Monday is gigday

We had tickets for Napalm Death at the Camden Underworld on Monday night. Actually, we had the first two tickets. In the meantime, Amy had half a day of college and I had to wander in to London. No real reason other than I felt like it. Public transport be damned, I walked it.

I am still regretting that decision. I think I trolled about 10 miles (no exaggeration). Camden to the Gherkin and Lloyds buildings. Both amazing. From there to Buckingham Palace, then the Houses of Parliament. Over the river to the Golden Hind and back along past the big silly wheel thing to the Imperial War Museum where I spent about 2 hours.

At that point, I thought about getting the tube then… nah. Like a fool, I started plodging all the way back again. Via KFC for my only daily refuel. I managed to wolf my way through the majority of a variety bucket (plus dessert), allowing Amy to beg for scraps. It was actually a variety box because it’s one of those crap KFCs that doesn’t do buckets, but hey – I was starving and wasn’t going to argue if it meant delaying food intake.

So, food done. Next stop – pub (obviously). Then another pub where I got to watch Diouf cheat his way to a goal and Savage get a yellow card (how predictable). And then downstairs… to the gig that had by now sold out. It was heaving. This was good.

But what was better was that stagediving was allowed. Hell, it was encouraged. For the first time in years I got to hurl myself like a fecking maniac off a low stage, narrowly avoiding the ceiling and collapsing to the floor with the aid of umpteen people as mental as me. Except once when I overshot the crowd and landed on my shoulder but let’s forget about that. Not that my shoulder will let me. I can’t reach round behind me or press down with my right hand. Ow.

Great bunch of people and a fantastic venue. Quite a mix, too. One lad must have been about 10 and was there with his dad. There were two Scots lads in the pit as well. One landed on me and I told him to "go on a diet you fat bastard", to which he replied "I am on a diet – chips and Mars Bars!"

Highlight had to be stagediving to Nazi Punks Fuck Off. Sadly, some poor bugger in the crowd took a right whack to the head and couldn’t stand up. Me being me, I managed to get him out and to a seat. He was gone. Couldn’t focus, couldn’t stand up, couldn’t speak. He couldn’t count how many fingers I was holding up (hell, he couldn’t even get the words out of his mouth) and couldn’t follow my finger with his eyes without moving his head.

I’m no medic – my first aid certificate expired a few years ago – but thankfully the staff were superb. I’ve been in venues before where they’d just tell you to bugger off outside in case he died on their property. A paramedic turned up inside of 10 minutes by which time he was a lot more coherent.

Nice end to the story, though. Him and his mate just went home with instructions to keep an eye on him and the bar staff gave me free drinks. Amy then got talking to one of them and – at last – she seems to have landed a bar job. She’s got a trial tomorrow – go girl!

Sadly, the chunder count that night wasn’t kept as low as Saturday… though I hasten to add it wasn’t your author doing the chundering! I didn’t sleep to well, though, because my shoulder really is knackered. An early rise and an uneventful trip back to discover cat poo in the bathroom and smeared on two windowsills, but hey. I’m assuming KitKat had a rather large tagnut that smeared. I think I’ve cleared all of it. But it’s time for KK to have a bum-shave…

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