Friday, December 17, 2004

Guns of Brixton 

(7 more posts before shutdown)

Last night contained two firsts.

We went to see The Charlatans at Brixton, courtesy of a friend who sorted us with free tickets and aftershow passes; and after the gig, as we hung around by the VIP bit waiting to flash our laminates and get shown through, I met my first groupie. (I say "first" here as in "the first I've met", not as in "the first of many I will meet", natch.)

She was, admittedly, gorgeous. Blonde, willowy, shitfaced... everything a boy could ask for. She grabbed me round the waist and whispered into my ear: "what does a girl have to do to get backstage round here?". I was too taken aback to think of anything clever to say in reply, and besides, The One was stood right next to me, looking murderous. "Umm, you need a pass," was about the best I could manage.

Brilliantly, she then turned to The One herself: "You're a girl," she said, "you know what it's like - can you get me backstage?"

The One told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself. The groupie's comeback was perfect. "Looks like I'm going to have to at this rate..."

As if all that wasn't enough excitement for one night, as we finally reeled out of the party at 1-30 or so and into the nearest minicab office we nearly got shot. All seemed fine - the old geezer behind the counter stated a price, we agreed, he pointed to a row of cars outside and indicated we should get in one. We did. The owner of the car went ballistic.

It turned out that the one car we picked, casually letting ourselves in and telling the driver "Blackheath please mate - and can you turn up the radio?", wasn't actually one of the waiting minicabs at all, but just some bloke. His door shot open, our doors were flung open... "get out my fuckin' car you cunts!" he yelled. As we stumbled out, the real minicab driver appeared and pushed the man back against his own bonnet.

"Don't you call my customers cunts!"

"Your customers got in my fuckin' car, you cunt!"

"Who you calling a cunt?"

Meanwhile a third minicab driver told us to get in his car and hurry up about it. We did. As we drove off we saw the first man indicate a shooter in his waistband.

Groupies and guns and rock 'n' roll all in one night. This, children, is what you get when you go south of the River.

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