Myself and Bex had booked into a cockroach-free hotel in Kensington (which, judging on past experiences, appears to be somewhat of a rarity) for a night of Alcohol and Accelerate.
Accelerate is REM’s new album. Alcohol is… well, you know what Alcohol is, surely?!
So, we popped to a nearby shop for supplies (Mmm… Scampi Nik-Naks! When did they make a comeback?!) and we managed to get into a small argument with Mrs Cunt Behind The Till. She tried to give us a fake ten pound note.
“It’s fine. Take it. It’s fine. You can use it in other shops. It’s fine. Get out. Get out of my shop. Don’t you dare question me. It’s fine. It’s a proper ten pound note. Get out. Get out. Thank you for calling!”
She also prices her Malibu ridiculously high. £18 for a small bottle?! In the words of Turkey Farmer Bernard Manning, it was a “fucking disgrace”. If I wasn’t so thirsty – a whole MONTH without a drop of alcohol passing my lips – there probably would have been another argument.
“It’s fine. Buy it. It’s fine. It costs that much in other shops. Honestly. Stop looking at the price tag and just pay me. Get out. Get out of my shop…”
She was a bit of a cunt.
We retired to our hotel room for a couple of drinks, a listen to some of the new songs on Accelerate and a rinse of our private parts.
We then grabbed a small – or, in my case, a HUGE – bite to eat at the local Wagamamamamama’s. I thought it was just a rumour, but asparagus really DOES make your piss – and sex piss – stink. Nasty business.
After squeezing my fat gut out of Wagamamamamamamamama’s, we headed towards the Uncle Albert Hall. As regular readers of my shit witterings will know, this is where I saw the Flaming Lips. I should have been watching Tooth & Claw – Episode Two, Series Two of Doctor Who – but instead, Foxy Bellend decided to drag us to the very highest seats and force us to watch a man in a ball singing songs that were sadly not Fight Test.
From that night on, I’ve always shuddered at the mere mention of the place. I always thought it to be a completely shite venue. And, I guess, if you’re high up with an awful view (as we were at the Flaming Lips), then it IS a pretty shite venue and you ARE going to have a crap time. But if you happen to be in a BOX…
:-p
Oh yes, a BOX. A velvety, private box, with coathangers, a table and enough room to swing a cat. If pets were allowed, obviously. We shared the box with just three other people – two old twats and a bloke who looked perfectly normal but, as he was on his own at a gig, was probably a bit of a suspect individual. It was GREAT! No having to get half the audience to stand up and move out your way every time you need to make piss. No chance of getting into a fight with someone by accidentally jumping on their toes… mentioning no names, Mr Bellend.
It was perfect!
I could have quite happily spent three hours marvelling at what a fantastic BOX it was. Which would have been a better way of spending my time than sitting through the tedious support acts:
FOALS – Ridiculous haircuts. The guitarist looked like he was having a seizure. Their songs were just noise. They weren’t particularly pretty. Made me long for the days of Idlewild and their threat of “We’re going to sing TEN songs for you now!”
DUKE SPIRIT or DUKE SPECIAL, I don’t know which – For a start, I can’t remember their name, so they can’t have been that good. And they weren’t. The banshee on lead vocals was doing her best to try and beat The Go! Team as Worst Support Act We’ve Ever Seen. She may have succeeded.
ROBYN HITCHCOCK – Pretty. A couple of nice acoustic numbers, but nothing amazing. Made for a nice toilet break, though.
And then, after stocking up on Vodka & Coke from the Delightful Foreign Gentleman at the bar, we took our seats once more for the main event… REM!
Living Well Is The Best Revenge and Man-Sized Wreath – two tracks from the new album – opened the show, with the latter being one of the highlights of the entire night. When the not-bad-for-his-age Michael Stipe warned the audience that the night was going to be “loud”, he wasn’t kidding. They did, in fact, rock!
The new tracks were good – some better than good, such as Supernatural Superserious – but obviously I was dying to hear the old favourites.
Losing My Religion, Imitation Of Life, The Great Beyond, Drive, Electrolite and the always-amazing finale of Man On The Moon made for an unforgettable evening. Could have done with less new stuff and more old songs, but it was still a fantastic night. In a fantastic venue, as it turned out. It was the BOX that did it!
Hearing them perform Leave would have made it even better, though! Eh, Bex?
Accelerate is REM’s new album. Alcohol is… well, you know what Alcohol is, surely?!
So, we popped to a nearby shop for supplies (Mmm… Scampi Nik-Naks! When did they make a comeback?!) and we managed to get into a small argument with Mrs Cunt Behind The Till. She tried to give us a fake ten pound note.
“It’s fine. Take it. It’s fine. You can use it in other shops. It’s fine. Get out. Get out of my shop. Don’t you dare question me. It’s fine. It’s a proper ten pound note. Get out. Get out. Thank you for calling!”
She also prices her Malibu ridiculously high. £18 for a small bottle?! In the words of Turkey Farmer Bernard Manning, it was a “fucking disgrace”. If I wasn’t so thirsty – a whole MONTH without a drop of alcohol passing my lips – there probably would have been another argument.
“It’s fine. Buy it. It’s fine. It costs that much in other shops. Honestly. Stop looking at the price tag and just pay me. Get out. Get out of my shop…”
She was a bit of a cunt.
We retired to our hotel room for a couple of drinks, a listen to some of the new songs on Accelerate and a rinse of our private parts.
We then grabbed a small – or, in my case, a HUGE – bite to eat at the local Wagamamamamama’s. I thought it was just a rumour, but asparagus really DOES make your piss – and sex piss – stink. Nasty business.
After squeezing my fat gut out of Wagamamamamamamamama’s, we headed towards the Uncle Albert Hall. As regular readers of my shit witterings will know, this is where I saw the Flaming Lips. I should have been watching Tooth & Claw – Episode Two, Series Two of Doctor Who – but instead, Foxy Bellend decided to drag us to the very highest seats and force us to watch a man in a ball singing songs that were sadly not Fight Test.
From that night on, I’ve always shuddered at the mere mention of the place. I always thought it to be a completely shite venue. And, I guess, if you’re high up with an awful view (as we were at the Flaming Lips), then it IS a pretty shite venue and you ARE going to have a crap time. But if you happen to be in a BOX…
:-p
Oh yes, a BOX. A velvety, private box, with coathangers, a table and enough room to swing a cat. If pets were allowed, obviously. We shared the box with just three other people – two old twats and a bloke who looked perfectly normal but, as he was on his own at a gig, was probably a bit of a suspect individual. It was GREAT! No having to get half the audience to stand up and move out your way every time you need to make piss. No chance of getting into a fight with someone by accidentally jumping on their toes… mentioning no names, Mr Bellend.
It was perfect!
I could have quite happily spent three hours marvelling at what a fantastic BOX it was. Which would have been a better way of spending my time than sitting through the tedious support acts:
FOALS – Ridiculous haircuts. The guitarist looked like he was having a seizure. Their songs were just noise. They weren’t particularly pretty. Made me long for the days of Idlewild and their threat of “We’re going to sing TEN songs for you now!”
DUKE SPIRIT or DUKE SPECIAL, I don’t know which – For a start, I can’t remember their name, so they can’t have been that good. And they weren’t. The banshee on lead vocals was doing her best to try and beat The Go! Team as Worst Support Act We’ve Ever Seen. She may have succeeded.
ROBYN HITCHCOCK – Pretty. A couple of nice acoustic numbers, but nothing amazing. Made for a nice toilet break, though.
And then, after stocking up on Vodka & Coke from the Delightful Foreign Gentleman at the bar, we took our seats once more for the main event… REM!
Living Well Is The Best Revenge and Man-Sized Wreath – two tracks from the new album – opened the show, with the latter being one of the highlights of the entire night. When the not-bad-for-his-age Michael Stipe warned the audience that the night was going to be “loud”, he wasn’t kidding. They did, in fact, rock!
The new tracks were good – some better than good, such as Supernatural Superserious – but obviously I was dying to hear the old favourites.
Losing My Religion, Imitation Of Life, The Great Beyond, Drive, Electrolite and the always-amazing finale of Man On The Moon made for an unforgettable evening. Could have done with less new stuff and more old songs, but it was still a fantastic night. In a fantastic venue, as it turned out. It was the BOX that did it!
Hearing them perform Leave would have made it even better, though! Eh, Bex?
