» Rock and Roll Stories

Loads of it
In the happy heady early days of the web the company I used to work for did 'webcasts' in return for beer and transport. Sometime around 1996 we started getting jobs at big concerts, leading to many rock and roll anecdotes:

Playing football with Vic Reeves at some early hour, while a lunatic dressed in carrier bags attempted to be goalie.

Watching Noel 'even thicker than Liam' Gallagher doing an IRC chat with his fans and not having a clue who/where/what it was all about.

But, by far the best, we rented a classic rock-star sleeper coach to take us up to the Oasis Loch Lomond gig. Cue much chortling, drinking, and watching spinal tap. On the way back, we are all hungover and knackered and want to get back to London asap to unload all the kit and call it a job. At 7.00am, somewhere outside Birmingham, the coach slows down and pulls into a services. "Sorry guys, I know you're keen to get back, but I'm falling asleep here" says our driver. Not ideal, but fair enough I suppose. "I'm going to have to have a quick stop." He then proceeds to pull the coach to a stop at the side of the slip road. Without leaving his seat, he gets an old VHS tape box, and chops out a great fat line of coke from one corner to the other, and proceeds to snort the lot. Then repeats in other nostril for balance. Then gets back on motorway for another 4 hours. Result.
(Thu 29th Jun 2006, 18:55, More)

» When were you last really scared?

Renting
We all know renting a flat in the London is the least pleasant thing you can do, but this made it worse.

The GF had gone on holiday leaving me to move all my stuff, and her stuff, into the new flat. Shiny new flat has bedrooms in basement and sitting room upstairs. Lovely. I move in and sit around looking at the chaos of boxes until I decide it's time for an early night. Wake up at night listening to the house creaking. Old houses. I wake up 5 mins later listening to the house creaking. The creaking sounds like footsteps. Bloody upstairs neighbours. I wake up 3 minutes later suddenly realising that the neighbours aren't upstairs. My sitting room is upstairs. I lie very still. All is quiet. I fall asleep. Wake up 1 minute later as my bedroom door opens. Large man in jacket silhouetted in doorway. Me naked in bed. Not happy.

me: Who's there?!
him (in friendly, matter of fact voice): Oh, it's Jack from the flats upstairs. Your door was open when I came back, so I thought I'd see that everything was alright.

And he calmly walks away. I listen for him going upstairs, then closing my front door behind him. I wait 30 seconds and triple bolt the front door. I notice that every lightbulb in the house is on, including the other bedroom and both bathrooms.

Next morning I knock on all my upstairs neighbours' doors. No one called Jack, or anyone matching the description, has ever lived there.

I eventually figure out that the guy must work for the company that does inventories on rented flats, and so has the keys, and knows I only just moved in. Furthermore his very calm, reasonable explanation suggests he's done this a few times before. He obviously gets kicks out creeping around other people's homes. Letting agent informed and locks changed.
(Fri 23rd Feb 2007, 18:19, More)

» Things you've done when you've had no money.

Sensible
I was once so poor that I couldn't afford to feed anyone in my family, and both my parents died. I got together with the other students in my village and we came up with a wacky scheme. We sold my mate's youngest sister to a man from the city and used the money to pay someone to smuggle us to England. Now our financial problems are over! It's a pity the mental scars will never go away.
(Fri 8th Oct 2004, 12:26, More)

» My Wanking Disasters

Yeah, and the tracing paper...
My old boarding school used to have freezing cold toilet blocks with nasty plastic seats on the loos. As soon as your thighs hit them you just lost that loving feeling, which made winter wanking rather fraught.

But upstairs in the dormitory there was an ancient little-used stall with a nice soft (unvarnished) wooden seat. Luxury. The stall didn't have a door on it (I guess people didn't expect them in 1904), but then, who comes into the top dormitory at 4.00pm?

Answer: The whole fucking rugby team, deciding that they want to wash their kit in the bath. Blimey, was lucky to get away with a week of snide remarks.
(Tue 1st Jun 2004, 21:05, More)

» World's Most Hated Food

Fussy
You lot are right fussy bastards. Even honeycomb tripe, which is a really frigging nasty thing to just contemplate, much less eat, is actually swallowable if you're really hungry.

No, the only disgusting stuff you often see nowdays is fruit peel. Look, it's called peel because you peel it off and chuck it away, right? Good, so don't put it in my fucking christmas pudding, christmas cake, and mince frigging pies. Bastards. Every christmas made a throat clenching, retching torment because some people think its clever and hard to put vile bitter lumps of citrus rind in the food. Ho ho bloody ho. Wankers.
(Tue 13th Jul 2004, 0:10, More)