This is much welcomed as Universal Records budget for this trip would hardly get us all dinner in McDonald’s. The band have got the short straw. Whilst organizing the trip I discovered that a Swedish friends nineteen year old brother is living in Camden town with three of his buddies. Having sent him an email, and offered a hundred quid incentive, the four friends have agreed to bunk in together for a couple of nights and lend the band a room and some bedding.
Now, whenever I have house guests staying over, I tend to have a clean up and tidy around before they arrive. However, I had forgotten the filthy habits and scummy existence favored by most 19 year old males who have only recently vacated the family home. The flat looks like someone has emptied a garbage bin in every room and hall. I know this isn't the reality because the real bin is currently so full of trash and crap, it has almost as much trash sitting on it, as actually in it. The toilet looks like it hasn't be flushed in a month.
Flat 4, 28 Camden High Street is the shittiest shit hole shit box of a flat you would ever hope NOT to have to sleep in. The opportunity to stay at Dave's nice apartment simply means I don't have to share their misery. I guess I should feel sorry for them but fuck 'em! We have all had to do it once or twice.
The first gig is in Kilburn and it's a really good night. Two of the band head off into the night with various friends and the rest of us grab a cab and head back to Holborn via Camden. In the cab is myself, DDJ, Anton, the bands singer, and Johnny, the drummer. As the boys dejectedly climb out to go back to their wonderful digs, Dangerous makes an announcement. “Fuck it! I'm not ready to call it a night yet. Lets grab a case of beer and everyone back to mine.” Anton and Johnny couldn't have looked happier if they had just won the lottery.
We arrive at Dave's place, stick on a few tunes, and get stuck into a the beers. Myself, Anton and Johnny have been up since 1.30a.m the previous day so we are now pretty jaded and just happy to be chilling. However, Dave has other ideas. In his slightly inebriated state Dangerous Dave decides it is a really good idea to phone his honey. The flaw in the plan is that she is currently in South America. Despite the rest of us advising him against it, Dangerous Dave refuses to be swayed. It is clear to me that he is intent on proving that, somewhere out there, a woman exists who is mental enough to go out with him. To the surprise of absolutely no-one but Dave, she isn't that enamored at being called at some ridiculous hour. Obviously we are only hearing one end of the phone conversation but the message is quite clear. “What do you mean Fuck off and go to bed Dave?'
At the third time of calling the conversation clearly getting a bit wonky. Dave exits his flat and steps out on to the balcony to spare us all the gory details. After a minute or so, the phone gets drop kicked off the balcony and goes spinning into the street. Dave returns to the living room and begins selecting various CD's from a book shelf. He then returns to the balcony and throws them off as well.
Dave walked into his kitchen and took a beer from the fridge but not before he decides to take out a litre carton of yoghurt and throw it at those of us sitting on the sofa. Much to his surprise it comes flying back at him and splurges the wall in strawberry yoghurt.
Now, this is the point where it all goes horribly wrong. Within 3 minutes the entire contents of Dave's fridge are adorning his walls. Butter, Bacon, Margarine, Milk, Cheese, and Lasagne are all thrown in an almighty food fight...which I filmed on my camcorder!!! When the Margarine went flying Johnny and Anton {Team B} copped a broadside and decided to take off their t-shirts to avoid further grease stains.
Eventually we ran out of stuff to throw and the melee died down. Suddenly there was a forceful knock at the door, accompanied by the crackle of a walkie-talkie. It is the cops. It later transpired that Dave's neighbours had mistaken his ranting phone argument, and subsequent CD trashing, for a domestic dispute. They did not realize that the person with whom Dave was arguing was actually 3000 miles away on the end of a phone and not actually in the flat next door.
I peered through the spy hole to see two cops in the corridor. Only one thing for it. I stepped into the bathroom and grabbed the tooth paste and gave myself a Fu-Man-Chu mustache and toothpaste eye brows, before opening the door with a completely straight face. Camcorder still recording. 'What's the problem officer?” Behind me in the hallway are two nervous looking 21 year old handsome boy Swedish musicians. Naked from the waste up and greased with margarine. The cop looks bemused.'Making a film are we sir?”
The cops saw the funny side of it and, with little more than a quiet word about keeping the noise down, they went on their way. After more giggling we began the job of trying to clean up. It isn't long before Dangerous Dave lets out a roar of annoyance. A flying tub of room temperature margarine had strafed his prized collection of Hawaiian shirts that were neatly ironed and hanging on a clothes rail in the hall. The tub had ended up on his bed and was currently oozing the last of its contents through his duvet and into his mattress.
Not one of the twenty, or so, Hawaiian shirts had escaped. Dave inspected the damage whilst grunting and cursing to himself. Suddenly there was something of a light bulb moment. 'A ha!” said Dave. It crossed my mind that maybe our host had just recalled that he had an aerosol of grease remover stashed under the kitchen sink? It would need to be the size of a fire extinguisher, I thought, if he was going to manage to clean them all. Dave wandered back into the lounge and began to scan the room as he thumbed his chin. There was another 'A ha!' as he went out onto the balcony once more. He returned carrying a folded wooden garden chair and, without so much as a word, proceeded to have a total Basil Fawlty moment, using it to completely trash the contents of his hallway. Including his ridiculous Hawaiian shirts. Quietly and calmly the chair was then returned to the balcony.
Ever the courteous host, Dave tells Anton and Johnny they can have the bedroom. I realize quickly that neither of them had yet noticed where the rogue tub of margarine had finally come to rest. Dangerous Dave made himself comfy in a recliner chair and I finally stretched out on the sofa. I have been up for over 24 hours by now. I can hear Dave beginning to doze and I know I am only a matter of seconds behind him. The house is finally silent and the tranquility is descending. Just as my consciousness finally slips away, I hear a tirade of Swedish swearing. Roughly translating as 'What the fuck is all this greasy shit?' Dave and I both begin to giggle. He speaks without bothering to open his eyes. 'Oops, Sounds like someone has just rolled over into the wet patch'
