OK, so this entry is a little longer than usual.. because we've been sitting in the van for too long with nothing else to do but write..
Milan
Gigs in Italy are usually a little bit… interesting. The fans get as passionate about their music as they do about their football. This is twice as relevant as it normally would be because today's gig is in the shadow of the San Siro, one of Italy's most famous football stadiums - it’s only about 3 blocks away. We’ve arrived quite early, no sign of the FFAF guys yet, and already there are a bunch of people waiting outside the gig..
As usual, first thing that needs to happen when the van stops is everyone needs to take a shit. It’s just something your body gets used to.. you cant help it. At the gate to the club there’s a rather large security guy, who doesn’t speak any English, so I’m trying to explain to him in sign language that I heed to use the bathroom.. obviously much to the amusement of the waiting fans. He smiles a little and lets me into the club, but as I’m walking towards the bathroom I realise there’s a BIG FUCKING DOG walking along side of me.. Yes, it was a big enough dog to require capital letters. It follows me to the bathroom door and stands guard while I take a shit, waiting to escort me back to the gate again when I’m done. I give it a firm pat on the head as a thank you.
The gig is as gigs are.. I’m sure you’re getting a bit bored reading that, but the guys are real smooth and professional.. there’s nothing really to say.. they play another great set.
As we’re trying to load out, the club manager starts shouting at me in Italian.. one of his staff told us to load out the back door of the club, but apparently that’s wrong, they cant use the back door because of noise restrictions.. well.. it’s this or pass all the gear over the heads of the crowd and out the front door, so I try my usual ‘firm but polite’ approach.. doesn’t seem to be working. He’s getting angrier and starting to wave his arms about, as Italians do.. then all of a sudden he stops, looks down at my feet and just stands there… the BFD (big fucking dog) is sitting next to me giving him a very dirty look.. I must have made a new friend today.
So we pull the rest of the gear out and get it in the van, we have to leave straight away, it’s a 13 hr drive overnight to Vienna.. obviously after feeding our new friend all the left over food we have in the van…
Vienna
I’m awakened today by a strange female voice and a bright light in my eyes.. just as I’m starting to think I’m having a nice dream I realise it’s the Austrian police.. bastard. They’ve decided to do a spot check of the van, and because I have all the paperwork, Brad tells her she needs to wake me up. After about 30 mins of checking paperwork and radio-ing back to someone in an office somewhere, it’s becomes clear that we’ve bought the wrong temporary road tax for Austria.. Not a big deal I think, everyones still all smiley and happy.. well, apparently that’s how they look in Austria before the fuck you in the ass… and with a 220 Euro fine (approx $300) they let us go.. after making sure we spend another 100 Euro getting the right road tax. Wasn’t Hitler originally from Austria…..?
The next problem we have is actually finding the club.. our SatNav system isn't recognising the address, so we drive around for a while, looking for the FFAF bus. We eventually spot it down at the side of the river, but now we have to figure out how to get down there. I know the obvious thing to do would be to call them, but they’ll till be asleep, and I’d be forever ridiculed if we had to ask for help, so we carry on regardless. Takes us about 30 mins of driving round in circles to find a ramp down to the wide path along the side of the river and where the gig is.
In the middle of the things that are interesting to talk about there's a gig.. where as usual, nothing goes wrong.. not that I’m saying the gig isn't interesting, it’s just a bit dull for me to talk about… so have some pics.
After the show, there are some dressing room shenanigans, mostly revolving around who gets to eat the last of the sandwiches.. all light hearted fun.
I’m sure Darren from FFAF told me we could have them, but he’s saying he didn’t, so we’re having a big comedy shouting match about it.. it’s a great end to the night, blowing off a little steam and having fun at the same time.. The overblown abuse between the Scots and the Welsh is still a little confusing to our colonial cousins from the US, but they’re slowly getting the hang of it.
