I woke a sleepy eye and and saw the clock. “La vache! It’s past eleven!”
“Blimey,” Keith groaned. “We forgot to set the alarm.”
Within seconds, Ryan banged on the door. “You need to turn in your key now or pay another night’s lodging!”
“We’re coming!” Keith shouted back. “Don’t get your bollocks in a twist.”
Keith gathered his guitars and his bag. “I’ll return the key and meet you at the van.”
I gathered everything I’d shed the previous night and dumped them into my bag. As I headed out, I realized how hungry I was, and hoped we would eat before reaching Bristol. Ryan waited in the driver’s seat. It’s about bloody time!”
“Lay off her, will you?” Keith said, tossing the remains of a cigarette to the ground and sliding into the back seat. “It’s an hour’s drive to Bristol.”
“We have to get across the Severn Bridge and pay the toll before rush hour,” Ryan responded.
I climbed into the van alongside Keith and we were off. I grew hungrier by the second. My prayers were answered when Ryan pulled into a petrol station. I surveyed my surroundings. “There’s a deli over there,” I pointed. “I’m getting something to eat.” I opened the door and stepped out.
“I’m going with,” Keith slid across the seat to follow me.
“Well if they’re going, I’m going,” Jimmy piped up.
“Me too,” added Billy.
“Bloody hell! What do I do while you lot stuff your gobs?” Ryan asked.
“Stay and put petrol in the van,” Keith answered. “You wanted to bloody drive.”
“We’ll bring you back something,” I said, though he didn’t deserve my courtesy.
We ran across the street, dodging cars. Some lorry driver honked at us and Billy stood at attention, saluting him before joining us on the other side of the street. We all laughed when the lorry driver responded with the two-finger salute.
“I love you too, mate!” Billy yelled back, then blew him a couple a couple kisses. We crash landed into the deli still laughing.
We grabbed baguettes and other fixings for sandwiches and took our place in the queue to pay. Some older-looking bloke sitting a nearby table stared at Billy.
Billy blew him kisses and I stifled a laugh when the offending bloke blushed.
The queue moved. “Hey, mate, we’re up,” Keith told Billy. “Quit flirting.”
Keith and Jimmy shared a hearty guffaw. Billy wasn’t amused.
We paid and raced back. Ryan had just filled the tank. “Impeccable timing,” he said. “Strap yourselves in. I’m about to make the jump to hyperspace.” He careened back into traffic while everyone passed around the comestibles. Keith handed Ryan a bottle of Coke. Too bad you can’t have a brewsky, mate,” he taunted. “But you wanted to drive
“Fine, you want to drive that much, I’ll fucking pull over.”
“No can do, mate. I’ve polished off one bottle already.”
“We saved you one,” I told him.
“Bloody hell! Why are you being nice to him?” Keith protested.
“I don’t know. But remember this, Ryan. I saved your derriere and I’m nice to you when the others aren’t.”
Ryan didn’t respond.
Before long we were crossing the Severn suspension bridge. The scenery was breathtaking. The water below was a beautiful azure and smooth as glass. On either side of the river, were rolling hills of deep green.
Everyone’s attention was soon diverted to Billy. He was eating olives from a jar, tossing them in the air and catching them in his mouth. He tried shooting them out with enough force to get them over the bridge. Keith and Jimmy cheered him on. I laughed every time he missed. Finally he managed to shoot one over the bridge. We all cheered.
“I wonder if the olive hit a boater,” Billy chortled. “Could you picture sailing under the bridge when suddenly you’re smacked on the head by a falling olive?”
Before long we approached another suspension bridge.
“Bloody hell!” Billy screamed. “If I’d known there was another bridge I’d have held back some olives. Bugger! It looks like there’s plenty of boaters too! Are any chocolate biscuits left?”
“I’m not surrendering any chocolate biscuits!” I managed to wrest the package from him. “Olives are one thing, but chocolate is sacred.”
I returned to gazing at the gorgeous scenery. The bridge spanned a high craggy cliff, flanked by deep emerald trees. We were now in Bristol.
“Now to find this hostel,” Ryan said as we rounded a corner. He grabbed the map and tossed it to Jimmy. “Get us to Narrow Quay Road.”
Jimmy unfolded the tattered map. “I think you missed it. You should have turned left on Bannerleigh Road.”
“Fuckin’ aye!” Ryan turned around, then seconds later Jimmy yelled, “You turned the wrong way again. I said the first exit after the traffic circle!”
“You said the second,” Ryan argued.
“Bloody hell!” Ryan pulled the van over to the side of the road and grabbed the map from Jimmy. “Let me see that bloody thing!”
“Do you want me to fucking drive?” Keith asked.
“Not if you’ve been drinking,” Ryan shot back.
“I had one fucking beer an hour ago.
“Too risky.”
“Suit yourself, then,” Keith answered.
“It looks like we’re almost there,” Ryan said as he tossed the unfolded map back to Jimmy. “I make a right at Prince Street and two more lefts.”
We arrived at the hostel five minutes later.
We had two hours before sound check. I grabbed Keith for a walk on the harbor.
“Let’s see how much a boat tour costs,” I suggested. “I have the video camera. You can shoot videos.”
“I have to be back in an hour and a half. There’s no time.”
“This brochure says ferry rides are as short as one hour. Oh do let’s go.”
Keith groaned. “It better be only one hour. They can’t do sound check without me.”
We ran to the docks. “There’s a boat leaving in ten minutes. I’ll get us tickets.”
Keith looked less than enthusiastic as I bought two tickets and we boarded the boat.
We settled into some seats and I pulled out the camera, handing it to Keith. He immediately turned it on and began a narration, making me laugh. I began a postcard, but the scenery was a distraction. The boat meandered under the Clifton Suspension Bridge we’d crossed barely an hour earlier.
“This is where our bass player spit olives off the bridge. You can see him up there spitting things I won’t mention in this video. Wait! He’s taking a piss”
“You are so naughty!” I squealed, giving him a light punch in the arm.
“I’ll show you just how wicked I am.” He grabbed me and we began snogging in front of everyone.
“Would you two take your vulgar behavior elsewhere?” I looked up and noticed a gray haired man glaring at us.
“You have a problem with two people showing love?” Keith asked him.
“There’s a time and place,” the man answered. “I’ve tried politely enduring your lewd remarks and behavior, but I must speak up for everyone’s sake.”
“We’re newlyweds,” I explained. “It’s only natural we show our feelings.”
“Well don’t do it around me,” he grunted.
“Oh, you are so sad,” I said.
“Don’t get cheeky with me, miss,” he growled.
“Oi, don’t speak to my wife like that!” Keith shouted. “We’re not banging each other.”
“Come on, let’s find another seat,” I relented.
“Nothing like some bloody old wanker spoiling things,” Keith lamented. “With all the hate and fighting in this world, he complains about two people showing affection.”
“He’s just a sad, grouchy old man,” I answered.
“Shouldn’t we be turning back?” Keith asked. “We’ve been on for half an hour. This better not go longer than an hour.
“Our tickets say we’re on the one-hour cruise,” I assured him.
Someone sitting next to us interjected. “You’re on the two-hour cruise,” she said. “The one-hour ferry was moored next to us. They didn’t look carefully at your tickets.”
“Two hours!” Keith yelled. “I have to be somewhere in half an hour.”
“Well I think you’re stuck here another hour and a half,” the woman said.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Keith yelled. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
He looked at me accusingly. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
“I did not. Your ticket says one-hour and so does mine!”
“Sorry, luv. What will I do? I need to get off this boat.”
“Well you can’t. So buck up.”
“Buck up? I’ll be an hour late for sound check and you tell me to buck up?”
“It makes you look like a rock star,” I tried cajoling.
“It makes me look like a fucking twat.”
Suddenly I wasn’t in the mood for drawing postcards or anything. Why did everything get ruined lately? Our perfect outing got buggered up like everything else. The rest of the voyage gave way to lovely scenery, but I couldn’t rekindle Keith’s mood. It spoiled the rest of the cruise.
We finally docked and Keith grabbed my hand. “We’d better run back to the hostel,” he said. “Maybe they’re still there.”
I tried keeping up, but Keith’s long strides made it difficult. We arrived, panting and sweaty in the lobby. As I stood, trying desperately to catch my breath, the young chap at the desk said everyone waited about half an hour before leaving.
“Fuckin’ aye!” Keith yelled. “I’ll need my guitars. The club is a few blocks away. We’ll have to walk, which won’t be easy carrying three guitars.”
“I’ll carry one,” I said, still gasping for breath.
He handed me his acoustic. “This one’s the lightest.”
He returned in five minutes. I lugged the guitar to my shoulder. It didn’t weigh a lot, but it was nearly as tall as me.
We trudged back outside. I could see the university where they were playing, but being bogged down with my art satchel, my purse, the video camera and now a guitar, it somehow seemed out of reach no matter how much we walked. The guitar kept slipping off my shoulder and I had to keep stopping to hoist it back on. Keith kept walking and I had to run to catch him. We finally reached the university campus, but didn’t know where the concert was. We cornered some passerby and asked for directions and finally arrived out of breath and knackered.
“You must be who everyone’s waiting for,” the chap manning the front door said. “Are you sure you want to go in? They’re pretty pissed off.”
“I don’t bloody have a choice,” Keith said.
We ventured inside.
“There you fucking are!” Ryan fumed.
“Where the hell were you?” Jimmy asked. “We’ve waited a bloody hour!”
“Sorry, we got on the wrong ferry and went for a two-hour cruise rather than the one. There was nothing I could do short of swimming back. I need a beer. We ran all the way from the harbor, to the hostel, then here. I’m knackered, to say the least.”
I immediately relieved myself of Keith’s guitar and leaned it against the stage. I slipped backstage and sat down to rub my shoulder before digging out postcards. I so wanted to paint Bristol Harbor. I rubbed my aching shoulder more before getting to work.
When the sound check ended, the band burst through the backstage door. Keith lit a cigarette and wrapped his arm around me. “Apparently some underground radio station is coming to interview us. Ticket sales for tonight are sluggish and the promoters called the station to help. It should take an hour. Say you’ll hang about.”
“Sure, I’ll hang about.” I tried not letting my disappointment show. At least I could make more postcards.
The radio people came and set up. The host introduced The Piss Ants as the hottest punk act in London, then had each band member introduce themselves. I sat in the opposite corner and listened with half an ear, drawing postcards. The session became quite lively due to Billy and Jimmy’s one-liners and sophomoric jokes. I didn’t notice Keith talking much unless he was spoken to –- then the subject of the band’s political views came up. Keith’s had a lot to say on the topic. He griped about Margaret Thatcher telling unemployed people they were dole scroungers and should get on their bicycles to search for work. “But there’s no fuckin’ work because she’s sent jobs away. Schools and hospitals are forced to make cutbacks while she reaps the profits from selling public sector companies to the private sector. My dad’s a toff who supported Thatcher because he worked for those companies that benefited from Thatcher’s greed. Meanwhile, people are getting sick because the hospitals made cutbacks, they can’t get proper education because schools made cutbacks, jobs are slashed and children get abused because no one’s looking out for them. It’s our responsibility to enlighten the next generation to make better choices. It’s too late for my dad’s generation.”
“Do you think anyone past the age of forty sees the errors of Thatcher?”
“I don’t put an age limit on it, but for example, I just got
married like two weeks ago and with the exception of a two-day honeymoon, we’ve barely had time together because we started this tour. So we hop a ferry for a short romantic cruise and we’re snogging when some old fart is all over us for acting indecent in public. All we were doing was snogging. That type of person helped put Thatcher in power because he has no regard for anyone different than him.”
“So what can people expect when they come see you?”
“We’re not all gloom and doom politics. We liken ourselves to The Clash or Sex Pistols or any of those Brit punks. We’re not fucking U2 with guitar effects. Our music is pure punk.”
“We’re taking pictures with anyone who pays us a quid,” Jimmy piped up. “Help us raise petrol money for our next gig.”
“Ten quid if you give us a blow job,” Billy piped up. “Birds only, though.”
“Speak for yourself,” Keith interjected.
When the session ended, I had six new postcards and was starving. Keith came over to me. “Fancy getting a bite somewhere, Luv? I’m ravished.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I placed my cards in my satchel.
“Back here by seven,” Ryan said. “And stay off ferries.”
Keith saluted to him and gave a quick bow. “Aye, sir!”
Ryan didn’t look amused. Where’s his sense of humor?
We shared a small cheese pizza and headed back to the club.
I set up the merchandise table and started to draw another postcard. The second band ended and I got a small stream of customers.
“So when are The Piss Ants coming on?” some girl asked me. “I heard them on the radio today. They remind me of The Clash. More people came saying they’d heard them on the radio.
Ryan got me to my coveted place when The Piss Ants were to go on. Already I felt electricity in the air. Keith and Jimmy came on stage, but no Billy.
“Has anyone seen our bass player? He’s a tall, scrawny bloke with a green Mohican,” Keith askedthe crowd. “I’m afraid some bird might have taken him up on his offer and he’s getting a blow job . . . maybe several.”
Billy appeared out of nowhere and picked up his bass guitar. “Yeah, sorry I’m late. I’ve been hanging about in the girls’ toilet banging one girl after another.”
“Yeah?” Keith said. “Well, pry yourself away. We have a show.” With a one, two, three, four, they tore into the opening chords of No Connection. Within seconds, the floor was a sea of sweaty, slamming bodies.
I did very well selling and once again we had enough for expenses. When I packed everything up and headed backstage, the band was being badgered by another interviewer.
“Do you think advertising your recent marriage might hurt the band’s success?”
“We aren’t a fuckin’ boy band,” Billy piped up. “We joke around about birds and stuff, but our main purpose is the music and its message. Having birds throw themselves at us is a fringe benefit.”
Keith saw me. “You can talk with my mates about birds.” He took a final swig of beer and tossed the bottle onto a nearby sofa. We loaded the guitars in the van and walked to the hostel. The cool night air felt refreshing compared to the stifling heat and smoke of the club. Keith lit a cigarette and stopped to adjust the guitar slung across his back when suddenly a cluster of people came from nowhere. Initially I was a bit frightened before I realized they were fans. Keith was immediately besieged by requests for autographs. I don’t know why they didn’t queue up after the show.
Keith did his best to accommodate, but more kept coming. We were surrounded. The night air was chilly and I started shivering, but no one was leaving. How would we get away? They rambled on about nothing in particular and fell all over each other to impress Keith. Why didn’t Keith just tell them off? They would listen to him more than me. Keith continued making small talk and I got colder by the second as the damp sea air enveloped me. They started getting a bit overzealous, making me frightened for our safety. I heard a loud noise behind me, turned and looked and saw headlights careening towards us.
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
