Getting home: Iron Maiden - Brixton Academy 21st March 2002
Oi, sunshine, over here! Well, gig was awesome. Firstborn and Pierce got down to the front and Firstborn even got a Dave Murray wristband for her troubles.
Me, I enjoyed myself and as we walked up the road towards where I had parked the car, I noticed a bloke moving shiftily between parked cars a few down from where I had parked. The kids, walking in front, saw it first: the shattered glass all over the pavement. My first reaction was, "Oh, not again!" Strangely though, it was the driver's side rear door glass that had been smashed. As I looked at the bent metal around the window and the glass all over the back seat, I unlocked the car and thought, well the only visible thing was Mick Foley's book on the back seat - someone must have been a big wrestling fan to go to all that trouble. Then, Firstborn, alarmedly informed me that there was a hole where the in-car stereo had been, just two hours earlier!
FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! etc.
You've probably gathered that I was not impressed. You see, after the previous stereo had been liberated by some crack-whore motherfucker, in Sheffield, I had spent a lot of money on one of Kenwood's finest offerings, featuring the mask, antitheft facility. This, in case you don't know, is a revolving face plate which, when closed, shows a blank plate to the outside world and is not supposed to be usable, if nicked. I'm so glad I spent all that money. Oh, and Kenwood, it doesn't fucking-well work!
Now, you'd think that this would be bad enough, wouldn't you? But, no, even more shit was yet to befall me. You see, the gig was on the 20th of the month. I get paid on the 25th of the month. It had been an expensive month and I had enough money for the petrol to get the 200 miles back home. I would have to find a cash machine for the £60 that the excess on my insurance required I pay for Autoglass to replace the smashed window. I phoned them. They couldn't have been less helpful, had they been deliberately trying to piss me off.
Me, I enjoyed myself and as we walked up the road towards where I had parked the car, I noticed a bloke moving shiftily between parked cars a few down from where I had parked. The kids, walking in front, saw it first: the shattered glass all over the pavement. My first reaction was, "Oh, not again!" Strangely though, it was the driver's side rear door glass that had been smashed. As I looked at the bent metal around the window and the glass all over the back seat, I unlocked the car and thought, well the only visible thing was Mick Foley's book on the back seat - someone must have been a big wrestling fan to go to all that trouble. Then, Firstborn, alarmedly informed me that there was a hole where the in-car stereo had been, just two hours earlier!
FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! etc.
You've probably gathered that I was not impressed. You see, after the previous stereo had been liberated by some crack-whore motherfucker, in Sheffield, I had spent a lot of money on one of Kenwood's finest offerings, featuring the mask, antitheft facility. This, in case you don't know, is a revolving face plate which, when closed, shows a blank plate to the outside world and is not supposed to be usable, if nicked. I'm so glad I spent all that money. Oh, and Kenwood, it doesn't fucking-well work!
Now, you'd think that this would be bad enough, wouldn't you? But, no, even more shit was yet to befall me. You see, the gig was on the 20th of the month. I get paid on the 25th of the month. It had been an expensive month and I had enough money for the petrol to get the 200 miles back home. I would have to find a cash machine for the £60 that the excess on my insurance required I pay for Autoglass to replace the smashed window. I phoned them. They couldn't have been less helpful, had they been deliberately trying to piss me off.
The gist of the conversation went something like this (irrelevant or boring bits have been omitted) ...
Bitch from Autoglass: What is your location, Sir?
Me: I'm parked in a side road, directly opposite the entrance to the Brixton Academy.
Bitch from Autoglass: And where is that, Sir?
Me: Brixton!
Bitch from Autoglass: No, what is the street name, Sir?
Me: I have no idea, I'm not from round here, I've only been to a gig at Brixton Academy. I live 200 miles away.
Bitch from Autoglass: Well, I need to know your exact location before I can send someone out, Sir.
Me: Jesus Tap-dancing Christ. There is no address on the tickets. Can't you do a search on your computer for the location of the Brixton Academy?
Bitch from Autoglass: No.
Me: Hang on, I'll try and find a road sign
So, I have to walk for hours (OK, a hundred yards, but it felt like hours in that situation) to find the road sign, go back to the car and impart this information to Little Miss Misery.
Bitch from Autoglass: Can I have your insurance policy details?
Me: Oh Christ, I don't know. It's 11:30, I'm 200 miles from home, in the middle of Brixton, with a bloody great whole in the side of my car, I'm not sure if I can lay my hands on my insurance policy details right at the moment, funnily enough.
Bitch from Autoglass: Well, I can't send anyone out unless I have your policy details, otherwise you will have to pay the full cost of the glass replacement.
Me: Can't you just send someone out, I can prove who I am and where I live and we can sort this out tomorrow when I get home and I have all my policy documents?
Bitch from Autoglass: I'm sorry Sir, I need you policy details before I can send anyone out to you, unless you are willing to pay the full cost of the replacement glass on completion, that is.
Me: Could you possibly make this any more difficult?
Bitch from Autoglass: I'm not trying to make anything difficult, Sir. This is the procedure we have to follow.
Me: Not helpful though, is it?
At this point, I remember that I had shoved a letter from my insurance company about the renewal of my policy in the glove box. I don't carry any docs in the car in case it gets nicked. They bastards might get the car but they're not getting all my details as well! So, I give "Her" the policy number...
Bitch from Autoglass: Thank you, Sir. The excess on you policy is £60.
Me: Shit. I haven't got that much on me.
Bitch from Autoglass: Do you have a credit card?
Me: No, they're evil.
Bitch from Autoglass: Well, Sir, I'm sorry. I can't send anyone out to you unless you can pay.
Me: Look, as I said before, I can prove who I am and where I live. Can't someone come out fix the glass and I'll sort it out with my local depot tomorrow when I have all my policy documents?
Bitch from Autoglass: I'm sorry sir, I can't do that. It is not our policy to carry out work without payment.
Me: I didn't say I wouldn't pay. I just said I couldn't pay tonight.
Bitch from Autoglass: I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do if you can't pay.
Me: Thanks for nothing.
At this point, I switch my phone off and swear quite a lot. There's glass everywhere, a fucking great hole in the car, Autoglass are about as helpful as piles, The RAC (I'm a fully paid up member of several years standing) don't want to know as long as the car is not broken down, I have my teenage daughter in the car and her friend Pierce. It is getting cold. Pierce doesn't have a coat. We have a 200 mile journey ahead of us and if the return journey is anything like the outbound one, it is likely to be wet.
Right, you might want to put the kettle on, have a cuppa and come back for the finale.
Bitch from Autoglass: What is your location, Sir?
Me: I'm parked in a side road, directly opposite the entrance to the Brixton Academy.
Bitch from Autoglass: And where is that, Sir?
Me: Brixton!
Bitch from Autoglass: No, what is the street name, Sir?
Me: I have no idea, I'm not from round here, I've only been to a gig at Brixton Academy. I live 200 miles away.
Bitch from Autoglass: Well, I need to know your exact location before I can send someone out, Sir.
Me: Jesus Tap-dancing Christ. There is no address on the tickets. Can't you do a search on your computer for the location of the Brixton Academy?
Bitch from Autoglass: No.
Me: Hang on, I'll try and find a road sign
So, I have to walk for hours (OK, a hundred yards, but it felt like hours in that situation) to find the road sign, go back to the car and impart this information to Little Miss Misery.
Bitch from Autoglass: Can I have your insurance policy details?
Me: Oh Christ, I don't know. It's 11:30, I'm 200 miles from home, in the middle of Brixton, with a bloody great whole in the side of my car, I'm not sure if I can lay my hands on my insurance policy details right at the moment, funnily enough.
Bitch from Autoglass: Well, I can't send anyone out unless I have your policy details, otherwise you will have to pay the full cost of the glass replacement.
Me: Can't you just send someone out, I can prove who I am and where I live and we can sort this out tomorrow when I get home and I have all my policy documents?
Bitch from Autoglass: I'm sorry Sir, I need you policy details before I can send anyone out to you, unless you are willing to pay the full cost of the replacement glass on completion, that is.
Me: Could you possibly make this any more difficult?
Bitch from Autoglass: I'm not trying to make anything difficult, Sir. This is the procedure we have to follow.
Me: Not helpful though, is it?
At this point, I remember that I had shoved a letter from my insurance company about the renewal of my policy in the glove box. I don't carry any docs in the car in case it gets nicked. They bastards might get the car but they're not getting all my details as well! So, I give "Her" the policy number...
Bitch from Autoglass: Thank you, Sir. The excess on you policy is £60.
Me: Shit. I haven't got that much on me.
Bitch from Autoglass: Do you have a credit card?
Me: No, they're evil.
Bitch from Autoglass: Well, Sir, I'm sorry. I can't send anyone out to you unless you can pay.
Me: Look, as I said before, I can prove who I am and where I live. Can't someone come out fix the glass and I'll sort it out with my local depot tomorrow when I have all my policy documents?
Bitch from Autoglass: I'm sorry sir, I can't do that. It is not our policy to carry out work without payment.
Me: I didn't say I wouldn't pay. I just said I couldn't pay tonight.
Bitch from Autoglass: I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do if you can't pay.
Me: Thanks for nothing.
At this point, I switch my phone off and swear quite a lot. There's glass everywhere, a fucking great hole in the car, Autoglass are about as helpful as piles, The RAC (I'm a fully paid up member of several years standing) don't want to know as long as the car is not broken down, I have my teenage daughter in the car and her friend Pierce. It is getting cold. Pierce doesn't have a coat. We have a 200 mile journey ahead of us and if the return journey is anything like the outbound one, it is likely to be wet.
Right, you might want to put the kettle on, have a cuppa and come back for the finale.
Welcome back...are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall conclude this little tale of woe.
There we are, me and two teenagers, sat in a draughty car, at midnight in Brixton. Then I have a realisation: I do have money in the bank! OK so it's for the Direct Debits but, this is a godamned emergency! I'll square it with the bank in the morning. Gotta find a cash machine...not as easy as you would think. Take my advice, do not even consider using a cash machine in Brixton at night. I'm a big chap and I'm not scared by much but, some of those Brixton freaks positively give me the raging shits! Find somewhere less scary to get some money out.
After driving around looking for a Honkers and Shankers hole-in-the-wall for what seems like hours, I find one that is deserted. No one for a hundred yards in any direction enough time for me to stick my card in, get the cash and get back in the car before anyone tries to shank me with a blade for the price of a packet of smokes. As I insert my card, it becomes clear why this one is so deserted - there's no bloody money in the son of a bitch! Just when you think your luck can't get any worse, Lady Luck comes along and vomits on your shoes.
Back in the car, leave some serious rubber on the road and hare off to try and find a machine that, is not surrounded by potential muggers (or, knowing how bad my luck is, anyone) and has some money in it that will, hopefully, not turn out to be counterfeit. Eventually, I see a petrol station which has the appropriate brand of cash machine on an exit off a roundabout. However, as I soon discover, even though it spans two exits, the one I go up has no access to the petrol station. After much swearing and several miles of driving trying to get back to the roundabout, which as the crow flies is but twenty yards away, I get to the petrol station to find it swarming with police! It seems that someone has recently tried to hold it up. I notice that there is a car parked on the dual carriageway, seemingly broken down. It takes me a few seconds to realise that it isn't going anywhere - the damned thing is on bricks - in the middle of a dual-carriageway! Only in London.
Anyway, now I have the money to pay off these bloodsucking blackguards and scoundrels, I try to find somewhere I can use my mobile without igniting North West London. Although, it also occurs to me that I may be doing the world a favour if I were to re-enact the Great Fire of London...but back to the story...
I eventually find a layby, call the Autoglass bastards again and explain the situation and previous conflab. As I have no idea where the Hell I am, I suggest that maybe it would be easiest for everyone if I set off on my way back up the M40 heading for home and arrange a rendezvous with one of their vans somewhere, maybe at a M-way service area. Well, I thought it was an excellent piece of improvisational thinking. Not a chance. It seems that in the interim, things have got a bit busy.
Tosser from Autoglass: I'm sorry sir, that's not possible.
Me: Why?
Tosser from Autoglass: We can't guarantee that one of our mobile units could be available.
Me: Well, you could if you organised it now.
Tosser from Autoglass: I'm sorry, sir, it's not our policy to operate like that.
Me: But it would be a good idea if it was and you did, don't you think?
Tosser from Autoglass: Complete silence
Me: all right, this is London. You must have a depot that is open all night.
Tosser from Autoglass: We only have two 24hr depots in the UK, sir, one in Glasgow...
Me: Well, that's not really much use to me, is it?
Tosser from Autoglass: ...and one in Park Lane...but they're fully booked up.
Me: OK. So how about I get to a mobile unit wherever it is in the area - I have an A-Z.
Tosser from Autoglass: I'm sorry, sir, all our mobile units are currently busy. The soonest I will be able to get a unit out to you will be in about 5 hours.
Me: Are you serious?
Tosser from Autoglass: Like I said sir, we're very busy tonight. I can arrange for your a depot near to your home to contact you first thing tomorrow morning.
Me: So, let me get this straight. What you're telling me is that I can either sit around in the car, in God-only-knows-what Hellhole suburb of North West London, freezing my balls off for the next five hours, or I can drive 200 miles up the motorway with a bloody big hole in the side of my car.
Not much of an emergency service you provide is it? I have two teenage passengers with me, this is London! Five hours, sat in a car with a bloody window missing - we could be dead by the time you get here!
Tosser from Autoglass: I'm sorry, sir, that is the best I can do.
Me: Well I don't reckon much to your service young fellow-me-lad. I declare that you are a cad and a bounder.
OK, so perhaps my language was not quite that restrained.
As it turned out, I had a brainwave at the first service area. I always carry my faithful Drizabone coat in the boot so I thought it is waxed and tough as nails. If jam it upside down in the door opening, then slam the door shut on it, it might be noisy but it will keep the rain and a lot of the draught out. And, with one minor rearrangement at the next service area, it did indeed provide a most satisfactory substitute for a window.
And yes, I did get the window fixed the next day at my local Autoglass depot. But that is another story!
You know what cheesed me off more than anything though? The fact that I had spent 5 hours that very same day cleaning up all the last bits of glass from the last time the car was broken into and the stereo nicked! Bastard! I can only hope that the junkie skell who broke into my car and nicked my stereo OD'd on the score he managed to make, flogging my possessions down the local rub-a-dub.
Happiness is a warm grudge and, believe me, I have a really big one!
There we are, me and two teenagers, sat in a draughty car, at midnight in Brixton. Then I have a realisation: I do have money in the bank! OK so it's for the Direct Debits but, this is a godamned emergency! I'll square it with the bank in the morning. Gotta find a cash machine...not as easy as you would think. Take my advice, do not even consider using a cash machine in Brixton at night. I'm a big chap and I'm not scared by much but, some of those Brixton freaks positively give me the raging shits! Find somewhere less scary to get some money out.
After driving around looking for a Honkers and Shankers hole-in-the-wall for what seems like hours, I find one that is deserted. No one for a hundred yards in any direction enough time for me to stick my card in, get the cash and get back in the car before anyone tries to shank me with a blade for the price of a packet of smokes. As I insert my card, it becomes clear why this one is so deserted - there's no bloody money in the son of a bitch! Just when you think your luck can't get any worse, Lady Luck comes along and vomits on your shoes.
Back in the car, leave some serious rubber on the road and hare off to try and find a machine that, is not surrounded by potential muggers (or, knowing how bad my luck is, anyone) and has some money in it that will, hopefully, not turn out to be counterfeit. Eventually, I see a petrol station which has the appropriate brand of cash machine on an exit off a roundabout. However, as I soon discover, even though it spans two exits, the one I go up has no access to the petrol station. After much swearing and several miles of driving trying to get back to the roundabout, which as the crow flies is but twenty yards away, I get to the petrol station to find it swarming with police! It seems that someone has recently tried to hold it up. I notice that there is a car parked on the dual carriageway, seemingly broken down. It takes me a few seconds to realise that it isn't going anywhere - the damned thing is on bricks - in the middle of a dual-carriageway! Only in London.
Anyway, now I have the money to pay off these bloodsucking blackguards and scoundrels, I try to find somewhere I can use my mobile without igniting North West London. Although, it also occurs to me that I may be doing the world a favour if I were to re-enact the Great Fire of London...but back to the story...
I eventually find a layby, call the Autoglass bastards again and explain the situation and previous conflab. As I have no idea where the Hell I am, I suggest that maybe it would be easiest for everyone if I set off on my way back up the M40 heading for home and arrange a rendezvous with one of their vans somewhere, maybe at a M-way service area. Well, I thought it was an excellent piece of improvisational thinking. Not a chance. It seems that in the interim, things have got a bit busy.
Tosser from Autoglass: I'm sorry sir, that's not possible.
Me: Why?
Tosser from Autoglass: We can't guarantee that one of our mobile units could be available.
Me: Well, you could if you organised it now.
Tosser from Autoglass: I'm sorry, sir, it's not our policy to operate like that.
Me: But it would be a good idea if it was and you did, don't you think?
Tosser from Autoglass: Complete silence
Me: all right, this is London. You must have a depot that is open all night.
Tosser from Autoglass: We only have two 24hr depots in the UK, sir, one in Glasgow...
Me: Well, that's not really much use to me, is it?
Tosser from Autoglass: ...and one in Park Lane...but they're fully booked up.
Me: OK. So how about I get to a mobile unit wherever it is in the area - I have an A-Z.
Tosser from Autoglass: I'm sorry, sir, all our mobile units are currently busy. The soonest I will be able to get a unit out to you will be in about 5 hours.
Me: Are you serious?
Tosser from Autoglass: Like I said sir, we're very busy tonight. I can arrange for your a depot near to your home to contact you first thing tomorrow morning.
Me: So, let me get this straight. What you're telling me is that I can either sit around in the car, in God-only-knows-what Hellhole suburb of North West London, freezing my balls off for the next five hours, or I can drive 200 miles up the motorway with a bloody big hole in the side of my car.
Not much of an emergency service you provide is it? I have two teenage passengers with me, this is London! Five hours, sat in a car with a bloody window missing - we could be dead by the time you get here!
Tosser from Autoglass: I'm sorry, sir, that is the best I can do.
Me: Well I don't reckon much to your service young fellow-me-lad. I declare that you are a cad and a bounder.
OK, so perhaps my language was not quite that restrained.
As it turned out, I had a brainwave at the first service area. I always carry my faithful Drizabone coat in the boot so I thought it is waxed and tough as nails. If jam it upside down in the door opening, then slam the door shut on it, it might be noisy but it will keep the rain and a lot of the draught out. And, with one minor rearrangement at the next service area, it did indeed provide a most satisfactory substitute for a window.
And yes, I did get the window fixed the next day at my local Autoglass depot. But that is another story!
You know what cheesed me off more than anything though? The fact that I had spent 5 hours that very same day cleaning up all the last bits of glass from the last time the car was broken into and the stereo nicked! Bastard! I can only hope that the junkie skell who broke into my car and nicked my stereo OD'd on the score he managed to make, flogging my possessions down the local rub-a-dub.
Happiness is a warm grudge and, believe me, I have a really big one!