dylan

A gigantic illegible essay of a journal entry with no pictures to break it up for those who don't like reading? Blimey, it's just like the old days, innit?

I've decided that I would be a brilliant music reviewer. And from now on, or from now until I forget or can't be bothered (we are not expecting this development to last very long...), I shall be reviewing all the bands who play at work. So.
Band one - I didn't take the time to learn their name, and frankly I don't care. We are looking at a serious contender for the hotly contested title of "Most Boring Band in the World". Watch out Coldplay.
Band two - Wearing a stupid hat does not make you any less boring.
Band three - Oh I get it, my mistake. I was under the false impression that this was a gig, not the annual Guinness World Record attempt for the Most Boring Band category.
Coin op - Lose the stupid hair, you in the middle. But fuck me, that was a bit good, wasn't it?

The other day we were waiting at a bus stop in the pissing rain for a bus that was clearly never going to turn up. Some guy who was casually managing to look fucking cool in a really retarded outfit pointed out that if we all got a taxi together, it'd cost the same as the bus and maybe actually get us moving further than the bus stop.. The old ladies at the bus stop looked suspicious, like this guy was trying to get them into a taxi so he could cunningly rob them of their hairnets and granny macs. We conceded that he had a good point, so we piled into a taxi and zoomed (I say zoomed, I mean zoomed in the manner of a snail) into town, leaving the grannies to chunter into their beards about how bad the weather was and how outrageous it was that the bus hadn't arrived yet. So on the way, this guy reveals to us his secret identity, that he is in fact DJ Scotch Egg, and offers to stick us on the guestlist for his night on Thursday. I was working, but I'm not to be deterred from a night of "dubstep sub-bass mega-rave", especially when you have people calling themselves "Alan Tit-Mash" playing. Shitmat vs Ebola? Halal Kebab Hut? G.O.D? Well, when you have the big man himself playing, how can you refuse?


(I obviously didn't take this picture, but look how nicely it breaks up the endless sea of text)

So after work on Thursday I shuffled down to the Volks. I'd never been there before, I have lived in Brighton two years now and have shirked my clubbing responsibilities in a big way. Seeing as there's only one club here I go to regularly, and that's because I fucking work there. Have you been to a club on your own? I was very much loving the DJs upstairs, but I was basically hanging around the edges of the room feeling a bit of a tool. Some guy kept walking past and looking at me weirdly. I was doing my best to ignore him and not make eyecontact, til he came over and asked if he knew me from somewhere. I was about to scoff at his rubbish attempt at chatting me up until I actually looked at him and realised that I was being a big fat arse and I actually had seen him at work two days earlier.

We got chatting. Joel? Maybe. Apparently last time he'd been to one of these he'd been chatting to Scotch Egg, when the DJ had grabbed Joel's hand and shoved it down his throat, spewing up all over him. Nice. Our chat was all very nice and vomit-centric until he said "I'm sorry, I can't really follow what's going on...I'm on ketamine and mushrooms and everyone is just going OWLS OWLS OWLS OWLS OWLS and now everyone is starting to turn into an owl".
The more I looked at him, the more I kind of thought he was starting to look like an owl, too.

I like the Volks. It serves Coca Cola in glass bottles and sells matches behind the bar.

Downstairs was packed, I stood just inside the doorway, squashed satisfyingly into some bloke's armpit, and watched some insane band (I'm guessing the "manic japanese avant-rock!" promised on the flyer) leap about and make loud and incoherent noises. I'd review them, because you know I am clearly a brilliant reviewer, but I frankly didn't have a clue what was going on.

Befriended a very very tall Polish guy called Bart and wandered back upstairs for a spot of ridiculous d'n'b dancing. I can flail my arms and spin invisible yo-yo's like a motherfucker. Spotted what appeared to be a priest wandering around, decided it was probably time to go home. after saying goodbye to Owls.

Apparently next month is "Soundmurderer", so maybe I'll go back for some more dubstep/breakcore/mashup/jungle/d'n'b/owlsowlsowls action.

Had an odd moment at work when the perfect combination of acoustics and death metal band soundcheck made noises from in the club sound like they were outside my cubicle door, for a second became convinced Satan was watching me pee.

Last night at work was a bit nuts, and resulted in half the club being banned and several things getting knocked over, smashed or broken. And one nose being bitten. I have a big bruise on my leg, which I plan to milk all the sympathy I can get out of...so pretty much getting Alex to say "serves you right, you bummer".
Also, we had a record number of rude and obnoxious customers outside of Born Bad (which is affectionately dubbed "Cunt Night" in honour of the hordes of money-waving, finger-clicking, over-dressed arseholes who seem to populate it). So many that I was forced to put up a sign behind the bar, reading "In case you hadn't noticed, it's loud in here. Don't look at me like I'm an idiot if I can't hear your feeble mumblings, you fucking ingrate". I also got to do the universal sign for "wanker" in some obnoxious wanker's face.

So all in all, a good week.