Sandro's Supplement - Week 15

Rival Schools

                        “I’m tired. You try having another human being inside you!”

Umm no thank you. I am Sandro and no person is going inside of me. Maybe a girls pinky finger but that’s as far as I’m going. Oh fuck off - there’s no children reading - I’d be surprised if there’s any fucker stupid enough to still be reading after 15 weeks.

Oh Hello. Didn’t see you there.

Despite having already completed my Gigaweek with “the actually not called Pete” and the Pirates on Wednesday I was dragged by the ballsack all the way to Camden for a special edition of the always popular Sandro’s Supplement.

I blame K-May who had bought tickets for P-Mushy for some pagan festival that celebrates the birth of someone who looks like me, who was born very close to when I was,  whose name is very popular in Latin America - like mine - and who loved to rock out with his… toes out.

Yes before YMAS it was XMAS and K-May had decided to buy the P-M and herself tickets to Rival Schools in London Town’s Camden Town’s Electric Ballroom. Then however - despite P-Mushy being “P-Mushy ugly” as previously described by your regular author she let him touch her with his ding-dong and was thus too tired to make the trip. Lazy mare.

Anyway your hero again stepped in and volunteered to accompany the mega-nosed one on a Megabus to the not quite Megacity. We bought tickets and, deciding traveling back from the big smoke on the same night, also booked a double room the size of a postage stamp where later that night your hero would be poked by something a bit bigger. That aforementioned nose…

On the journey eastwards my I-Pod shut down and I was forced to converse with Mushy-P. Obviously we discussed the usual filth - namely the profit margins of Megabus, which we imagined weren’t very large based on the half full bus. We did find out one interesting fact during our research - buses in the Greater San Diego area have an average fuel consumption of 6 miles to the gallon. And if you read that and thought that was interesting fuck me you’re a dick - go back to reading the regular authors inanities you twat.

After we had reached Euston, dumped our bags and the P-M had got his hair-spray out we went straight to the local watering hole and were met by two rather lovely people from Bolton. I say lovely - he was an ex hoolie and she looked like Worzel Gummidge but if you hold these things against people you’ll never get laid - I took Worzel from behind and the hoolie did the same to P-Mushy. Twice.

After a brief conversation about the merits of rival firms and football teams and said hoolie’s Bolton and Man City tattoos we decided to leave. And twenty minutes later we eventually got away from them. I won’t call them cunts for delaying us because I’m sure they’re fans and they had the Bolton Evening News so they can definitely read and, in spite of my previous comments, they were actually quite nice.

But I do have a reputation to uphold.

Cunts.

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After another stop on the road we reached Camden High Street and walked to the venue - it was half an hour till doors at this time but as there was a support act due on before Rival Schools - who were themselves not the main headliners - we decided to indulge in another drink or two.

Firstly we went to the famous World's End where we were charged £9.20 for two Magners by some dick behind the bar and then on to the Bucks Head where we charged £9.20 for two Koppabergs by some cunt behind the bar. I quickly decided that the bar staff weren’t as nice as in Cardiff where that much money would buy nearly three pints in some places but P-Mushy claimed that was just “London Prices.” What does he know - I told them I was from Cardiff but they still wouldn’t charge me “Cardiff Prices.” Bastards.

To make things worse whilst P-Mushy’s Kopparberg was a nice clear pear cider-y colour mine was a very yellow piss-y colour. I had to respect the barmaid’s talent of peeing into a closed bottle but the anger was too much – all I’d done was asked if they’d charge me a reasonable amount for my libation. As regular Gigaweekers know I’m not a violent man – I’d not hurt any of You Me At Six – but this was too much. I amp***ted the wo**ns l*g with the ser**ed e**e of a bo**le t*p and sh**ed it right up her cunt.

 

By now it was 7 O’clock and we beat an exit to the venue. On entering the venue P-Mushy was too interested in the price of cider to realise that Walter Schreifels - he of week 4 fame - was busy singing 69 Guns - a beauty of a tune off the new Rival Schools album. It turned out that this was track four of a 12 track set and there was no pre support band - which made me very angry. So I **** ***** ******* ****** anally **** **** monkey **** ****** ** *** ****** *** potato. Poor girl. I feel guilty now.

Anyway we got our ciders and barged towards the back of the front (or the front of the middle - you know the place) of the crowd to get the perfect view. Unfortunately for P-Mushy his nemesis from the Sunshine Underground came and stood in front of him and he was forced to ***** her to ***** with his nose just so he could see.

To be fair to Walt and the boys, despite only seeing nine songs they played a blinder and the crowd were enraptured. It’s hard to pick a best song – ok a second best song – but oldies like Undercovers On, Good Things, High Acetate and Hooligans for Life were complimented by the newbies Shot After Shot and Choose your Adventure. Unfortunately we’d missed Spotify’s favourite song - Wring it Out - and one of mine in Everything Has it’s Point but the finale more than made up for it.

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After a bit of Bon Jovi-ing - Walted Dead or Alive (I know - I’m a genius) - we came to the Schools’ marquee song - the one that had made P-Mushy fall in love with the band way back in 2001 and introduce them to your hero. Used for Glue is the perfect end to any set with a riff so good it makes you wish Jimi had spelt his name properly (cos he’d still be alive if he hadn’t spelt his name like a cunt). And the lyrics are sung with a fervour that makes you wish you’d never given that girl your prick stick.

Despite there still being another band to come there was a mass exodus from the venue - Trail of Dead were clearly not the main draw tonight. We decided we would get with the exodus - mainly because we wanted to watch some football but also because Trail of Dead - no matter what their pile cream licking, armpit shagging, inbred fans may say - are shite. Shitty Shitty Shite Shite. Fact.

We were directed by a bouncer towards a pub which supposedly had Sky Sports. But couldn’t find it. So we asked another bouncer. Then another. And another. Until we reached the first bouncer again and decided to give up on the football and get with the program. We hopped over to the ever popular Lock 17 fully knowing it would be full of alcohol and one particularly attractive woman and sat outside to try and get a Moon Tan. (Fuck me this blog is going on a bit - I feel like a right cock now I’ve realised how much I’ve written. Anyway…..)

P-Mushy was approached by a “homeless” trying to sell his last Big Issue. The P-M being a sucker - why are all my companions suckers - handed over £2 and went to take the paper. However the clearly unbadged vendor - scamming homeless irish* twat or Shit from know on - kept it saying he could sell it on again if P-Mush let him keep it. After a brief row the Shit left with his magazine despite your Hero pointing out that the Big Issue was “A hand up, not a hand out.”

I sat sagely by hoping that my companion would learn a lesson for next time before visiting the ladies. When I returned P-Mushy had a cut on his face and the Big Issue in his hand and there appeared to be some Shit floating in the canal. For the second time that night we beat a hasty retreat.

Not much exciting happened after this point - we went to the Monarch, got lashed up till three in the morning and the night finished exactly as my previous supplement did, with a family sized portion of chicken.

* He wasn’t Irish but it’s called artistic licence fuckers.