and went through all sorts of strange little villages and areas before going to Sheffield centre. With curious place names like Crystal Peaks, Heckinthorpe, and other typically Yorkshire sounding place names. Granted, we may have dropped a bollock on booking a place to stay but it was certainly worth it to see these strange and mysterious places you wouldn't normally have seen if you stayed in the centre of Sheffield. The tickets are £3 for a full day pass type and are usable on Stage Coach badged buses. Me and Dave Taxidude had invented a name for the Tram; it was like a bus, but it isn't, with the efficiency of a train but it isn't a train. Therefore, we referred to it as 'The Trus', or 'The Brain' – an amusing portmanteau of the words Bus and Train.
Conclusion:
All in all, despite last minute faffing with booking somewhere to stay it was a good weekend indeed. The Beighton Bed and Breakfast is a pretty cosy place to stay, and is easy enough to get out to the town centre and relatively cheap in a quite village where it seems not very much goes on. I also recommend Marilyn's sandwich bar over the street as they do a pretty mean Bacon Sandwich. I purchased something called The Full Monty, which consisted of basically an all day breakfast shoved on a sizeable barmcake which is open at daytime hours. An ideal morning food to mop up the alcohol in your system the night before, if you are up to it.
Stay tuned for more, and hopefully frequent updates!
Monday, 26 October 2009
Damnation Festival 2009
Greetings loyal subjects,
It has been a while since I decided to write a blog, due to the massive shift of people going to Facebook instead of using Myspace. Annoying really, as I quite like the camaraderie of Myspace and the meeting of new people on there (despite the problems that I have had with certain people). Probably another factor to the shift is down to the popular use of mobile Internet and the fact that Facebook is “cleaner to look at” on a mobile phone or Blackberry versus Myspace. I am not too sure.
Anyway, I digress.
I have decided to document my experiences of the Damnation Festival, which is held yearly at Leeds University. To those not in the know, this is an extreme metal festival that has three stages, with various bands playing. Due to it being held in the labyrinthine complex of a university building, it can be very easy for those breaking their Damnation Festival Virginity to lose their way around the place.
The Jagermeister stage is held upstairs, while the Rock Sound and the Terrorizer are down in the inner bowels of the building; notably, the Terrorizer stage is held in the Stylus room where The Wendyhouse and Rock of Ages nights are held. The Stylus room is a health and safety nightmare to the extreme lack of lighting. It can be alarmingly easy to fall “arse over tit” as a result in there. I am surprised that this particular room has got away with the lack of lighting, as I have tripped myself over some random person that was sitting on the floor while I was navigating around one night during my first outing on The Wendyhouse night. To those who are contemplating attending the Rock of Ages. Wendyhouse, or Damnation Festival night I recommend that they bring along a small LED key ring torch, to save yourself a mischief. Some people may argue that it provides a nice “Goth Ambience” to the place, but I disagree. They REALLY need to sort this out.
Due to the nature of scattered stages, and my preferences of bands in attendance, I cherry picked the following:
Nazxul (their UK gig debut, and an exclusive to the show)
Firebird
The Gates of Slumber
Electric Wizard
Mistress (their last show ever, watched half of the set waiting for Akercocke)
Akercocke
Rotting Christ
Therapy (viewed some of their set waiting for Life of Agony)
Life of Agony (view some of their set, and went off to see Lock Up)
Lock Up (some of their set viewed, due to watching previous band)
Nazxul:
I was at first initially worried about not getting to Leeds University on time, due to the time keeping of a certain person in attendance who is something of a “Time Bandit”. We had collectively gone out the previous night on an excursion around Bradford, with the last stop being at The Gasworks, “keeping it easy” so we weren’t too bollocksed for the next day.
Despite traffic getting to the place, we got there without a hitch. We discovered the previous night that Negura Bunget had pulled out due to the singer having Laryngitis, which had bought some time for others playing on the Terrorizer stage. Which meant that Naxzul played at around 1400-1430hrs or so, and I missed none of their set as a result.
As mentioned previously, it was Nazxul’s debut live appearance in this country. A finely polished, and clean – nearly clinical live sound. You could be forgiven for thinking that this band comes from deepest, darkest Scandinavia, due to their particular brand of 1349/Darkthrone/Immortal-esque icy black metal bombast. Not so, as they hail from Australia, a very large landmass below the equator. Known for such exports like the Holden/Vauxhall Monaro sports car, Fosters lager, and AC/DC to name examples. Corpse painted, and sounding “Grimmmmm” with a capital G, they tore the stage a second arsehole, with Luke Mills pacing up and down the stage in a red robe bearing the obligatory inverted crucifixes. A fantastic debut, and I only hope that they return to this poxy island in the North Atlantic very soon.
Stand out tracks worthy of note were: “Dragon Dispitious”, and “Black Wings”
Firebird:
Next up, on the Jagermeister stage, was Firebird. Featuring Bill Steer, who was famous for playing guitar in the legendary Scouse grindcore outfit Carcass. A complete and total departure from his extreme metal ex-day job, with a blues rock sound that reminded me heavily of The Black Crowes, and reminiscent of 70’s rock bands such as Cream.
They were an interesting, and refreshing diversion to the usual bands on the Damnation Festival line up. They are a band that I knew of for a while, but have only discovered relatively recently. To be perfectly honest, they are a band that I wish I discovered earlier. Bill Steer has particularly strong vocals that reminded me very much of Chris Robinson from The Black Crowes, that work very well and are a complete departure from the back up vocal styles he used on the Carcass albums “Symphonies of Sickness” and “Necroticism, Descanting the Insalubrious”. If you like your classic rock bands such as Led Zeppelin, Cream, early Black Sabbath and the like then you shouldn’t be able to fault Firebird.
Stand out tracks worthy of note were: “Black Flame, and “Jack The Lad”.
The Gates of Slumber:
I decided to give The Gates of Slumber a whirl, purely on the basis of making damn sure that I got a decent viewing of Electric Wizard. Therefore, after Firebird I more or less decided to stay in the immediate vicinity.
This particular band, is of the Doom Metal variety, reminding me of Cirith Ungol, and Saint Vitus. Which, in my book, is certainly not a bad thing. The Doom Metal genre is something that I quite like, and I thorough enjoy St Vitus, Trouble, Electric Wizard, and Cirith Ungol. I have to say, I knew of the name but I had certainly hadn’t heard any of their output and certainly haven’t seen them in the live environment.
For some strange reason, the vocalist and guitarist Karl Simon reminded me of a biker version of the guy from the program “The Real Hustle”, but the band certainly delivered the goods and sounded great live. I wish that I had discovered them before, and this wouldn’t be the first time that I wished this as we shall see further into the realms of this blog. They have certainly gained a new fan, that’s for sure.
Stand out track worthy of note: “Trapped In The Web”
Electric Wizard:
Now, we were definitely getting somewhere. The last time that I went to see Electric Wizard was in the Manchester Academy, in the small cupboardy room that is accessed via a very scary metal spiral stair case, something that isn’t recommended ascending or descending if you happen to suffer from Vertigo.
Unfortunately, their set in this particular venue was plagued by a technical hitch. Due to the band’s preference of using 1970’s electronics and amplification, they had melted a speaker wire, which had screwed up their set by ten minutes. As a consequence, I wanted to see their set in its entirety, due to the problems that plagued that Manchester gig.
I am pleased to say that all went very well indeed, and it was a thoroughly enjoyable set that mainly appeared to centre around. The sound was epic to say the least, a mind melting blur of ultra distorted doom where one track and the next appeared to have no beginning, or end (apologies for any vagaries with regards to the stand out tracks).
The quartet of Oborn, Buckingham, Taz, and Butler having a particularly striking presence that reminded me of that Hammer Horror film. I can’t recall the name, but it was based around a biker cult where they became the un-dead after some form of ceremony, where they died in various instances such as a motorcycle crash, and one drowning themselves in a river. Feel free to remind me what the film was called, naturally.
Stand out tracks worthy of note: “Dunwich”, “Dopethrone”, and “Funerapolis”
Mistress:
In anticipation of Akercocke and Rotting Christ playing the Terrorizer stage, I managed to watch half the set of Mistress. I had only discovered this band on that night, having previously not known of them before.
Unfortunately, I discovered that the Damnation Festival appearance was to be their last ever show, as Dave Cunt and his merry band of men have decided to call it a day. Which I can only assume must be devastating news for its very loyal fans, which were merrily leaping around the place like migrating Salmon on amphetamines, circle pitting as if it was the last day on earth. I haven’t witnessed such a feral mosh pit since the likes of when I attended Slayer, and the now defunct Stamping Ground who I have seen supporting Chimaira.
Their sound is of a distinctly grimy nature, mixing punk, doom, sludge, and grind elements, and reminds me very much of the likes of Hatebreed but distinctly harsh and nastier, but in a very pleasing sense of the definition of metallic musical heaviness.
There were many stage divers observed, and on quite a few occasions the delightfully named Dave Cunt was observed giving some of the stage dive-e’s a cheery kick up the arse back into the sea of writing bodies in the audience. A lot of fun for all involved, and it’s a crying shame that such a band has decided to call it a day. They will be sorely missed, and I feel deeply privileged to have witnessed their last gig.
Akercocke:
As far as I was concerned, we were reaching the cream of the bands. One of which, in my humble opinion was the mighty Akercocke.
I decided on being right at the front, to witness Jason Mendonca and his merry men proper up close and personal. This was a band that I have wanted to see for a very long time, but constraints on geography (e.g. being too far away from my locale) had thwarted any plans. This time, I had the good fortune to see them. The line up has altered from that of a few years ago, with Matt Willcock (ex The Berzerker) now filling in for guitar duties to replace Peter Theobolds.
Despite this, the band certainly delivered the goods and a reasonably good mosh pit formed behind me. Their particular blend of blacked death metal (or is that deathened black metal?) going down a treat with the fans.
Stand out tracks worthy of note: “Verdelet”, “A Skin For Dancing In”, “Praise The Name of Satan”.
Rotting Christ:
Next in the line up on the Terrorizer stage were the mighty Greek black metallers Rotting Christ. This was also band that I have wanted to see for a very long time. In fact, some time ago I distinctly remember that they were supporting Decapitated in Manchester – but my sense of geography is shit so I didn’t try to find out where the venue was, unfortunately.
Anyway, I decided to stay right at the front, and basically didn’t go anywhere as soon as Ackercocke finished as I wanted to witness the potential of the band up close, and personal. Their unique Greek flavoured black metal went down a storm with the fans, with a fairly active pit forming behind me with equal enthusiasm and gusto.
The only fly in the ointment, was a brief altercation with some random guy from the southern counties having a rant about my anti vegetarianism, who felt that he had to provide some input when I was discussing with my good friend Death Metal Daria the negatives of having a herbivorous diet – sparked off by my sentiment that I would declare vegetarianism as illegal if I were to become prime minister.
To which, I basically quoted that as far as I was concerned the human body is not designed for this diet, notably with having canine teeth and an unused appendix. Not forgetting the basic irrefutable fact that the vegetarian friends that I know always seem to be susceptible to various illness and maladies than their omnivorous contemporaries. Topped off with that we will “agree to disagree, and to watch the band instead of enter an irrelevant debate”, which had silenced a potential face off.
Stand out tracks worthy of note: “Athanatoi Este”, “Non Serivam”.
Therapy:
Now, this was certainly a strange one. Now, let me get this straight; Damnation Festival is a Festival that is held for bands of the more extreme nature of the metal spectrum. The inclusion of Therapy was indeed, a very strange one. Nevertheless, there was a sizeable quantity of people in attendance on the Jagermeister stage. I had only watched them play a handful of tracks as I was waiting around to see some of Life of Agony’s set.
The band produced a fairly decent effort on stage, and performed pretty well – even though this kind of thing isn’t really “my bag” as it were. I hovered at the back of the room with Count Varg, Yorkshire Mark, and Death Metal Daria and hung out with them while watching the band with a somewhat passive interest.
Stand out track worthy of note: “Screamager”.
Life of Agony:
Now, this was a band that was certainly hotly anticipated. They haven’t played in the UK for quite a few years, so I am lead to believe. They were certainly met with a rapturous reception, with a set list that appeared to centre mostly on their début album “River Runs Red”. Something of which, is certainly not a bad thing in my book, as I don’t think they have been able to equal this album since.
I did feel very privileged to see this rather legendary band, and they were certainly one of the better bands that were in the line up for this year’s festival. Keith Caputo leading the crowd with aplomb, and from a distance sporting a barnet bearing a resemblance to a 1970’s Ozzy Osboure, or was it just me?
I watched a few of their tracks, and then decided to enter the bowels of the building to see Lock Up, the “super project” featuring members from Napalm Death, and At The Gates.
Stand out tracks worthy of note: “River Runs Red”, “This Time”.
Lock Up:
This particular band were the headliners of the Terrorizer stage, located deep within the bowels of the building in the room that hosts The Wendy House and Rock of Ages nights.
They were also a band that I had never witnessed before. An intriguing combination, featuring Shane Embury (Napalm Death), Nick Barker (Old Man’s Child, Cradle of Filth etc – he has been the drummer in numerous bands), Tomas Lindberg (At The Gates, now with a short back and sides barnet instead of the ginger dreads of yore), A band, that describes themselves as “mid eighties Thrash and Death Metal mixed with sixteen pints of Vodka and Red Bull”.
They were a good band, but sometimes I couldn’t help but feel it was a project band for projects sake. These so-called super groups can be an intriguing prospect, and in other instances it can be a case of having too much spare time on their hands (Fantomas springs to mind). Nevertheless, their delightfully grimy and crispy shredding went down a storm with their fans, and it was quite an enjoyable conclusion to the end of the night’s proceedings, reminding me of a Napalm Death-esque band fronted by that dude from At The Gates.
The Night Draws To a Close, and “My Kebab Son”:
We decided to stick around for the after show party, which had some fairly decent music played earlier on (Finntroll, Satryicon, At The Gates, Carcass, to name a few examples) before it descended into hair metal hell, something of which I found rather worrying. After all, there are plenty of nights that seem to pander to a hair metal disposition, so why ruin the play list with a load of poodle haired twaddle?
Anyhow, it appeared that quite a few people were too pissed to give a shit, but it was not to my taste. I mean, an extreme metal band after show party should have a play list that is packed to the gills and bursting with extreme metal goodness, and NOT, I repeat, NOT filled with poodle haired wankery. Amusement was provided by me trying to chomp through ice cubes that were in glasses of tap water to re-hydrate the body and mind. Not a good idea, seeing as I have sensitive teeth but I was spurred on by Count Varg deeming me to be a wimp!
The night ended at 0200hrs, where time went backwards one hour due to the end of British Summer Time. It’s a strange thing when that happens, and I have noticed that whenever a night out is planned it always seems to clash with the clocks going forward, or backwards when applicable. A bit of a confusing thing, as it leads to “real time”, and “pretend time” – the proper time where the clocks have gone forward or back, and the definition of time where you haven’t wound your clocks forward or back. Fortunately, universally all taxi firms only adopt the time alteration at something like 0600hrs in the morning, or thereabouts.
To polish the night off, some beer food was the order of the night. Thanks to Yorkshire Mark’s housemate, he managed to order what we refer to as a “Dead Cat Kebab”, as the previous night the establishment known as Curry Master in Cleckheaton had closed by the time we got back home from Gasworks the previous night.
The “Dead Cat Kebab”, as it has been dubbed by my friends, is called this because the actual weight of the thing in a carrier bag is roughly equal to that of a full grown cat been carried in a carrier bag. And not actually made from dead cats, well, at least we hoped so anyway, if it were made from dead cats we would be too pissed and too hungry to give a shit. The diameter of the kebab folded up is something to behold; a good 4 inches thick and stuff chock full of donner meat, various vegetable matter and sauces.
We decided on a competition, too see who could eat the most of the kebab, or even finish it (which might have resulted in one of us dying, and/or throwing up due to “intestinal rebellion”). A video of this event has been published on my Facebook and Myspace for “viewing pleasure”. Shaun joked that the kebab was as big, if not bigger than Dave, and he dubbed the kebab “his kebab son”. And I further joked that he was using “fly tactics” to eat the kebab. As a fly stomps around on its food, covers it in bile and juices, and sucks the food matter up via its proboscis.
I had got through approximately 60% of the kebab, and just basically got stuck into the beast but decided to call it a day. Shaun had decided to weigh the kebabs eaten by me, and Dave Taxidude, and it turns out that Dave’s was the lightest. Which, you would believe would be declared the winner.
Not so, as far as I am concerned.
Why? You may ask. Well, the following morning (and a somewhat foolish decision), I decided to eat the remainder of the kebab, making sure that I “nuked the fuck out of it” in the microwave. 10% of the kebab was left, and decided that this was far too grim to be breakfast and chucked the remainder of it away. Now, the thing is, we will never know what had happened to Dave’s kebab as he wrapped it up in tin foil and put it in his rucksack. He declared that “there is a time and a place for a kebab, and having one for breakfast isn’t one of them”.
Therefore, I discussed this with Sean via a Facebook comment, and declared myself to be the winner. As there was evidence that I ate a sizeable quantity of the kebab, and neither myself, Sean, nor Yorkshire Mark saw the remainder of Dave’s kebab. For all we know, he may have thrown it away and never ate the rest of it.
And thus, concludes my blog.
Greetings to the following peeps who attended (By Myspace pseudonym):
Death Metal Daria
Count Varg
Havoc Claudia
And many thanks to Yorkshire Mark, and Sean, for putting up with me and Dave Taxidude quarrelling like a married couple.
Next stop…WHITBY GOTH WEEKEND.
STAY TUNED!
Tuesday, 1 September 2009
The “Lunch Hour Time Bandit” experience.
Greetings loyal subjects,
Today, I wish to blog something that really gets on my tits (well, there’s an endless list really, I digress). The subject is the lunch hour time bandit.
Unfortunately, a lot of people have to work. To earn money for useful things, like food and beer for example. And, unless you are retired or a lottery winner, it eats up shitloads of your spare time. Not forgetting the pitifully short breaks, notably the most common one being your lunch hour. Other peeps out there are fortunate to have quick morning, and/of afternoon breaks of around 15 minutes or so. This can vary with the territory and what you do for a job.
Some of you out there may be fortunate enough to actually get out of your workplace on your lunch hour, to have a walk around some shops, and naturally buy your lunch while you are out and about. Or better still, have a quick pint before “returning back to the coal face”, or whatever you do. This is a great idea on paper, perhaps brilliant. Short, but sweet spells of freedom away from the workplace, that are never as long as you want them to be. Tiny little windows of time, where you can do whatever the hell you want, that must be savoured like a fine wine, or some other fine thing that you enjoy.
Until, some twat fucks up your lunch hour. Or, even a shoal of twats. Maybe, a shower of bastards. Take you pick.
They are usually the following types of people:
Retired pensioners
Dole-ite scum that skive from working, and live off the fat of the land (i.e. your taxes)
Mothers that have far too many kids for their own good, or the good of others
Self employed people that make up their own agenda (lucky bastards)
Shift workers that don’t work civilised hours (most of them aren’t twats though, and know you are pressed for time and let you in before them in the queue)
Take pensioners, for example. What the fuck is their problem? One of the most annoying things is that in their retired state, they now have all the time in the world to do whatever the fuck they want. Regretfully, they have little concept of time too, and the importance of time for others. For example, a work colleague of mine drives past a small post office on the way to The Workplace, in an area that can be best described as “Gods Waiting Room”. Strangely, they get up “at the crack o’sparrow fart”, and are in a sizeable queue at the local post office waiting to cash their pensions. For the love of God’s Tits WHY do they have to get up at that time, to go to the post office, when they can have all the “sleep ins” they want?
Personally, I believe there should be a small, 2 hour curfew. A curfew, that extends from 12 o’clock to 2 o’clock, or thereabouts during weekdays. Why is this? I hear you ask…
Because they clog the fucking place up on your lunch hour! Why the hell can’t they find the common decency to keep the fuck out of my way for a mere two hours? Is it such a small thing to ask? After all, they do have all day to do shopping, pottering around, and will still have enough time to go and watch McGuyver, or whatever the hell old people watch nowadays.
In my case, I only have 1 hour for lunch. And, a couple of days where there is only 30 minutes for lunch because of an option to have an early finish by a mere half hour (this ruling in The Workplace in my office, is dubious at best because the fucking place is stuck in the dark ages). The last thing I need, are old people trying to be flash bastards and use the self serve automated tills at the local Asda (also known as “Wall-Mart’s British Bitch”, to you ‘mericans), and fucking it up, causing massive queues
“Oooh, these stupid new fangled things! Robots are going to end up taking over the world. What happened to people being behind the tills?”
Answer:
There still ARE people at the tills. Fucking go there, because you probably have difficulty switching your fucking television on, never mind an automated touch screen fucking till. Auto serve tills are for people WHO KNOW WHAT THEY ARE DOING. UNLIKE YOU!
And let’s not forget the dole-ite scum and/or chavs. That can find nothing else better but to loiter around shopping centres “on the rob”. Not forgetting ignorantly standing around, chatting shit and snaring up the queue. And, being overly gobby and speaking in brash tones, that are usually punctuated with “F” this, and “F” that, and badly worded grammar. Quite often, with several pond scum children in tow. Because they can’t grasp the basic fundamentals of contraception, and doing other activities besides rutting, fighting, snorting and taking cheap anything, and out and out bare faced thievery.
We want you to have the common courtesy to keep the fuck out of our way. We do not take kindly to you fucking up our lunch hour, paying for your wares with pennies and shrapnel, or food stamps/food tokens. We do not wish to be bored about stories of how you “fought for king and country just so that you can be here today”, when you try to defend yourselves when we lose our rag. We frown upon you talking in shrill tones, thinking that you and your bastard children are the most important thing in the world while you bang into our shins with your triple prams, to be looked at with disgust as if you we were the dogshit that you unwittingly trampled in. We especially hate it when you walk at a pace so slow, that it appears to bend the laws of time and physics when we want to pass. You know the sort of slow, the type of slow that seems to freeze time, or indeed make time shift backwards. THAT SLOW.
Myself, and work colleagues at The Workplace have often mulled over the following idea:
A plan for working people to be granted the “Working Persons Lunch Permit”.
This lunch pass, would enable the user to enter special queues in shops that only people with said passes could use quickly and effectively. Thus ensuring that our precious break times aren’t fucked up by the morons outlined in this rlog. This pass, would gain users automatic priority, as time is money.
To obtain a pass, you would have to have proof of employment that has been signed by one manager, and one director. Along with a copy of your employment contract and a couple of valid pay slips as proof. The Lunch Permit would be similar to a passport, or maybe your driving licence, and include a current and up to date photo. The card would need to be renewed once yearly, or perhaps twice yearly, or every month. Similar to that of car tax. The queues for the till could even have some form of swipe access, and perhaps have some form of toll booth type arrangement as seen in railway stations.
This way, I believe that the lunch hour issues would be resolved. And every other fucker out there that isn’t working can take as long as they fucking want. As they can’t fuck with our program.
To draw a close to this blog, here are two examples of some bastard fucking up my time:
Example 1 – The Asda ATM machines
[Picture the scene. There are a decent handful of people standing in a queue for three different cash machines. Because of the quantity of cash machines, all transactions are mostly, by and large, dealt with in a swift manner]
Count Bastardo The 666th patiently waits his turn, and then the machine directly in front of him is free. He takes two steps forward, only to have some balding twat from out of nowhere cut him up
Twat: [scouse tones] Eeee aarrrr, I was first!
CBT666th: [mumbles] for fucks sake…
Twat: Yerr wha?
[CBT666th shoots him with a laser beam stare, Carrie style, that would have you think said Twat character was going to spontaneously combust. Twat obviously pays attention, and notices that CBT666th looks rather official in shirt and tie, glasses, tied back hair and pin-stripe trousers with Doc Martens. Maybe I could be some form of undercover shop detective? A Tax Man? A security guard for someone famous? Who knows? After all, I have been mistaken for a shop security guard a couple of times]
Twat: [sarcastically] Well…go on ‘den! Yerr obviously aav more important fings to be doin’ than me!
CBT666th: Oh no, no, doesn’t matter. Go ahead.
Twat: Nooo….go on ‘den!
[CBT666th takes the chance, withdraws some money and leaves, mumbling thanks to said Twat in sarcasm]
Example 2:
[This example clearly demonstrates the ignorance, and the “convenience deafness” of old people. CBT666th is in a queue with a bottle of wine and some other bits and bobs. A till suddenly opens and from nowhere, some old biddie steams in and cuts me up scurrying to the newly opened till to get served. Do note, this example wasn’t during work hours, it was the weekend while I was with The Countess].
CBT666th: ……*speechless, and motions in anger with a fist and attempts to strangle old person*
Countess Bastardo: Do you mind, my boyfriend was before you, let him in
Old Biddie: What? You want me to be in front of him?
[Countess Bastardo drags me by the arm and places me in front of the old biddie. My turn to pay for my goods arrives, and I fumble, to smash said bottle of wine accidentally. Chaos ensues while shop staff clean up the mess while I scurry off to get another bottle]
Old Biddie: *tuts at my alleged ignorance*
CBT666th: *says as parting shot upon exiting and paying for goods* You know what Countess, it was worth smashing a bottle of red to snare that old bitch up for being fucking ignorant. Maybe she will learn a fucking lesson!
Snare me up at a queue, and I will fucking have you. BE WARNED!
Today, I wish to blog something that really gets on my tits (well, there’s an endless list really, I digress). The subject is the lunch hour time bandit.
Unfortunately, a lot of people have to work. To earn money for useful things, like food and beer for example. And, unless you are retired or a lottery winner, it eats up shitloads of your spare time. Not forgetting the pitifully short breaks, notably the most common one being your lunch hour. Other peeps out there are fortunate to have quick morning, and/of afternoon breaks of around 15 minutes or so. This can vary with the territory and what you do for a job.
Some of you out there may be fortunate enough to actually get out of your workplace on your lunch hour, to have a walk around some shops, and naturally buy your lunch while you are out and about. Or better still, have a quick pint before “returning back to the coal face”, or whatever you do. This is a great idea on paper, perhaps brilliant. Short, but sweet spells of freedom away from the workplace, that are never as long as you want them to be. Tiny little windows of time, where you can do whatever the hell you want, that must be savoured like a fine wine, or some other fine thing that you enjoy.
Until, some twat fucks up your lunch hour. Or, even a shoal of twats. Maybe, a shower of bastards. Take you pick.
They are usually the following types of people:
Retired pensioners
Dole-ite scum that skive from working, and live off the fat of the land (i.e. your taxes)
Mothers that have far too many kids for their own good, or the good of others
Self employed people that make up their own agenda (lucky bastards)
Shift workers that don’t work civilised hours (most of them aren’t twats though, and know you are pressed for time and let you in before them in the queue)
Take pensioners, for example. What the fuck is their problem? One of the most annoying things is that in their retired state, they now have all the time in the world to do whatever the fuck they want. Regretfully, they have little concept of time too, and the importance of time for others. For example, a work colleague of mine drives past a small post office on the way to The Workplace, in an area that can be best described as “Gods Waiting Room”. Strangely, they get up “at the crack o’sparrow fart”, and are in a sizeable queue at the local post office waiting to cash their pensions. For the love of God’s Tits WHY do they have to get up at that time, to go to the post office, when they can have all the “sleep ins” they want?
Personally, I believe there should be a small, 2 hour curfew. A curfew, that extends from 12 o’clock to 2 o’clock, or thereabouts during weekdays. Why is this? I hear you ask…
Because they clog the fucking place up on your lunch hour! Why the hell can’t they find the common decency to keep the fuck out of my way for a mere two hours? Is it such a small thing to ask? After all, they do have all day to do shopping, pottering around, and will still have enough time to go and watch McGuyver, or whatever the hell old people watch nowadays.
In my case, I only have 1 hour for lunch. And, a couple of days where there is only 30 minutes for lunch because of an option to have an early finish by a mere half hour (this ruling in The Workplace in my office, is dubious at best because the fucking place is stuck in the dark ages). The last thing I need, are old people trying to be flash bastards and use the self serve automated tills at the local Asda (also known as “Wall-Mart’s British Bitch”, to you ‘mericans), and fucking it up, causing massive queues
“Oooh, these stupid new fangled things! Robots are going to end up taking over the world. What happened to people being behind the tills?”
Answer:
There still ARE people at the tills. Fucking go there, because you probably have difficulty switching your fucking television on, never mind an automated touch screen fucking till. Auto serve tills are for people WHO KNOW WHAT THEY ARE DOING. UNLIKE YOU!
And let’s not forget the dole-ite scum and/or chavs. That can find nothing else better but to loiter around shopping centres “on the rob”. Not forgetting ignorantly standing around, chatting shit and snaring up the queue. And, being overly gobby and speaking in brash tones, that are usually punctuated with “F” this, and “F” that, and badly worded grammar. Quite often, with several pond scum children in tow. Because they can’t grasp the basic fundamentals of contraception, and doing other activities besides rutting, fighting, snorting and taking cheap anything, and out and out bare faced thievery.
We want you to have the common courtesy to keep the fuck out of our way. We do not take kindly to you fucking up our lunch hour, paying for your wares with pennies and shrapnel, or food stamps/food tokens. We do not wish to be bored about stories of how you “fought for king and country just so that you can be here today”, when you try to defend yourselves when we lose our rag. We frown upon you talking in shrill tones, thinking that you and your bastard children are the most important thing in the world while you bang into our shins with your triple prams, to be looked at with disgust as if you we were the dogshit that you unwittingly trampled in. We especially hate it when you walk at a pace so slow, that it appears to bend the laws of time and physics when we want to pass. You know the sort of slow, the type of slow that seems to freeze time, or indeed make time shift backwards. THAT SLOW.
Myself, and work colleagues at The Workplace have often mulled over the following idea:
A plan for working people to be granted the “Working Persons Lunch Permit”.
This lunch pass, would enable the user to enter special queues in shops that only people with said passes could use quickly and effectively. Thus ensuring that our precious break times aren’t fucked up by the morons outlined in this rlog. This pass, would gain users automatic priority, as time is money.
To obtain a pass, you would have to have proof of employment that has been signed by one manager, and one director. Along with a copy of your employment contract and a couple of valid pay slips as proof. The Lunch Permit would be similar to a passport, or maybe your driving licence, and include a current and up to date photo. The card would need to be renewed once yearly, or perhaps twice yearly, or every month. Similar to that of car tax. The queues for the till could even have some form of swipe access, and perhaps have some form of toll booth type arrangement as seen in railway stations.
This way, I believe that the lunch hour issues would be resolved. And every other fucker out there that isn’t working can take as long as they fucking want. As they can’t fuck with our program.
To draw a close to this blog, here are two examples of some bastard fucking up my time:
Example 1 – The Asda ATM machines
[Picture the scene. There are a decent handful of people standing in a queue for three different cash machines. Because of the quantity of cash machines, all transactions are mostly, by and large, dealt with in a swift manner]
Count Bastardo The 666th patiently waits his turn, and then the machine directly in front of him is free. He takes two steps forward, only to have some balding twat from out of nowhere cut him up
Twat: [scouse tones] Eeee aarrrr, I was first!
CBT666th: [mumbles] for fucks sake…
Twat: Yerr wha?
[CBT666th shoots him with a laser beam stare, Carrie style, that would have you think said Twat character was going to spontaneously combust. Twat obviously pays attention, and notices that CBT666th looks rather official in shirt and tie, glasses, tied back hair and pin-stripe trousers with Doc Martens. Maybe I could be some form of undercover shop detective? A Tax Man? A security guard for someone famous? Who knows? After all, I have been mistaken for a shop security guard a couple of times]
Twat: [sarcastically] Well…go on ‘den! Yerr obviously aav more important fings to be doin’ than me!
CBT666th: Oh no, no, doesn’t matter. Go ahead.
Twat: Nooo….go on ‘den!
[CBT666th takes the chance, withdraws some money and leaves, mumbling thanks to said Twat in sarcasm]
Example 2:
[This example clearly demonstrates the ignorance, and the “convenience deafness” of old people. CBT666th is in a queue with a bottle of wine and some other bits and bobs. A till suddenly opens and from nowhere, some old biddie steams in and cuts me up scurrying to the newly opened till to get served. Do note, this example wasn’t during work hours, it was the weekend while I was with The Countess].
CBT666th: ……*speechless, and motions in anger with a fist and attempts to strangle old person*
Countess Bastardo: Do you mind, my boyfriend was before you, let him in
Old Biddie: What? You want me to be in front of him?
[Countess Bastardo drags me by the arm and places me in front of the old biddie. My turn to pay for my goods arrives, and I fumble, to smash said bottle of wine accidentally. Chaos ensues while shop staff clean up the mess while I scurry off to get another bottle]
Old Biddie: *tuts at my alleged ignorance*
CBT666th: *says as parting shot upon exiting and paying for goods* You know what Countess, it was worth smashing a bottle of red to snare that old bitch up for being fucking ignorant. Maybe she will learn a fucking lesson!
Snare me up at a queue, and I will fucking have you. BE WARNED!
An introduction
Greetings, and welcome to Count Bastardo The 666th's blogging page.
This Blogger page has been formed for those who "don't do" Myspace. As I have noticed more of a shift towards Facebook of late, and felt that a fair amount of my blogs, ideas, ramblings and observations were too good to keep to the realms of Myspace alone.
So, welcome to my page. And I hope you enjoy having a read. Not forgetting, and most importantly...STAY TUNED, and make a note of this in your favourite linkovitches.
Regards:
CBT666th
This Blogger page has been formed for those who "don't do" Myspace. As I have noticed more of a shift towards Facebook of late, and felt that a fair amount of my blogs, ideas, ramblings and observations were too good to keep to the realms of Myspace alone.
So, welcome to my page. And I hope you enjoy having a read. Not forgetting, and most importantly...STAY TUNED, and make a note of this in your favourite linkovitches.
Regards:
CBT666th
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