The next day brings up an interesting find at work. Stewart Dunn has ordered Crash. Not to be confused with the more recent one, which was set in Los Angeles, this is based on the novel by J G Ballard. James Ballard (James Spader) has a car crash. It at this point that he meets Helen Remington (Holly Hunter) and discovers her rather bizarre secret, that is that to her the danger of car crashes is sexually arousing. From that point onwards, he and his wife become involved in a world that revolves around this.

All in all, as with most adaptations of novels, I think it would require a read of the novel to really acquire much meaning from the film. (An exception to this is The Clockwork Orange, the meaning of which is obvious without even a glance at the book.) Some say that it is a satire on meaningless sexual relationships, similar perhaps to the writings of Michel Houellebecq.

With a few hours to kill, I decide that perhaps I’ll hang out in Sidborough before the gig. Maybe I’ll go to a café, then the library when the cafes close.

I decide on Café Nero in West Street.

It is fairly quiet in there early on a Wednesday evening, a group at one of the tables in the centre, and a couple on the left, is the only population apart from the staff.

I go to the counter and look at the menu. Plenty of choices here, including Cappucino, Cafe Latte, Mocha, and even Tea. There’s also the herbal teas such as Raspberry & Ginseng, Camomile and Green Tea.

I decide on a Raspberry & Ginseng, which costs me £1.60. I hand over £2, and the person behind the counter gives me my change.

I haven’t brought anything to read, so I decide simply to drink my tea and maybe peoplewatch a bit. By now, the couple has left, so there is just the group in the centre. I cannot make out what they’re talking about, but they seem to be making jokes, as they take it in turns to laugh in response to each other’s statements. They are all male, and there are four of them in total. The person in the top left corner is the only person in the group with glasses, he also has shoulder-length hair and is wearing a greyish chequered shirt. Next to him is a slightly corpulent man wearing a red t-shirt, with a very short haircut, possibly grade 2. Opposite is a guy dressed in a black t-shirt, with similar hair, but slightly longer, maybe grade 4. He seems to be the one making the most jokes. The person next to him is pale, thin and freckled, and is wearing a blue-and-red chequered shirt. He has medium-length, blonde hair.

They continue to take it in turns to laugh, to the point where it gets somewhat repetitive. I look out of the window for a while. There is a brick building, derelict. I think it has now been uninhabited for two years. It used to be an Argos, then they moved to Cambridge Street. It is surprising to me that it has not found new owners.

My eyes travel back to the table. The guy in the black t-shirt notices, and looks towards me with an expression of rage.

‘Don’t you fucking look at me!’ he says.

I look away quickly. I find it sad, but I can understand it. People have to deal with so many threats, that they have to act like that, just as a defence.

Luckily he seems to have gone back to the conversation, so I carry on looking out of the window. My head feels completely empty of thoughts for a while. It’s like a journey into sheer nothingness, but there’s something relaxing about it.

I finish my tea and bring it back to the counter. The person behind the counter thanks me. Just I’m about to open the door, I look back to make sure that everything’s alright with the group, trying to be as brief with it as possible. They seem engrossed in what they’re doing, so I make my way through the door, breathing a sigh of relief.

There are quite a few people travelling to and fro from street to street. Maybe they are trying to get home, or maybe to the pubs.

I am just passing the garden of the Plough Inn, when I see two girls make a ‘pindick’ gesture with their fingers, and burst out laughing.

I walk up to them.

‘What’s all that about?’ I ask them.

‘Oh, just that guy who was walking past.’ Says the one on the left, a skinny brunette dressed in clothes which make her seem like a living, breathing advert.

‘Why, what about him?’

‘Probably got a dick like this.’ Says the other girl. She is blonde, but quite similar in appearance to the other girl. She is dressed less gaudily, with the simple combination of a black blouse, straight cut jeans, and high heels.

‘Why, seen it, have you?’

‘No, but you can tell, can’t you?’ laughs the brunette.

‘He has probably never been laid in his entire life.’ the blonde girl says, nearly collapsing in hysterics.

‘You haven’t even met him.’

‘No, but he’s a loser anyway. Anyway, why you speaking to us? You really think you’re good enough for us?’

‘I was just curious about your behaviour.’

‘Well, we’ve told you. Now get lost, fugly pug.’

‘Hey! That’s no way to speak to me. Why do you have to talk to me like that?’

‘Because you’re a mug. Get used to it.’

‘That isn’t even relevant.’ I spit out, barely able to hide my contempt. ‘I was just interested in your behaviour.’

‘Look, we don’t want you here, ok? Piss off.’

‘Ok, ok.’ I throw my hands up in the air. ‘If you insist. But I belong to the same species as you.’ I turn my back, and carry on my way.

The 54 bus makes it way up Fort Goldfax Street, which gives me a kind of glow. I am reminded that the public transport system here is excellent, always on time and serves almost every route. Something else also occurs to me: if we put people like those two girls in charge, would there even be a system? Would civilisation even exist?

The library is situated near to the new home of Argos. It is situated in a rectangular yellow-orange brick building with two rows of windows. The glass is a kind of emerald-green. There are four pillars at the front of the building. Outside is a set of books, which are for sale, but I decide not to trouble myself with that this time.

On both sides of the entrance, there is a row of steps. The automatic doors are coloured a slightly garish green. They are quite sensitive and move apart easily when someone arrives at the entrance.

I make my way past the computers to the shelves of books in the middle of the giant room that the inside of the library consists of.

I check out the new books first, but can’t find anything familiar. I do not wish to discover anything new at the moment as there is plenty to read already.

I make my way to the Health section of the library. I skim through a book about alcohol. It starts with a history of brewing, a subject that I pay a bit less attention to. However I note that beer has been around for several thousand years, and was enjoyed by the ancient Egyptians.

I turn to the next section, which details the physiological effects of alcohol. We are drawn to a case study: the story of Steve.

Steve never drank on weekdays. He would prefer to relax with a cup of tea in the evenings, as he was trying to look after himself. Everything changed on weekends with the football. Before the match, he would drink a whole four-pack of lager. Afterwards, he would go to the pub until closing time, downing several pints of lager and a few shots of vodka in the process. On Sunday, he would undertake his hangover cure, consisting of two lagers at his local in the morning.

Everything was fine, until he was diagnosed with cirrhosis. He failed to make it to his next birthday.

This seems a bit like scare tactics, but I acknowledge there is some truth in it. The book goes on to recommend that men should drink no more than 21 units a week, and women should drink no more than 14 units a week. A unit is equivalent is to approximately a half pint of beer or a 25ml measure of spirits, but this varies with the strength of the drink.

Having been told this, we are shown a drinks diary, which can be used to total up the number of units the user of the diary drunk this week. This is used to check whether or not they’re drinking too much.

It has been said that the limits have been set by research in which the respondents underestimated the amount they drink, but it is claimed that they are found on solid research.

All this makes it difficult for me to make my decision on how much to drink. A good guide could be just to listen to your body. This brings me to the next paragraph in the book, which concerns tolerance.

It outlines that a tolerance to alcohol can be built up through continuing to drink at a certain level. The body gets used to this amount of alcohol, and the person needs to drink more to get an effect. Before I can even begin to make a conclusion, I am reminded that tolerance does not cancel out the harmful effects of alcohol.

I feel time creep up, and decide to look through some other books. I examine my watch: it is now 6.47pm. The gig officially starts at 8pm, but gigs are rarely on time. The Tempo Club can be a bit more organised than other places… all in all, it would be best to be on time.

Scanning the same shelves as before, I find myself taking interest in a book about the dangers of modern living. Some of these dangers are not obvious.

I discover that bagels can be dangerous, for example. This is never something I would previously have thought. It seems to have something to do with the way people cut them: they are careless, and this is what leads to accidents. This is a bit more obvious. Apparently, a poppy seed bagel can lead someone to obtain a positive result in a drug test.

This encourages me to buy a poppy seed bagel, as I like the idea of getting an effect in such a simple way. I rack my brains, however, as to how such a thing can be possible if they are not using opium poppies.

Even walking can be dangerous, but this is mainly owing to traffic accidents. I note that is a good idea not to walk home drunk and make this part of my strategy for future pub sessions.

Getting fit can be an issue, as people don’t take enough time over it and push too hard without being ready for it. This does not surprise me. What does is that travelling in lifts can be dangerous. The shocking story of a scientist who was decapitated when the doors caught him presses this home. However they are apparently safer than using the stairs.

I find myself wishing that I hadn’t read the book, but think that possibly it could be useful reading. I decide to take it out on loan.

I look through the Sport and History sections, reading in a shallow kind of way, discovering what the books are about but not truly absorbing them. After all, there isn’t time for that.

On looking at my watch again, it is now 7.49pm. Not sure where to leave the book about dangers, I elect to take it out another day. I proceed hurriedly to the exit. On leaving the library, I reflect that this was a bit rash. It would not matter too much if I were not on time for the gig.

On arriving, I discover that it is £5 to get in, and will be starting in half an hour. I decide that it will make sense to stay here, so I search through my wallet and hand a £10 note to the lady at the counter. She gives me a £5 note in exchange and says ‘have a good time’.

I push open the double doors, which have changed colour since I last went. There are only a few other people here. It is just as deserted, in fact, as the café I went to earlier.

The stage is set up ready for the bands. There is a Marshall amplifier, and a drum set which I am not familiar with.

‘The best thing I can do at the moment is to get myself a beer.’ I tell myself. Micky is here tonight. He has been working here for a year or so, and lives in Sidborough itself.

‘Hi’ he says.

‘Hi, long time no see. How’s it going?’

‘Not too bad thanks. What can I get you?’

There’s a pause as I survey their range of drinks. It doesn’t seem to have changed at all.

‘I’ll have a Budvar please.’

‘Sure.’ He takes a bottle from the cabinet and takes the cap off. He puts the bottle on the bar.

‘That’ll be £1.60 please.’

‘Sure.’ I fish through my wallet, and hand over the exact amount.

‘Cheers.’

‘So, what’s new? I haven’t been here for a while.’ I suddenly get a bit embarrassed, as I’ve already implied this in my greeting.

‘Not much. Usual band nights. We get a lot of people in at weekends.’

‘Oh sure.’ I remember that, although I’ve implied that I haven’t met him for a while, he might not realise that I may not have been here for a while. At this point, I begin to relax.

‘Band’ll be on in half an hour, mate. First band’s  Rising Fist, then Pogo Explosion. The Ace of Spades will be on after that.’

‘Ah yes, I’ve seen Rising Fist before.’

‘They’re good, aren’t they?’

I pause for a moment, deciding on the best way to tell the truth.

‘I like their music.’

‘So do we, that’s why they’re playing tonight. Enjoy!’

‘Sure. Anyway I’d better drink my beer. Take care.’

‘Anytime, dude.’ He gives me a thumbs up.

I make my way to a place just opposite the stage. This, after all, guarantees a good view of the band. Although I know I won’t particularly enjoy a Rising Fist gig, I am still curious enough about the band to want to study them.

I spend my time drinking my Budvar and staring at the stage. Occasionally I look round the room to see if anyone has come in yet. I also check my mobile phone for missed calls.

The time seems to pass ever-so-slowly, which I’ve heard is a sign that you’re not enjoying yourself that much. Still, I did choose to go here. I realise that the advert has changed since I last went here.

‘When exactly did I last go here?’ I ask myself, silently.

I look at the advert, trying to lose myself in it. It consists of the word ‘FOSTER’S’ written in blue, above which is the Foster’s logo: an F, coloured a darkish shade of red, and shaded in white, enclosed in a blue oval shape, which is enclosed in an amber shape (a cross between a square and a circle). I concentrate my focus on it to the elimination of all other stimuli, hoping that I can be hypnotised by it.

Suddenly I hear a commotion, and look to my left. A bunch of strange people walks in, collectively shouting and screaming. They are dressed in all black, some of them in Rising Fist t-shirts. I notice a couple of familiar band names among the rest of them: The Exploited and Guns ‘N’ Roses.

There are some other people here, who I didn’t notice come in. A group is sat at the table in the corner, all sporting outrageously spiky hair of different colours. Nearby is another guy on his own. He is wearing a t-shirt which reads: ‘You laugh at me because I’m different… I pity you because you’re all the same’ in red letters on a black background.

‘IS THE BAND ON YET??’ asks the person in the front of the group which has just entered.

‘WHAT ARE THEY WAITING FOR?’ asks the person next to him.

Just as soon as they’ve asked these questions, another group enters. I recognise them as Rising Fist themselves. I cower, hoping that they don’t notice me.

‘All punk chicks here.’ spits out the ‘is the band on yet?’ person.

‘Yeah, that’s the trouble, isn’t it?’

‘I hate punk chicks. They’re just so un-pretty, and they think it’s so hip.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Why can’t they be like Jennifer Lopez?’

‘Because… that wouldn’t be very… alternative.’

‘She’s a hot chick though, and that’s what I care about.’

‘Don’t you want someone you’ve got more in common with?’

‘No, not if they’re fugly. And these birds are all fugly freaks.’

The ‘what are they waiting for’ guy seems thoughtful, but keeps himself to himself.

I hear a chord, and it seems like Rising Fist are practicing, ready to play. The snippets of conversation continue to penetrate my senses.

‘So, yeah, I’m taking a gap year, and that’s that. There’s not a thing they can do about it.’

‘Cool, what are you going to do?’

‘Just party, stuff like that. Rebel. All that stuff.’

‘Wicked!’

‘Sure is.’

‘HA HA! Look at that geek!’

‘Who?’

‘Over there.’

‘HAHAHAHAHAHA!’

‘What he’s doing here?’

‘Never mind about him. So, as we were saying, I got this real wicked t-shirt the other day.’

‘You got to have the t-shirt.’

‘No true fan doesn’t wear the t-shirt.’

‘Who are Rising Fist?’

‘Oh, they’ve been around for a while.’

‘Bit oldfangled then. You want to get into the new bands.’

‘Oh, shut up and listen to them.’

Meanwhile, there is some trouble with the group in the table. ‘GET OFF!’ says a lady with green spiky hair. I see the ‘is the band on yet?’ person walk away laughing. He high fives his mates.

The band starts to play, and everyone turns their gaze in the direction of the stage.

The first song seems to be somewhat like the sound of a factory during working hours. The lyrics are completely incomprehensible, but the chorus consists mainly of ‘OI! OI! OI!’ followed by something about the system.

At the end, the lead guitarist launches into a solo, which gradually becomes slower and slower until it fades away. 

After a pause of 30 seconds or so, they start the next song, which is the one I recognise from the Gatecrasher bar.

The familiar three-chord combination announces the chorus. At this point, the crowd go wild, singing along to the words, which I can just make out:

‘YOU’RE A REBEL! A REBEL!

A REBEL IN A CLASS OF SHEEP!

YOU’RE A REBEL! A REBEL!

A REBEL IN YOUR MORNING YEARS!

YOU’RE A REBEL! A REBEL!

A REBEL FOREVER!’

The song is basically the same for the first two verses and choruses, then it launches into a solo. The verse and the chorus happens again, with a slower tempo. Once this chorus ends, the finale ends with the words ‘ONCE A REBEL, ALWAYS A REBEL!’

The third song employs more chugging than the other songs. The chorus goes:

‘PUSSY! HOT PUSSY!

WE’VE GOT THE WONGA AND THE ATT-I-TU-DE!

WE GET PUSSY! HOT PUSSY!

COME TO MY ROOM, YOU’RE MY COKE WHORE!

PUSSY! HOT PUSSY!

YOU’RE MII---III----NNNEEEE’

At the end of the song, the vocalist announces ‘And we get all the best pussy, because we’re the cool guys. And that’s why we’re in a band.’

The fourth song is a bit more melodic. It consists more of open chords, and is played slightly slower than the other songs. I can also make out the verse on this one:

‘Ooohhh, you’re my love sunshine,

You’re my one and only love,

We’re never apart,

Never apart for long.

The chorus is played very slowly:

‘And I want you,

And I want you,

And I want you,

AND I WANT YOU’

When I saw your face,

I thought I’d gone to space,

But I came down to earth,

And now I want to be in your arms.

The chorus takes place again, this time with more of a solo.

Hold me, baby,

Hold me in your arms.

Say you love me baby,

And I’ll say I love you.

The song ends with a solo, and the chorus is repeatedly sung. It finally finishes abruptly with what I think may be a ‘G’ chord.

The fifth song involves a lot of screaming and growling, with mainly bar chords being used. I can make out the words: ‘SMASH IT! SMASH IT UP! ARRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!’

The song finishes with a power chord. The vocalist says: ‘And that is going to be our last song. We’ll be playing in London on 9^th September. Venue to be confirmed. Hope you enjoyed it.’

‘ONE MORE!’ the crowd shout. ‘PLAY JUST ONE MORE!’

‘Ok, ok, we’ll play the rebel song again.’ Says the vocalist. The band warm up, ready to play it. The crowd cheers.

I switch off mentally during this song, trying to get lost in the advert once again. I think I’m gradually getting pulled in by the shade of blue, and I can somehow meditate on it.

“Blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue…”

My attention is diverted from blue when I notice a few people leave. I decide to get myself another beer.

I get another Budvar. I decide on a different location this time, maybe somewhere where I can eavesdrop on the conversation.

It is quite difficult to make the conversation out now, as they are playing piped music. I try to get lost in the advert again.

“Blue, a sea of blue, the blue of water, the vessel of escapism travels through it, transporting us away from our world, to an island in the ocean of tranquillity and peace. On leaving the vessel, and embarking on land, I’m filled with what seems like some kind of drug, and I instantly recognise it as serenity. All sense of anxiety and worry has left me. On this island, I can tell that I will have no problems. There will be no enemies. I walk further along the sand, examining the area around me without fear, without the usual sense of hypervigilance that I am so accustomed to elsewhere. In front of me is a palm tree. I wish almost to hug it, to bask in its glory. Nevertheless, I keep on travelling. I take a turning to the right. Acres of sand continue to appear before me. They seem infinite, but I do not get bored. Eventually I decide to lie down and rest. At this point, everything goes dark.”

I am awakened, for want of a better word, by the announcement that Pogo Explosion will be playing.

Just at this point, I notice the people from Rising Fist leaving, joking and laughing amongst themselves.

Pogo Explosion start with a song which I’m sure I’ve heard before. As the chorus begins, I suddenly realise that it is a cover of The Ramones’s ‘I Wanna Be Sedated’. Fuelled by the alcohol and the music, I start headbanging to it, until the end of the song, when I start to feel a bit self-conscious and decide to stop.

There’s a pause of a few minutes, then the band launch into their next song, which is a Screeching Weasel-esque explosion of power chords. It is a fast, angry song and lasts roughly a minute.

The third song goes to the same pattern but is played slightly slower. The crowd of spiky-haired people get up and dance at this point. 

The fourth song is just as fast as the second song but is not quite so angry. The verses are euphoric, while the chorus fuels pure, sheer, bliss with a touch of melancholia. After the first two verses there is a bridge, which is very slowly played, and the most melodic of the band’s work.

I can make out the words as ‘Philosophy is a science….’

The fifth song is another angry song, but goes on for longer than the second. By now, the crowd is moshing.

The sixth song is a purely euphoric song, which starts off fast, and slows down at the point of the chorus. It continues for roughly five minutes.

The end is announced. There is a round of applause, which I join in with. The room goes silent as the band prepares to leave.

During the break, I notice them talk to the spiky-haired people, who have resumed their place at the table in the corner. They go to the bar, order some lager and go back to the table. The bassist puts his arm round the green-haired girl, which is welcomed.

There’s a lot of shouting, laughing and alcohol flowing quickly then the band leave. I go to the bar to get myself another drink.

‘Enjoyed yourself tonight?’ asks Micky.

‘Sure have.’

‘What would you like?’

I decide on a Sol this time, which also costs £1.60. I make my way back to the same place.

“I’m sedated, on a beach, on the island. A thought suddenly occurs to me. Where am I going to get my next meal? I suddenly realise that I need the world that I just came from, even it means problems, enemies, anxiety and worry. In fact, this is all part of the challenge. I get back on the vessel and set sail in exactly the same direction which I came.”

A group, whom I recognise as the Ace of Spades, walk in and instantly make their way to the stage.

‘We’re the Ace of Spades, and this is going to be our first song.’ Announces the singer.

I hear a song that I instantly recognise. It is no other than Motorhead’s ‘Ace of Spades’. The crowd go wild to this and start moshing once again. I join in, with a bit of headbanging.

The second song is similar to that of a Motorhead song, that trademark crunching bass in full gear. However it is the band’s very own song.

I make out the words ‘Chaos is insanity’, then ‘Insanity is infinite’

‘We carry on, ad infinitum.

Never lose, never win.

Chaos is insanity,

Insanity is infinite

We carry on, ad infinitum,

We’re here for fun,

Chaos is insanity,

Insanity is infinite!’

The third song starts with a solo that I believe to be in an Aeolian pattern. At first, I’m perplexed as the song is familiar but what exactly it is called escapes me. When I hear what seems like the words ‘If I was completely wasted…’  I realise that it is a cover of Judas Priest’s Breaking the Law.

Most of the crowd are on the dance floor at this point, virtually slamming into each other, moshing as if they’re fighting for their lives.

I carry on my headbanging, and foot-tap as well. During the bridge, everyone cheers and applauds, which I join in with.

The fourth song starts with a solo which goes on for what seems like an aeon, then launches into a melodic verse. The whole band joins in with the singing. I learn, later throughout the song, that the verse is in fact the chorus. It seems quite similar to the kind of song you would hear on Iron Maiden’s ‘Fear of the Dark’ album.

While I have been thinking this, the band launches into their fifth song. This starts with a series of guitar chords played in what sounds like three different positions. When the chorus arrives, it becomes apparent that this is a cover of Iron Maiden’s ‘Can I Play With Madness’.

I can hear the words ‘Do you always play covers?’ but cannot make out who it is from. It seems from the tone that it is somewhat in jest anyway.

The sixth song starts off slow, somewhat ballad-like. It is not unlike ‘Hollow’ by Pantera. However the song does not become louder and dirtier at the end, which is a characteristic of the Pantera song. It goes simply from verse to chorus, then fades away in a finale. I can make out the words:

‘Sayin’ goodbye,

Goodbye to you all,

And as I leave you,

Let my final note be good.

Let me not cause trouble,

Let me not cause heartbreak,

And I hope that to you,

My final note is good.’

‘ONE MORE!’ demand the crowd.

‘No, really, we’ve got to go…’ says the singer. The crowd vocalise their obvious disappointment at this.

‘ONE MORE!’

‘ONLY JOKING!’. With that, the band launch into the Motorhead cover once again. At the end of the song, everyone applauds with passion, including me.

A few people leave immediately, but most of the crowd stays to talk. I ponder for a moment, then decide to head back.

I thank the bouncer outside. ‘You’re welcome’ he replies.

Outside, the night is starry, and I can make out Orion.

‘Betelguese, Rigel, which are the others?’ I wonder out loud, as I make out my way down Broad Street. A group of people in hoodies pass on the other side of the road. It seems that they are enjoying themselves.

Pulsate seems to be completely dead as I walk past it. I go a bit nearer just to make sure. Indeed, there is no-one there, the lights are out, and the door is locked. It is definitely closed.

As I pass West Street, a red-haired woman, who looks similar to Julianne Moore, smiles at me. I look back over my shoulder, not convinced that this is the case. There is no-one there, but by the time I turn my attention back to the front, she is gone.

There are the usual pools of vomit and spilt alcohol, but not in so great a number as on the weekends. I examine the ground carefully, making sure that I don’t step in it. However, none of this bothers me at all.

As the bend in Fort Goldfax Street occurs, I stop to look at the Cypress trees. I find it appealing, the way the moonlight reflects on them at night, and yearn to take some photos. However, I do not have my camera with me. I pause for a while, taking the sight in.

After what seems like an incredible stretch of time, I make my way on the long, cold walk back to Appledale, enjoying it a lot more than I did last time.

I cook myself a Chicken Tikka Masala with boil in the bag rice. I turn the television on. There is an advert featuring Paul Daniels doing his magic or, shall we say, his ‘magic’. ‘I know full well that your magic is a con’ I laugh.

A film comes on, which involves a group of ‘buddies’, as I can imagine them calling them each other, arguing at the bar. The scene switches to a chat between one of the guys at the bar and a suntanned, brunette, pony-tailed girl. They begin to get emotional, and hug each other.

Tired, I switch off the TV. I pleasure myself, fantasising about the girl who I saw in Sidborough. After five minutes, I fall asleep.