The band was gearing up to an album release and was in desperate need of exposure. Ideally – like everyone playing a band likes to think – we have just about to release a definitive milestone in the given genre. Or should we just say ANY given genre. The one which is going to be in everyone’s record collection right between Pistols’ “Never mind the Bollocks” and AC/DC’s “Back in Black”.
After getting ready – that is picking up my guitar pick and getting my mohican done – I jumped on a coach to travel to London. I’d decided to travel separate from rest of the band, as I couldn’t afford the more expensive coach. My memory doesn’t recall the reason of not taking my guitar with me, surely there must’ve been a good one as I was meant to play guitar at this festival gig.
Found myself in Camden Town accompanied by another band who filled me on what had happened the previous nights. Out of the planned 3 nights only one had taken place. It had been stormed by the riot police. OK, well there is nothing new here as in the UK “Carnage Nights” take 
place at festivals on a regular basis. There was a slight problem. As the festival organisers had lost the venue there was nowhere to play – for now.
The rumour was that there was a secured location for the night and it would kick off in style. After milling about for a fair amount of time we got informed the location and headed off. At some point during hour half a dozen bus journey (since we couldn’t afford any other sort of transportation) I got an angry call from the singer of our band. There rest of the band had decided to fuck off and had enough. Well I thought I’d just stick around to catch some of these bands anyway – or more like I had booked a return coach in advance for days later and I had no money to buy another ticket. Slight worry occurred to me as I had no gig to play and I was promised accommodation on behalf of the promoters, who at this point I had seen, or actually even heard from.
At some godly hour in the morning we arrived to what seemed to be a park, which had a huge abandoned warehouse. There was a fair gathering of people, so clearly the underground network did work well. The generators had arrived. As well as two of the three promoters – or so I was told. To avoid of things going too smoothly. There were three locks on the door and each of the promoter had a key. One of them who was missing. The missing key-holder would be arriving any minute now.
We headed to get a couple of beers while we waited for the off license. On our return still no third promoter. We went to get some takeaways to eat. On our return nothing hadn’t changed. Went to get a few more beers… some more dirty chicken…
Before I realised 3 days had gone past and no bands had played anywhere. The whole time I’d been travelling around London with a band from abroad watching the bassist and guitarist to sweat with their instruments, which they had to carry with them at all times. And was I pleased that for once it paid off to be a badly organised punk rock superstar wannabe.
Of course over the years I’d learn that it does pay off more than once. Just keep betting on that black 13.
Upon arrival back to work the assistant manager then said that I could’ve just been back at work earning money. Right. He is still there pouring espressos to miserable men in suits with his University Fine Art degree. Enough froth?
More Froth?