We arrived at De Rots Rock Concern just as a bit of a bar-room brawl was reaching it's conclusion. After humping in the gear (shuffling around the melee and avoiding errant trams as best we could), I buggered off with Swifty and Duggers to find somewhere to park the van. In a dazzling display of intelligence and orienteering, we got spectacularly lost on the way back. It should have been simple, as we only took about two turns out of the venue! On the plus side we did get to see a bit of Antwerp, which is a fine mixture of narrow cobbled streets, main roads and the odd square. The boys nearly lost me as I spied an Irish bar on the other side of one particular square, but I was reigned back in rather sharpish as time was not on our side. All roads lead to the gig, and around a few more corners we found ourselves back at the venue.
After setting up our gear, we were informed that the curfew here was 10:00pm - a whole hour earlier than the poorly observed restrictions in Eindhoven. This curfew was set in stone, however, so as soon as a tasty dinner of Rice And Stuff had been consumed the support band, Pitched Black, blasted onstage at 7:30pm. Finishing up just after 8:00pm with a rendition of 'Anarchy in the U.K.' (especially for us!), the poor buggers were constantly heckled by one of the brawlers from earlier with shouts of "666!". He'd soon get his wish, and as soon as the stage was clear we wigged up and rolled the intro tape at 8:30pm. We kicked Belgian botty, let me tell you - the crowd really gave us a warm reception and we all played our socks off. Oftentimes on these Europe trips, we don't get a lot of sleep so even by the second gig we can be physically exhausted. Having had a fairly good night's sleep between gigs, this time we were rested up and firing on all cylinders. It rocked. The venue had provided us with a number of drinks tokens, which were quickly decimated after the gig. We were sleeping upstairs in the hostel above the venue, so the gear got packed down but left onstage in favour of a spot of drinking. I started in on the rum and managed to clean the venue out of Havana Club. A heroic effort, I felt! By the time I moved on to the vodka, only Swifty and Eddie were left standing with me. There may have been some Jäger. There may have been some sausage. There was most definitely some more Sooty abuse. The poor thing is going to need counseling soon. I don't remember going to bed, but I certainly woke up in one.
Sunday...The next morning, I led a rather groggy Mr Swift out in search of the van. It's a good job he didn't venture out on his own, he would have gone completely the wrong way down the river! Either that or he would have disappeared into the Marmite Cafe, never to be seen again... I rode shotgun all the way to Calais, earphones buried in my ears enjoying some Pink Floyd to accompany the rather boring visages of the motorway. Border control at Calais was a complete farce. Our passports were checked no less than four times by four different operatives. I don't know whose passport mugshot looks a bit shady. Messrs Harris and McBrain both look decidedly grumpy, while Duggers is grinning like a loon and the rest of us look decidedly normal. Who knows, but we were all decidedly hacked off by it all by the time we managed to get in the queue for our boat. In no time at all we rolled up outside Manic Towers, where it transpired that Nicko Jnr. had tried to have me sleeping bag away! Cheeky c*nt.
Here endeth another story. Thanks to both venues for their kind hospitality, we hope to see you again soon! Extra special amazing thanks to all the folk who made the trip from Nijmegen to see us - words can't express how much it meant to see you all there. I hope it didn't take too long for Carola to recover from filing her Chunder Report! Until next time...
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