Yeah, that’s what’s made my week.  Or, more specifically, a trip to Amsterdam and meeting Slash, Duff and Matt from Guns’n’Roses.

Last Thursday marked my 23rd birthday.  I just got a message from a friend saying “You certainly celebrated in style!!”  To be fair, she’s not at all wrong.  A big night out with all the important people and one absolute twat, but apparently I sorted that out.  Live music, some good food, lots of dancing, and I even brought my parents along for shakes.  They loved it, and a good time was had by all :)

The following day, five of us headed off to Amsterdam via differnet routes for the long weekend.  It was bit of a monster journey which involved a lot of waiting, but by Friday evening everyone was out drinking with a couple of our favourite Dutchies, one Giplet and a Millwall supporter.  Good stuff.  There was some accomodation issues though. Everyone’s had a little dig at me booking a 4-bed room when there were FIVE of us, yeah alright, well done, but since no one else had sorted anything and it was Good Friday in one of Europe’s most visited cities, something had to be done and options were sliming down faster than Janet Jackson with an upcoming tour.  Besides, two of us were supposed to be able to stay with a friend (until she decided she needed to go shopping the following morning and thus had to be in bed by 9pm..those crazy Dutch!), one had also made a point of saying that she really wanted to spend the night with one of the Dutch guys we were meeting up with (although it turned out he was very much in love with his girlfriend), and I also had the option of staying elsewhere.  In any case, I got chased around the Hotel Damrak by the manager as he tried to work out how many of us were trying to stay in that one room.  After about an hour of pratting about, all turned out fine, we chatted, some people snored, some people slept and some people looked out the window for a while and saw some interesting things going on out there.

The following few days were all about the usual Amsterdam stuff punctuated by other Amsterdam stuff, followed by me eating a ham & cheese pancake, a Big Tasty McD’s meal, a kingsize KitKat, more sweets, marshmallows, a Burger King meal, a brie baguette, an almond cake and three flajacks within 9 waking hours.  By anyone’s standards that’s a lot.  For me, it’s twice a lot.

Back home, work struck a harsh, harsh painful chord.  Db-dim9 or something like that.  But all got better during band practice, when we were only half an hour late, and worked on an awesome new song.  Yeah, it’s worth waiting for.

Wednesday.  It’s kinda middling, isn’t it?   Sometimes good, sometimes bad.  In this instance, just a hint better than everything ever.  A friend asked me to visit him out in India next week; I spent most of my work day researching that, phoning around doctors, vaccination clinics, visa people blah blah.  As soon as 3pm hit, I raced home.  Velvet Revolver were playing Brixton Academy and I’d managed to secure an interview slot with the support band for 18.30.  I fed Molly, got changed and waited for a mate.  Waited some more.  Got fed up waiting and decided to make my own way to the gig, which was the right choice as I met a Scandinavian film director en route who turned out to be a pretty interesting character.

Arrived in Brixton, headed backstage, walked past the support band and straight into Velvet Revolver’s dressing room.  It goes something like this:

Remily: Oh hi, are you…Duff McKagen?
Matt Sorum: No, I’m Matt.
R: *embarrassed* Shit, sorry..Hey, how are you doing?
Matt: Yeah, I’m really good.  Who are you?
R: I’m interviewing the support band, I should be down the corridor.
Slash (facing the wardrobes): Who’s that, man?
Matt: It’s some cute girl.
R: So, do I get to shake your hand?
Matt: Sure!
[We shake hands]
Matt: Do you have a pass or something?  How do we know you’re not a serial killer or something?
R: Not yet, I need to pick it up once I’ve spoken to those guys.  I have a penknife but I don’t think it’d do you too much damage.
Matt: OK, well that’s good to know.
R: I’d better find the other band.  Good luck with the show – I’ll be down the front.

And off I went.  My interview with Stone Gods went well.  They’re a lovely bunch of guys, grounded and jovial, and I’ve enjoyed speaking with them both times I’ve interviewed them.  I don’t quite know how I managed to do what I did next.  I think it’s a combination of always falling on my feet (like a Weeble I suppose, but I’d like to think I have a better figure) and a low cut top.  Let’s face it, you can’t go wrong with a couplet like that.  In any case, Velvet Revolver’s tour manager quite wonderfully offered for me to join the Meet & Greet queue, which I jumped at. 

Everyone else in the queue had paid £150 for the priviledge of shaking hands with some of the greatest living musicians in the world.  OK, so I’d already done that, but still, I was up for some more.  The rest of the queue had brought jackets, guitars and prints for the band to sign.  I had nothing except a photo of my dog for the guys to scrawl on, but evidentally it was a conversation starter for Duff McKagen: “Where does your dog live then?”  It was bit of an odd question which I wasn’t prepared for, but I answered him as honestly and seriously as I could.  “With me, in south London..”  Slash took his aviators off, looked at me, then put them back on.  “I’m really sorry for walking in on you guys earlier.  In your dressing room, I mean,” I apologised.  He laughed, and drawled something about a black beard.  I have no idea what that might mean but I can only speculate from the fervant shaking of his leg that ”doing a black beard” is some kind of euphemism for “getting absolutely caked up on whatever drugs I came across.”  Of course, I don’t mean this in a slanderous way.  This is a reputation he needs to keep up.  In fact, if I tell the truth, he was sipping an orange juice and reading a Paulo Coelho novel in between reps on an ab cruncher…  Nah, that’s bollocks.

For some reason, I didn’t expect for one single moment that Velvet Revolver would perform any GnR or STP songs.  They did both.  Sex Type Thing, Patience, It’s So Easy and the absolutely awesome Mr Brownstone rocked the set, whilst a cover of Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here took most by suprise.  Obligatory 10 minute guitar solos littered the show and all too quickly it was time for my beer-soaked self to brave the rain and take on the challenge of London Transport.

Thursday is a day I always look forward to; it’s a slow work day with plenty of time for my usual work distractions to fully evolve.  This particular Thursday I managed to finish writing my speech for my parents’ upcoming 25th wedding anniversary party as well as work out by ear a rather special piece of music to perform for them at the same party.  I also finally managed to find out which vaccinations I’m overdue and in need of to travel to India or Thailand (I still haven’t decided which, but lengthy emails are suggesting the former might not currently be the best option), booked appointments, wrote yearbooks comments, decided to disassociate from inappropriate work colleagues and wrote a lot of emails to Tim, Royyyy, Mike and my mum.

Finally managed to make it round Lewisham in my brand new running shoes.  Now, I’ve been wearing the same Nikes for…oh…the past ELEVEN years as I thought they were so comfortable, so easily to pull on, moulded to the shape of my feet through years and years and years of use and hours and hours of running.  How wrong I was!!!  These new ones made alllll the difference!  The speed, the ease, the comfort… Just a pair of shoes – nay!!  This is the start of something entirely new.  And to top everything off, I’ve had some thoroughly interesting conversations from a very useful person who I admire greatly.  Things are on the move.

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