Me and my best mate made the four hour (four fucking hours) journey on a coach from south London to Nottingham. We drank in the Castle for a few hours beforehand because Bunker’s Hill wouldn’t let my mate in without ID. Good. Any fucking pub with doormen is too pretentious for the likes of me. Why not be a nightclub instead?
The castle was a lovely little boozer and a great quiet place to drink. We went into the venue halfway through the Holloways set very steaming. They were ok.
The Pogues were brilliant. I’ve seen them twice at Brixton before but this was easily the best I’ve seen them. The atmosphere was dead odd. My friend, Martyn, got talking to some guy about our age who said he liked Coldplay.
“Fuck off, man” was the inevitable, but quite friendly reaction from Martyn
We nearly got in a fight with this tool and all his mates in the gap between bands.
I sorted it out, but I'd been on the beer since the Wednesday so things were fairly tense for a while. As soon as the band came on, everyone near me (directly at the front) became very communual and it was great. There was a beautiful punk girl near me sometimes and every so often we'd look at eachother like "Jesus, the fucking Pogues are in front of us."
The set was great, Shane was on fire after Fall from Grace and I got to shout at Spider to find out the key the songs were played in.
Anyway, sod it here’s a simple image to let you know exactly how good my night was.
Martyn, Shane, Me.