It may seem crazy, but it all went down that way

I have to open this entry with the fact that my best friend, when finding out this information, responded with ‘nice try, but I don’t believe you’, this was further supported with her telling her boyfriend that she was convinced I was on drugs. So if that doesn’t set the tone for this entry I have no idea what does.

So, the Saturday before last began like any other. Himself and I awoke, had breakfast and spent the day in the garden topping up the tans (well, I was tanning, he was lobster transforming). The Creepshow had an extra gig lined up in Camden (yes, I had travelled the length of the UK only 5 days previous to see them) and so we had planned to head up to London late afternoon to partake once more. About 3pm, we started to get changed in preparation for said gig. About fifteen post shower minutes later and Himself gets a text from an unknown number…this unknown number just so happened to belong to Sean ‘Sickboy’ (the double-bass player) from non-other than The Creepshow, and like with all unknown numbers belonging to major Canadian musicians - this unknown number asked if the band could stay at mine after the gig.

Of course…of course; my favourite band, who I was utterly ecstatic about just seeing live – let alone meeting the week before, are now asking to crash at my house – What part of that would possibly seem surreal?

Now doing what any rather untidy home owner would do (with only 45 minutes to tidy her house in preparation of famous people arriving), I then spent the next seven minutes bouncing up and down (yes – I have learnt over the past month, I am a most definite ‘bouncer’) laughing like a loon. Then the brain kicked in saying you now only have 38 minutes to tidy up, to which the rest of my body decided that instead of tidying I should spend the time phoning people to tell them how surreal my Saturday was. And to think people don’t think that I’m logical? With about 20 minutes remaining, I finally focus and deploy Himself to retrieve extra bedding from the bestie, whilst I wrestled with the spare bed. Turns out when excited everything takes twice as long to do, and yet you get it done in half the time – try figuring that sentence out…

By the time I have any idea of what is happening I am sitting on the train on the way in to London – it is only then that I realised that I hadn’t got changed and was in fact heading towards a Psychobilly gig in a white strawberry dress and yellow stripy cardigan. Not the usual colour scheme I have to admit. Oh, and just to really support my ‘hey I’m cool’ image, I managed to drop my sandwich down me the moment the train pulled away! Well done special girl. 

We made it to the London Underworld pretty quickly, Himself had been texting Sean throughout the journey, and he had informed us to give our names in at the door to get tickets. That alone I thought was pretty awesome, but when we realised we had backstage admittance, well, I can only say what happened next was only received by dogs, because I most certainly was not ‘eek-ing’ at a human frequency.

I have to just stop and explain the taking stock moment that occurred between the arrival and the band taking to the stage. You see, there I was, with a backstage pass to my favourite bands gig, with my wonderful boyfriend who was on the phone to his best friend who had just played to 500 people at Bloodstock.  Yes, there is no wonder the bestie had trouble believing this, I have trouble believing this.

As the band took to the stage, the crowd filled the room. Not being the tallest ‘being in the world, I have to say, there wasn’t too much I could see, when all of a sudden, we realised that we had backstage passes – I didn’t need to stare the coat seams on the guy in front, we could watch it from backstage. Off we bounded to the back of the Underworld (oh, just to clarify Underworld is the venue – not Hades abode), and with one flash of the wrist band, we found ourselves standing on the side of the stage. Best place in the whole venue, and you could see people watching us, trying to figure out who an earth the couple  where to bag that position and why an earth was she wearing a white strawberry dress.

The band were amazing. The crowd chanted, bounced and moshed their way through in the pit, whilst I happily danced my little feet off, singing my heart out at the side of the stage. Being in the state of shock that I was the previous Monday, the gig was blurry with the memory somewhat scatty. However, that Saturday I could hear every word and savour ever song. It was phenomenal. I have to say, when it had been announced in July that Sarah was leaving and that she had been replaced, I was unsure how easily she would be replaced, and with all respect, Sarah is perfect in Walk off the Earth, but Kenda totally smashed it joining The Creepshow. Her voice is staggering – she is so small and tiny and then she belts out the most astonishing raspy sounds…and she’s an absolute sweetheart to boot. 

Himself and I had headed outside the venue at the end of the gig – only to realise the band was still inside. Not a problem for important people such as ourselves. As the hordes exited and found themselves ushered towards the exit, with one flash of the super-wrist and we gained entry back inside. Very smug. It was weird to see the room which had previously been fit to bursting moments earlier, now empty.

Once all instruments had been loaded into the van, the band named a pub (which to be fair neither of us natives had heard of, but followed anyway) and there we found ourselves – drinking in one of those too-cool to have a name outside-bars drinking with my favourite ever band. The nerves had slowly started to dissipate – this could be vodka related to be perfectly fair and I began to enjoy just ‘hanging out’. Yeh-uh! I loved the fact that I got to see my idols as regular people. Drinking, laughing and joking.  The Rev and Daniel, had an on-going joke which was repeated many a time throughout the night – each time the rev explaining it…just in case we missed it the first five times ;p

By the time we all (yes, I can say we – as in me, himself and the best band ever – that is a collective ‘we’ woohoo) it had to be said I was pretty tiered, and so were they. As some chatted, others dosed, whilst I fought every urge to fall asleep (despite my head happily nesting on himself and my eyelids slumping heavily over my eyeballs).  Partly because I didn’t want to miss anything, partly because I was awfully concerned about drooling or snoring in front of rock stars…because let’s face it, I honestly didn’t have enough cool points to risk it.  In hindsight, I really shouldn’t have worried about losing cool points that night as the next morning I had severe bed hair (no not bed hair – front room floor with pillow made from clean washing hair). No hairbrush and I couldn’t get into my bathroom for love nor money. Each attempt to gain WC entry was thwarted, thus leaving me with no makeup, huge hair and a considerably full bladder. Yup – I am that cool.

Anyway the morning that followed was all very bizarre (not that the rest of the week was normal). Rock stars in my garden, rock stars drinking tea, rock stars stroking (or attempting to in Meows case) kitties and himself making mounds and mounds of bacon sandwiches. By the time the band left, a few neighbours were in the street, watching the mass exodus into the large green van crammed into our tiny road – they of course knew not who the band consisted of, they had no idea how in my world Southchurch would never seem the same again or the wonderment of my week.

If you are still reading this almighty content, then hats off to you. This entry is hardly the usual fluffy ramblings of Nu, but it is a milestone marker of my life. Do you know, I have only been in my home since December 2011, but I have more happy memories in the past 8 months than the 5 years in my last abode – and let’s face it, Rock stars never stayed in Pitsea, but then neither did Himself, and imagine how dark a place my world would be otherwise.