We hung around outside the Enmore so I could have a fag, get some bird to take a lovely photo of us two together, and another of me looking positively constipated, then lined up to head inside. We then made a beeline for the bar. After what seemed like forever, I got my bourbon & coke and Misha got her vodka & fanta, since they didn't have any orange juice. Standing against the wall, we quickly decided that these were the best drinks out we've ever gotten for $7.50, as the plastic cups were sorely misjudged at 3/4 alcohol, 1/4 mixer. We finished them off and found our seats.

67 Special were actually quite good for a support band - it's rare enough to find a support group that sound similar to the headlining act, but they pulled it off. We marvelled at how hardcore they were; from the slightly obese keyboard player taking massive swigs of booze between songs, to the drummer who decided to play with one stick-clutching fist in the air at all times, to Napoleon Dynamite, the guitarist, who thrust his way through the entire set. Thrust, thrust, thrust - heaven help the poor women he beds.

We were typing messages on our phones about Napoleon Dynamite because it was too loud to speak, and we were laughing ourselves stupid when I got a tap on my shoulder.

'Excuse me, but what did you come to, see, and conquer?'
'Left a bad home, a failed marriage, and rape.'

I grinned, he grinned and congratulated me, shook my hand, then went back to tell his missus. And so it was, that was to be my stock-standard answer for the entire evening.

I got another tap on the shoulder and found myself face-to-face with three Cockney lads sitting behind us. Lovely lads who went by the names Dom, Tom, and Anton, they asked the same question and I gave the same answer. I only shook Tom's hand, since he was the one who asked, and then went to sit back down. Throughout the gig, Dom would pose for my camera and tug on my ponytail, and Tom would alternate between poking me in the side and yelling in our general direction, leaning in to whisper sweet nothings to his mates, looking VERY suss, and pointing at me and Misha for no apparent reason.

Misha noticed the boys had drinks with them at their seats - it meant all systems were a-go-go, we were to drink heavily and steadily throughought the entire show. At some point, Misha's legs stopped working and I didn't mind getting the fresh(er?) air, so there was added incentive to go and get a refreshing beverage. I was lumped behind a guy who was yelling abuse to one of three women working the bar, and found him in exactly the same spot but jacketless when I went for another round. Either we had been drinking too fast or he was a right royal cunt to those women, it may have been a combination of both.

Stereophonics were absoltuely fucking rocktastically brilliant. I was happy to find that there wasn't much band-audience interaction, and they just played the songs we wanted to hear. The crowd went ballistic when they played favourites from all their albums, like Local Boy in the Photograph, Mr Writer, Roll Up and Shine, and my personal favourite, A Thousand Trees. I think they played all of their songs from Language. Sex. Violence. Other?

Halfway through the gig, I went to take another photo of Mish and I rocking out, when I felt some crazy guy trying to steal my camera, while his girlfriend stood by looking bored. Actually, he wasn't trying to steal it, he was just trying to offer his photographic services. He took a purdy shot of us looking a lot less drunk than we really were.

After an awesome performance by Stereophonics, things wound up. As we were picking up our belongings, Tom pokes me REALLY HARD in the back, it was a borderline shove.

'I fink I'm falling in love wif you.'

What did I do? I shot him an awkward grin and a nervous thumbs up. I then spoke with Misha until his friends ushered him outside, eager to head to wherever they were headed next. Earlier on, Dom had asked where I was going to publish the photos. I said I'd put them on my blog, he asked for the address, I said I'd give it to him later. I didn't, and I didn't really intend to, heh.

LOL-some: Somewhere along the way, I forget if it was pre or post-Sterophonics, Dom had gotten Misha's attention and said something along the lines of, 'You're hot, innit?' Smooth operator right there. He also tried to recline on the backrests of our seats in an attempt to seduce Mish, but only succeeded in looking like a dickhead.

I don't have a story for these two except that it was witch-tit cold and they decided to get their kits off. Note the one with the hectic arse-dimples is a bloodnut. Christ, they're everywhere. Bloodnuts, not arse-dimples.

We prepared ourselves for the gauntlet outside, where most people would be looking to hail taxis into town or to get them home. Misha and I walked up the street and crossed the road in the hopes of grabbing a cab before the bumrush. Finding sanctuary in some flickering lights, we stood in front of a kebab shop when I heard someone call my name. I was hoping it wasn't one of the Oms, and I was delighted to see that it was my good blogger friend, Adrian the Cabbie, who had spotted me by my new tattoo. Whoop!

He was waiting for his dinner but kindly offered to give us a lift into town once he picked up his order. Misha took a pic of us two with her phone, Adrian got a quick shot of my tatt, and we headed off.


...to be continued, with more pics...