(no subject)
Akerocke were astoundingly good, by which I mean even for their sublime standards. It was more like a welcome home party at the Underworld than some kind of Satanic black mass or whatever it is the Christians are out to get them over this week. They'd just finished a tour with Ted Maul and Cephalic Carnage and the new album is being released today, so there was much to get wild about.
So yes. The gig was wonderful. The journey home was... not.
We make it to the Northern Line at Camden thinking that we'll just about be able to catch the last trains home. So we wait. And wait. And wait. So we go fuck this and get a bus to Euston and go to Green Park from there.
The fucking Victoria line was shut. And the Northern Line wasn't moving. By that point we'd missed the last Piccadilly train westbound from Kings Cross so that left us with one option - The Night Bus. Of course, the only bus remotely headed in our direction from Euston was several streets over from the station in the torrential rain. It was pissing down like it was the tropics during the monsoon. Except much colder.
So we arrive at the bus stop and again begins another long wait. This time we get the added bonus of a completely fucking mental African bloke wrapped in an orange blanket.
He comes over to the bus stop and starts wailing and lurching about. And kept wailing and grunting and snarling like some kind of possessed man. This continued for about fifteen minutes until he lurched too close to me and I told him to back the hell off. At which point he STOPS wailing!! And reasonably coherently goes on about how he can stand where he wants.
And then starts wailing again. At which point a bus turned up going in vaguely the right direction so we jumped on that and fled. Then took another bus to get us to Shepherds Bush and at that point seeing as it was STILL pissing down bucketloads we went fuck this and got a cab home.
London as soon as the tube shuts down is such a strange and fucked up place.
So yes. The gig was wonderful. The journey home was... not.
We make it to the Northern Line at Camden thinking that we'll just about be able to catch the last trains home. So we wait. And wait. And wait. So we go fuck this and get a bus to Euston and go to Green Park from there.
The fucking Victoria line was shut. And the Northern Line wasn't moving. By that point we'd missed the last Piccadilly train westbound from Kings Cross so that left us with one option - The Night Bus. Of course, the only bus remotely headed in our direction from Euston was several streets over from the station in the torrential rain. It was pissing down like it was the tropics during the monsoon. Except much colder.
So we arrive at the bus stop and again begins another long wait. This time we get the added bonus of a completely fucking mental African bloke wrapped in an orange blanket.
He comes over to the bus stop and starts wailing and lurching about. And kept wailing and grunting and snarling like some kind of possessed man. This continued for about fifteen minutes until he lurched too close to me and I told him to back the hell off. At which point he STOPS wailing!! And reasonably coherently goes on about how he can stand where he wants.
And then starts wailing again. At which point a bus turned up going in vaguely the right direction so we jumped on that and fled. Then took another bus to get us to Shepherds Bush and at that point seeing as it was STILL pissing down bucketloads we went fuck this and got a cab home.
London as soon as the tube shuts down is such a strange and fucked up place.