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Friday 25th April, 2003 - http://turkeyphant.livejournal.com/
carve your name into my arm
So we went out for a meal, I wasn't destroyed by pikeys on my first venture back into Reigatia since, and userinfoSuda actually turned up for a change. This gathering had been organised in roughly ten minutes and was four times as successful as my last attempt - so much for me trying... I even got to meet Angelica - the wonderful Spanish assistant who userinfoSam had texted such candid thoughts to. Nobody could decide where to eat and I didn't really want to point out that the food wasn't that important to me - I just wanted to see my friends. userinfoBanks and userinfoSam seemed intent on going into some Indian takeaway, userinfoTD came up with a nice-looking Tibetan place that userinfoDavid's hardline conservative taste buds vetoed and userinfoSuda didn't help us reject anything on the list as she was being overly-diplomatic as usual. In the end, we ended joining Mrs. Fucking Stent in Pizza Express solely on the merits of its doughballs. They didn't taste as good as I remembered.

userinfoSam, userinfoTD and I returned that evening to userinfoDavid's house - we sat around in Catriona's room watching the end half of Léon and her bra drying. When userinfoTD had left and I'd almost beaten userinfoSam at some linux-flavoured Puzzle Bobble clone, we all crept downstairs to play on teh intarweb thingy. After chancing upon the most hilarious photograph ever to be seen, we spent half an hour posting it on friendly people's journals (complete with sparkly writing). After that, there was another two hours of constant refreshing of /. until, by some miracle, we got two successive first psots allowing ample exposure. Unfortunately, certain fools swiftly covered it all up for some unfathomable reason and I lost the rest of the links that demonstrated our absolute owning of the userinforütter man. Needless to say, it was insanely giggleinducing at the time, and the three of us sat there, laughing manically like ten year old bullies who've just discovered the sadistic joy in repeatedly tripping up the blind kid in crutches. We were utterly remorseless and smug for several hours and, oh I admit, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, how fun it was.

Later on, he made a humorous attempt to try and retain some dignity from the situation. However, after uploading such an image of himself onto livejournal and naming it "narcissism" he realised only too late that he couldn't replace it with the sex god that is Alec Empire and expect us not to notice his abject failure...


We went and visited the squalid excuse for a shopping centre in Redhill the next day, and wasted some time there looking for things for Sam to squander his money on. After Abu had stopped boning Jess (is it on or off this week?), I met up with him and he soon introduced me to his friend Holly who looked nothing like someone called Holly should. Still, despite knowing nothing to say, I warmed to her as the evening wore on. We got to Brixton fairly uneventfully and managed to navigate the walk of shame past hundreds of queuers. With relative ease, we were allowed to slot in just in front of these two cute chixors and a bunch of wasted just-out-of-uni Manchurians (or were they Liverpudlian?) who looked really out of place at a Placebo concert. Which was interesting.

For the duration of the queuing time, these men told loud and obscene jokes, tried to chat up the sixteen-year-old chixors and fed Jack Daniels and coke to us all. Abu tried to be hardcore and drink the Jack straight, so I had to finish it off when he failed. They even went off mid-queue and bought more urine-cum-wine supplies from an off-licence to give to us (me). It was nice. Holly drew pentagrams on their faces with charcoal eyeliner pencil and, in general, many stupid things were done and much fun was had by all. Just when we thought queuing couldn't be any more exciting, Angelica bounded up to me with her friend and blagged her way into the queue position we'd carefully tended. Now, it was weird enough to find some random school staff going to the same gig you're at, but it was even stranger to find that some woman I met for ten seconds less than twenty four hours ago had now stumbled across me in London. In actual fact, it only confirmed that, indeed, those were crazy times...

Of course, the gig itself was fantastic - I especially enjoyed the support bands, Little Hell and Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster (woo, free things!), immensely. Placebo's set was even more superb because Molko was especially fit and we were near the front. Despite a telling lack of early material, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Not least the fantastic cover of Where Is My Mind? The crowd was possibly the deadliest one I've ever been in, and I was almost glad when it was finally over as I narrowly avoided suffocation from the tightly-packed people. Among the throes of horribly sweaty bodies, we met some crazy french guy and a french chick who I almost considered trying to bnoe (even though she would have had none of it and was about twenty two). The Kelly Jones lookalike from the funny drunken queuemen started to simultaneously bnoe the two girls they fed alcohol to in the queue. I have no idea whatsoever how that happened. And, apart from that, I guess there's not much to say. I'm so glad I've listened to Every You, Every Me live though....

After it was all over, we spent ages waiting outside for Abu to pluck up enough courage to randomly approach this "really fit, no really" girl he'd espied. After succeeding in getting her number (hey, he's Abu) we ran off, victorious, to barely catch the train. This, of course, was via purchasing gargantuan posters for a frankly obscene £2 and some turnstyle chicanery to get around my train ticket debacle (the story behind why I didn't have one is too long to explain) On the train back, we all partook in yet more excitement and ended up talking to some friendly McCartney fan guy who, at any other time, I would probably have decided to be a gimp.

Oh, and it later turned out Abu's fittie was fourteen. Hah.

    choon: Placebo - Every You, Every Me