Whoops, there goes another ear / Whoops, there goes another chandelier *

* with apologies to Billy Bragg for this twist on his lyric


So, next on Gallows' East End Invasion mini-tour was the Old Blue Last, upstairs, in what is apparently a 100-capacity venue.

Getting there by car, as for the night before, was not too taxing, despite the traffic diversions because of gas works in the area. Parking in London is always fun, trying desperately to decipher the double-Dutch signs to ensure you don't get a ticket. We were all cool, though, thankfully. And then for some pre-gig sustenance we decided on Pizza Express, just opposite the venue.

Something quick, we thought. How wrong we were. Indeed, so slow was the delivery of our food that we ended up getting the starter on the house. Which makes me wonder if this was the reason the gig had been delayed from its 9pm start time to 9:30, since while we were waiting for our food, Mr Frank Carter left the restaurant with some friends (and no, we didn't know he was there when we went in, for all you haters saying I've got a man-crush). Maybe his grub had been delayed too, and now he was late! But the little blonde girl who served us, on only her second day in the job, was very sweet, and it certainly was no fault of hers.

According to ViewLondon, "live music is where [the Old Blue Last] can't be beaten, and if you see a favourite artist perform here you won’t be disappointed". I was geared up for quite a night.

We said hello to some of the usual faces, most of those name-checked in yesterday's post, plus Sophie this time (and James later), and as they all once again grabbed their spots at the front of the stage, I secured myself a former cinema seat at the edge of the room and readied myself for standing on it for a decent view of the proceedings.

Within seconds of the first song, "Come Friendly Bombs", starting up, Frank is swinging from a chandelier at the opposite end of the room. I have no fucking idea how he got there, but by the end of the song a second chandelier has been trashed by one of the audience. Back on the stage by the end of the song, the frontman announces that the remaining one is his.

"Gold Dust" comes next, and I think this is when the first scuffle of the night breaks out. All of a sudden one guy is pummelling another in the face. He gets about three hits in before someone separates them, and by the time Franks asks what's going on, the two are making up.

Not so sweet is the resolution of the second bit of fisticuffs, midway through "London Is the Reason". Suddenly someone at the front of the stage is getting smacked in the head by Frank before the fight spills on to the floor. Several people spring into action to break things up, and Carter is holding on to the dude, saying "Come down here, I wanna talk to you and you're too fuckin' tall." He has a private word, and the bloke is evicted. It seems he'd been having a grope of the singer, something more intimate, shall we say, than one should reasonably expect. The song picks up pretty much where it left off.

I think about now comes the new song about the trials and tribulations of being in a band, "when all you want to do is be at home, drinking tea and playing XBox". I can't fully relate, not being a rock 'n' roll star, nor particularly liking tea or having an XBox. Bill Gates ain't getting my fucking money. PS3 ftw! You'd get the impression that Frank hates being in a band, but I don't really think that's true. We all moan about our jobs, I guess. I do. And yet this is the best, most cushy job I've ever had. Certainly beats being verbally abused on an almost-daily basis and having people threatening to shoot me, as in my last job, back in 1993/4. Surely being in a band can't be too bad? Indeed, last night at the Macbeth, he had said, "You gotta take the good with the bad."

For me, the band is playing better tonight than the previous night, though discussions later with some of the crowd reveal a mix of opinion in that regard. Either way, the set is different, which is great and a special treat for those who attended both nights. We get no "Black Heart Queen", despite the attendance of brother Richard Blackhole Carter, who occasionally guests on this track live. (A bit of banter between the brothers -- about facial tattoos [Frank's] and almost-fainting tattooees [Richard] -- provided a bit of light relief.) Instead, though, we get the ever-wonderful "Rolling With the Punches". To be honest, that's a trade-off I can live with.

More new songs and old intertwine seamlessly, Frank taking the opportunity to go to the bar during the instrumental track, and the show ends, as is traditional, with "Orchestra of Wolves" and general mayhem. I'm sweating enough without being in the pit. How Lags can sport a full beard and Stu can wear a hooded top without being uncomfortable is beyond me!


Oh, did I mention that the third and final chandelier got trashed? Well, it did. I guess the Old Blue Last got an extreme makeover.

Setlist included, roughly in this order:
Come Friendly Bombs
Gold Dust
London Is the Reason
I Dread the Night
Kill the Rhythm
Abandon Ship
Rolling With the Punches
In the Belly of a Shark
Orchestra of Wolves
plus some other new songs, including the instrumental.

It’s Monday!

Oh, don't you just love Mondays? Time was that I used to hate them, just like most other people. But these days Mondays have taken on a whole new meaning.

You see, because I tend to work all weekend just lately, the reason I love Mondays is that I feel justified again in working. And also I know that most other people are having to do it too. If I've got to, then I derive some twisted pleasure out of knowing others are working as well!

That's not to say there's nothing good about working weekends. The great thing about it is this: most of our colleagues/clients/employers (call them what you will) don't work the weekend. This means that our working days become far more fruitful because we are not constantly answering the phone, responding to e-mails, and generally being pushed and pulled in several directions at once.

We did, however, manage to find time to pop out for Sunday lunch, which for me was a bacon cheeseburger, while Red opted for the altogether more healthy tuna niçoise salad.

So, all in all, not much to report today. My latest bits of ink are healing nicely. My weight is yo-yoing like Ricki Lake's. I watched Mean Girls on TV and think Lindsay Lohan is not so annoying as I had expected. And I've posted a new review over at Such As They Are. And now... to work. Catch you all later, blogpals!

Last-minute edit: How could I forget that we've also started watching this year's Big Brother? Christ on a bike, what a shower of cunts they are, too...

Chick, chick, chick, chick, chicken...

For Sunday lunch yesterday, because we had nothing in the house and we didn't have time to go shopping, what with little bits of DIY and great loads of work needing to be done, the wife and I headed to the new eatery in our vicinity.

A few weeks ago it opened its doors. And the queues on that first Friday evening were quite a sight to behold. Unfortunately we didn't have a camera with us at the time because it was most definitely "bloggable".

Anyway, that's the past remote. Let's talk about the past recent.

The eatery? KFC, as you might have guessed from the pic of the Colonel. We're not really big fast-food types, but now and again it must be done. People say not very nice things about fast-food-joint staff -- y'know, stuff about how dumb they are, how no qualifications are needed to do their job, a trained monkey could do it, etc.

But I gotta tell you this: while you may or may not need a brain to work in these places, you damn well better have one if you intend to order there. All I wanted was a bite to eat, but first I had to figure out what. I opted for one of the "meals", but then I had to choose between the standard Zinger meal or the Wicked Zinger meal.

"I'll have the Wicked one."

"Which side order would you like?"

"What are the choices?"

"Baked beans, coleslaw, or corn on the cob."

"I'll have the coleslaw, please."

"And what extra chicken portion would you like? Wings or an extra piece of chicken?" [Like "extra piece" is some technical term for a chicken bodily part.]

"The extra piece please."

"And what drink?"

AAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!

And then KABOOOOOOM! My head exploded. It was quite the mess all over the restaurant floor. And they're burying me today. Still, it was worth it. No, sorry, the other thing: not worth it. Definitely not worth it.