Tag Archives: Music

Streets so empty

It strange how you can walk down
a street full of people and turn a
corner and the street is empty and
only the sound of the wind
blowing through it.

I was walking through the town
walking past where Red Hot once
by the saxophone man
by the homeless man with a
by the bars playing funk
music and reggae
people walking by me fast and slow
laughing and singing
the view of the big wheel in front of me
and then I turn left and everyone is
All I hear is the sound of the bars
and the saxophone.

Where did everyone go?
How can I walk through a street
full of life and then turn a corner
and see nothing but emptiness?

I look around and all I see is my
shadow in front of me and I can
hear the faint sound of my footsteps
and they only get louder the further
I get away from the street
that’s full.
But it’s ok, I only have to turn left again
and head down a street full of rowdy
people pouring out the pubs and
avoiding a man sitting on the corner
with an empty cup.


A small tale of power rangers and B’ Witched

It’s a Saturday night and it’s the second day of the annual 90’s reloaded weekend at the Butlin’s holiday resort in Skegness and 4 of us have just finished getting into our power rangers costume’s, red, blue, green and me in black and 2 of us ready to go as banana’s in pajamas and now we are all ready to head out into the main arena to watch the 90’s girl group B ‘Witched take the stage. All that’s missing from this weekend is a set from Steps and an autograph singing from S Club 7.
We have already consumed an unholy concoction of alcohol 40 cans of larger, 30 cans of Strongbow, 20 cans of Stout, 6 bottles of Sourz, 1 bottle of Russian standard vodka, 1 bottle 1 of Jack Daniels, a bottle of rum, a bottle of cheap prosecco, one can woodpecker cider and a packet of cheap Tesco Paracetamol. And it’s only day two.
The holiday has taken a turn for the worst tonight, two of us have already vomited, the toilet seat has been broken and the shot glasses have been shot up by a BB gun after it turned violent during a game of tipsy tower. Butlin’s has not seen mayhem like this since the summer of 76’.
After calming down, dropping the guns and getting a grip of ourselves we pull up our costume’s, pull up over our power ranger masks and put on the banana hats and head out towards the main dome to watch B ‘Witched tear the house down.
We walk amongst the caravans and see that they are full of 20 something booze hounds partying into the early hours with many of them not even venturing back to their own caravan after the bars are close inside heading back to some unknown strangers caravan after they picked them up in one the bars dressed in a costume that they can only get away with in a place like this.
It’s the only time a thing like this can happen, university is starting back up again, the families have now gone and the nights are drawing darker and darker and heading into the autumn months. So everyone comes to a place like Butlin’s to relive their childhood and get away with strange and bizarre things.
We get half way to the dome and the blue power ranger decides to go for a run under the tunnel that leads to the entrance and I take off in pursuit and then it hits me, i’d been avoided it for the time I’ve been hear. The jelly legs kick in and my run towards the entrance after blue brought me down to the ground like a sack of potatoes. I skidded across the floor on my side and came to a halt on my back and feel the dreaded sting of cuts from underneath my costume as I pick myself up. I brush myself down and I notice the strange views around me. The bananas in pajamas ask me if i’m ok, power rangers ahead of me hold their guts with laughter and Mario and luigi’s watch on in horror as a black power ranger holds his arm in pain.

We finally make our way through the entrance of the dome and the sound of heavy techno music hits my ear drums and the strange and bizarre people of all shapes and sizes walk by me. Teenage mutant ninja turtles, Doctor Who’s 4 through 10, people in onesies and where’s Wally’s (or Waldo’s for the people of the American persuasion).
We fight our way through a crowd of freaks and wannabe spice girls, pushing and shoving our way by them so we can get to the bar to have a drink.
We wait in line behind a sea of people all barging their way to the front. Everyone has turned into savages, frothing at the mouth in excitement and determination to get to the front so they can get served by a lad younger than they are. Characters from my youth like batman and robin turn into the bad guys just to get a drink, it’s first come first serve and everyone wants to be first. A barbaric carnage just to get a pint or a shot and nobody gives two shits about any body around them. And we just stand at the back and watch the mayhem unfold before our eyes.
Banana 1 turns to us all and says “We might aswell go and watch B’Witched they’re on in ten minutes and there might be a line to get in”.
We all agree and we leave the line of madness and make our way to Reds just outside the dome. A separate club on the Butlin’s  resort.
We walk through the doorway and to the outside and we all walk through a cloud of smoke from the 100’s of people lighting up a cigarette and we see in the near distance, only a mere ten foot away is the line for B’ Witched and it’s like the pope has arrived at the Butlin’s resort and we can’t see where the line ends it’s just mass of drunken weirdo’s lining up to see a somewhat successful girl group from the 90’s.
We join the back of the line and it’s going nowhere, drunks walk by us and groan at the thought of having to wait in line to a see a girl group that they can only really name two songs that they’ve done, but the drunkards join anyway, they’ve seen them on TV and heard the two songs and they are playing tonight, so why wouldn’t they join the never ending line of vicious pissed up freaks.
We stand behind a group of extremely loud people dressed up as Mario characters, it’s just Mario that’s missing from the ensemble. The group are singing songs by Girls Aloud, I hope they know that this isn’t the line for that particular group.
A girl dressed as a mushroom turns to us mid song and says “I’m a fun guy, get it, fun guy, fungi” and the 6 of us just look at her with a glassy stare and then she goes on to say “Hey, red ranger, your dicks too small for that costume” and red just looks at her with a closed fist and mumbles something from underneath his mask as the line slowly starts to move forward for a couple of steps.
For the next 30 minutes we wait in line with the crazies, the Mario characters go through a karaoke of pop classics from the 90’s, being joined by a red crayon and a native American,  even our very own banana 1 joined in at one point to sing along, with banana 2 looking on with distress and boredom and looking for more alcohol.
We finally make it to the front of the line after waiting for over 30 minutes and we can see that B’ Witched are on stage from the TV that’s hanging in the corner “well, we’ve missed most of it because of having to wait for half hour and we had to put up with those idiots in front of us” says green ranger “weirdo’s”.
The bouncer at the door says “don’t worry lads you’ll still get to see the last 10 minutes of them” and then he lets us in and we let out a huge cheer and run up the stairs, celebrating like we just won the world cup as we to burst through the doors to watch the last ten minutes of the gig.
We run straight for the dancefloor as the group starts to play the second to last song and past a whole collection of characters, I even brush arms with a guy dressed as 80’s pro wrestler Hulk Hogan, in full red and yellow, a wig with a bald top and long blonde hair and a stick on blonde beard, he went full Hulkamania.
We find a comfortable spot on the dance floor and you can feel like floor move, it’s moving so much that it feels like it’s going to fall through, banana 2 turns to me and says “don’t worry it’s a floating floor, it won’t fall through so don’t worry”.
People jump and jig around around us and so we join in and I look at the back of the room and I can see people jumping on chairs and tables singing to “Blame it on the weatherman”.
The group say “thank you for being here with us Butlin’s, we don’t normally do unless we have a great audience, so does anyone want to hear C’est la Vie again?” and the crowd roars with excitement, jumping in the air before they even start the song and then they start to play the floor shakes like an earthquake and we jump around like madmen, Irish dancing and waving our hands in the air.
They finish the song and a huge cheer comes from us and the crowd around us and the band take a bow and leave the stage, everyone around us shouts more but the curtains close and the crowd depart the dance floor and everyone heads towards the bar.
Banana 2 says to us all “Shall we get a drink?” and we all turn around and the see the line for the bar and we all shake our heads and decide to leave the club in search of an empty bar.

After the gig we leave the Reds club and start to head towards a bar of some kind. The two songs we managed to catch has destroyed our bones, I’ve been through mosh pits, kicked in the side of the head by crowd surfers and after all that managed to walk back in the rain for an hour after seeing Slipknot and yet leaving B’ Witched after Irish dancing and clapping hands through only two songs has almost ended this power rangers ability to walk straight.
Everyone leaving the club is covered in sweat, the ones that got through the whole gig that only went on for 40 minutes look like they have just been dragged through hell, it’s nearly 1 in the morning and people look like they are about to collapse and give up, 40 somethings and 30 somethings walk around like lost children looking for the toilet, a cup of tea and a warm bed, their party days are now over and they have grown up to realise that they can’t do it anymore, now they have to except that’s it’s done.
No more dancing. No more partying. No more heavy drinking. Time to grow old gracefully and throw in the towel on the younger years, it’s over folks.
And when I look at their faces I can see the utter disappointment with themselves that age has caught up with them a lot sooner than they thought it would, that their legs and arms, their bodies just can’t keep up with people 10/20 years younger than they are. I can see it in their eyes that they know it’s over for them, it’s just a jammer dodger and cuppa tea on a Friday night with a movie that they won’t like and then talk about at work on Monday morning.
The 90’s are officially over here tonight, it’s the end of a generation of people, the end of a time and a place and an age that will go down into a small part of history and it’s ending at a B ‘Witched gig while drunk and dressed as superhero’s.


This is fake blog and the character Ste Harris is entirely fictional and the writings in this blog are fictional. Some writes may be based around real places and real people but the stories are pieces of fiction and should not be taken literally.
As well,  the views and opinions expressed in this blog by the people in them do not come from a personal or private place and should again be viewed as apart of a story.



Green Guitar

There’s a green guitar in the corner
of the room
I want to hear it.
I want to play it.
But I can’t play it.

I don’t know if anyone in this room

I don’t even know what kind of
guitar it is.
But it’s green and I can’t play

Maybe if I pick it up and strum
Along, then I might get a tune out
of it

But it can‘t, it won‘t work.

I‘ll just stand and stare at the guitar.
I‘ll let it live out the rest of
It‘s life in the corner, collecting dust
until someone comes along and
Picks it up and brings out it‘s
sweet sound.

Small tale of The Shed.

I first heard about the Shed when I was at school. I was sixteen and an old friend who left the year before and went to college to study music was playing at the venue, it was the first time I’d heard ever heard about it. I just remember hearing about how cool and amazing this place was. This smelly little venue on the edge of town, a toilet, a dump of a place and a friend of mine was playing it.
Seeing the picture of his gig were something to behold. The small stage dimly lit and the large backdrop sign saying “The Shed” in the background. And there was my old mate rocking away with his guitar. I think he played the Saturday afternoon under eighteen slot, but I don’t know, I never went at that time.
I just thought to myself I have to go this shit hole one day and see his band play. But his band didn’t last long it was just a simple college band that played about 5 gigs and recorded some really bizarre but heavy songs.
So for the next couple of years after I left school I planned with friends to go to the Shed, I got a shitty provisional ID and I asked everyone “lets go to the shed, it don’t matter who’s on lets just go and fucking see a band”. But it never happened.
The first band I joined just became a bedroom band but we planned on getting tight and eventually playing The Shed, because that’s where everyone played. Get the songs down and then get that first gig on that venue and see what happens. But It never happened.

After four years of waiting to go to The Shed I finally got the chance to go. Four years of hearing about this toilet in town where Kasabian played their first gigs and i’m finally getting to go. It was 2010 sometime around July or August and the music world at the time didn’t really have much of a buzz going for it.
I get a phone call from a band friend telling me that we can go see his cousins band, The Boobytraps play the final of the OBS competition. I’d got to see them a month before at the Musician, a fancy music pub near to the Shed. It was my first live gig. The smell and look of the place when I walked through the door just felt right. A bar was the front and small stage was at the back. A poster of Richie Havens hung on the walls “Richie Havens Live at The Musician”. I should have gone to that. But I was finally getting to go to the Shed.
We turn up around 8:30, half drunk and excited for tonight, the final of a band competition. We walk through the doors and up the small flight of stairs that leads to the foyer. It’s everything I expected, it felt like the centre of the Leicester music scene. The place was packed with people, all kinds of people. Posters from past gigs sat on the wall, sound of music comes through the doors to the left of me and Kev sits at small counter at the top of stairs (Kev, the owner, later would go on to book our first gig). Above where he sits there is a picture of Kasabian in black and white the words “who’s next” underneath it.
We pay the £5 entry and we go in to the main stage, walking through the crowd of people. Older people, young people, indie rockers and metal heads and a guy who looks like Paul Weller (Jesus was that Paul Weller?).
We walk around looking for the Boobytraps, we grab a beer that costs £3.40 and we find a corner to stand in. The lead singer of the Boobys, my band mates cousin comes walking up to us and says to us “We are on next so get ready”. So we finish our cans of beer and run straight to the front of the stage.
As we stand at the front of the stage while the Booby’s set up and with a broken air conditioning unit dripping warm water on to our heads and a small fight breaks out in front of us.
A lady in a stripy shirt and white jeans had touched a girl with ginger hair on the arse and her savage of a boyfriend squared up to him “Fucking touch my bird, ill fuckin’ kel ya'” the boyfriend with a huge forehead and black eyebrows said “i’ll murder your arse”. The boy with white jeans backs off “sorry dude” he says “is that your missus”. The boyfriend with the big eyebrows shrugs his shoulders and walks away and leaves the front of the stage. The lad with the jeans sits on the stage and starts signing a Kasabian song before men in black coats grab him under the arms and walk him out (I didn’t see them at the door).
The boobys finish setting up and their intro music starts to play and red lights fill the stage. They walk on stage pissed as rats and go into a cover The Beatles Day tripper. The crowd of about 35 drunken loons go mad for them and they dance around like chimps. The are unknowns but their small group of drunken fans treat them like royalty.
After about 35 minutes of playing they finish to a huge round of applause from their fans and they stumble off the stage while a group of young blonde students take down their gear and the band head towards the bar.
We stand around and wait for the runner up and the winning band to be announced. As last years winners (The Heroes) play I can sense  tense atmosphere is in the room, you can fell it like a storm is about to come over. I can’t make out the chatter amongst fans of the bands that have played, I just notice their excitement and anticipation for who is going to win the prestigious award.
A huge 6ft something  woman in a black coat and red hair gets up on stage to announce the runner up. All the bands from the night line up at the front of the stage waiting for their name to be annouced “And your runner up is….. The Stiggz”. The Stiggz, a legendary Leicester based band which I only got to see on this night but I would continue to hear about them when I started to gig. They had a bad night. The bas guitar practically blew up and the strings fell off, if I remember rightly the bass amp also exploded into the face of the bas player almost sending him crashing across the room. The bassist had to a borrow a bass from last years winners.
They congratulated the crowd and the fans they brought and they bands that played that night and the eventual winner that’s to be announced. You can sense the disappointment from a majority of the people in the crowd, I think a lot of the crowd wanted them to win. They seem to have worked shit hard for it and just had abit of explosive bad luck on a night they didn’t need any bad luck at all.
They walk off of the stage and mix amongst the crowd, patting the heads of their fans as they walk by and brings back a memory of the film Cool Running’s.
The woman in the black coat and the ginger hair says “Thank you to The Stiggz.. and now your winner”. And that lump of excitement fill the air. They’ve fucking done, they boobs have done” says my friend. And the huge woman announces the winner and a small sigh fills the room. I can’t remember the band that won but it was an acoustic band who’s lead singer’s uncle was on the voting board. And everyone felt it, everyone knew. The bands fans where happy, all 12 of them that turned up. “What a load of shit” says my friend “They weren’t bad but they didn’t deserve to win, The Stiggz where the band of the night, the boobs should have come second at least”.
We decide to leave The Shed in disappointment and remorse and start to walk home. A taxi was going to be booked but we didn’t want to pay out more money. We were already lacking in funds. “I’ve got a text from Jamie” my friend says as we walk by a Subway “He aint happy, he says he’s abit pissed off but they seem ok.. The singers uncle was probably a judge”. We shake our heads and carry on walking home, mostly silent for the journey.

That was the first time I went to The Shed and it would become a staple for the future. 22 gigs will be played at the venue and I will be surrounded by people living a minimum wage lifestyle trying to become rock and roll stars. It’s the centre of everything rock and pop in Leicester. It makes sense to go there when you’re 18 and watch an drunk out of tune rock pop punk band playing songs you will most likely never hear on the radio.
It happened to one band and it might happen again, Kasabian played it and they got signed and eventually played to 50,000 people on Victoria Park. Arctic monkeys and Ellie Goulding they even had the chance to play a headline slot at The Shed.
It’s ok, these toilets exist and I will keep going to them.
Just another lock in and smoking and drinking around an acoustic guitar in the middle of the room while Dawn mops around us will do.


Ste Harris is entirely fictional and the writings in this blog are fictional. Some writes may be based around real places and real people but the stories are pieces of fiction and should not be taken literally.
As well,  the views and opinions expressed in this blog by the people in them do not come from a personal or private place and should again be viewed as apart of a story.


Skegness City

I get off the coach around 11:00am in Skegness. I decided that morning that i wasn’t going to sit around all day listening to rock and roll, i would go to the bus station and take a trip to the seaside. The coach trip seemed short mainly due to falling sleep for the an hour and half of the journey and only waking up to the sound of a screaming kid desperate for the toilet “We’ll be there in a minute then you go to the toilet” his mum said and the kid shut up and sat down.
After getting off the coach I walk over to a rail so I can get out a bottle of water out before i carry on walking, i’ll save the beers for later. The sun is blazing down and the town is packed with people. Oversized men stand with their wives and children licking ice cream with tongues like lizards and wiping away the melted cream from their hands, it melts on their hands like wax from a candle and only made worse with the blazing sun up above and drinking blue flavoured pop that starts the teeth rotting process as soon as it enters the mouth.

I walk around the town looking at the arcades and shops. Three of the arcades from my childhood have now gone, one burnt down 2007 and is now being built into a restaurant which has been under construction for the past 6 years. Rusty coloured bars and half done walls is all that stands on the construction site where the arcade once stood bringing in punters from all over the country. One of the newly built arcades that was built next to the grounds of the burnt out arcade has now closed. But the ex service men’s club still stands next to the popular fish and chip shop near the clock tower, not even picking up any damage. Old men come out with pipes smelling of brown ale and they walk past the arcades and not even look inside them, they are used to the sound and smells of the place now. The sea air gone to their heads and have started to age around the culture of holiday makers and loud noises.
I spend 30 minutes in one of the arcades still standing trying to me win my girlfriend a minion, one of those strange little fat creatures from the film Despicable Me. I spent £35 on the bastard and I couldn’t pick it up with the claws so I give up and leave and here famous rock and roll music coming from the guitar hero game sitting in the corner as I walk out the door.
I start making my way towards the beach and I walk past one of the arcades that has now been boarded up with ply wood and I see a homeless man sitting at the wall with an old bean tin and a hat and cardboard cut out with the words “change please, even the smallest would help” written on it and leaning up again the wall next to him. I rummage around my pocket and pull out what ever is left of my change and put £3 in his tin “Thanks mate, only person today who’s even bothered to look at me” he said with a sigh and a sad look behind his blood shot eyes. And he was right, his hat and his tin were empty, it looked like nobody had stopped to even give him a 2p that they didn’t bother to spend on the 2p machine. They just walked by him like he was nothing looking for the next arcade or rock shop or chip shop to spend money in. The £3 probably won’t even get him some seafood from one of the stalls on the sea front.

I start walking to the sea front in search of alcho slushy’s I keep hearing about. I walk over the road and past the clock town and spot a small protest going on. UKIP supporters are standing near the crazy hold course chanting and shouting about Immigrants and the EU. “WE HAVE THE MAJORITY SEATS IN THIS DISTRICT SO LETS MAKE IT MORE” shouts a lady with a megaphone and a union flag. A small crowd that’s gathered in front of them give out a small cheer and applause while people walk by with even looking into the direction of the protest. “Idiots” a woman says while walking past me “Absolute twats”.
I make it to the stall selling alcho slushy’s and get myself an apple and JD slushy. Taking the first sip I realised it’s not worth the £6 I paid for it. It doesn’t work, the apple and ice don’t flow well with the JD and the JD is too strong for the sweetness of it. It taste like the morning after a really bad party. I melt it down as I walk back towards the shops, I can hear the music of the arcades rolling down the street.
I down the melted apple and JD slush and I grab some warm prawns and add an assortment of condiments to it. Vinegar, salt, black pepper and prawn cocktail sauce can bring out the best of flavours to a tray of prawns. But I immediately regret the warm prawns, nothing fishy in this heat should be eaten under any circumstance, fish should never be consumed during a heat wave. What season is it? I was the only who looks to have bought something from the fish stall that day. Trays of fish, muscles, cockles, winkles and jellied eels still sat under the sneeze guard. I must be the only poor bastard to have taken the chance to turn my guts into liquid shit.

I make my way to the rock shop, I’ve been told I need to pick my sticks of rock for everyone and like a jubilee I have to keep the tradition alive. I walk past the boarded up arcade and I notice the homeless man has gone but his hat remains on the floor and people walk by it without the care in their minds of who’s it might be.
I walk into the rock shop and I start to walk around. The smell of sweets and the sight of dick lollies brings old memories back.
I buy the rock and I leave and I head towards the pub. The heat has set in and I need a drink. I walk around the clock tower and find a pub.
I get a pint of Guinness and I sit outside and listen to the music coming from inside the pub and I look around at the young faces as Cryin’ by Roy Orbison is playing on the jukebox and none of them seem to get what’s going on, they don’t understand what they are hearing from the speakers. “What’s this shit, oh my god it’s bad” I hear a young bloke sitting behind say. Nobody even knows him anymore, it’s rare that anyone at my age would even know who that man is, his music is starting to be forgotten, lost in a time while new music and new sounds take over the air waves of the radio.
I leave the pub and stat heading towards the coach and I look over at the UKIP protest and the crowd of people that have gathered around it and the spot where the homeless man once sat. The arcades that once stood proudly and accepting small change from the willing public and I think to myself as that it’s just not the same anymore.

Here we go again.

It’s a Saturday evening and I’m on my way to a house party and pre drinks with a friend, Sam. When we arrive I say to Sam “Will I know anybody in here?”
“No you won’t but don’t worry”.
We knock on the door and we are let in and greeted with beers and bags of food and my friend Sam says this is Dave and he shakes my hand and shows me to the kitchen where there is a beer pong game under way “You two want to play” says Dave
“We’ll play later” Sam says.
I stand in the corner minding my own business as Sam makes his way around the kitchen saying hello to everyone and then Dave turns to everyone and says shall we put the TV on for abit and a small cheer from around the kitchen is let out. The beer pong game comes to a stop and  we all make our way into the living and Dave turns on The X Factor and a mixture of a boos and cheers flows through the room and we all sit around and watch the first episode of the new X Factor. I take a seat at the back of the room and drink my beer and listen into everyone making a conversation about the show. A lad at the front sitting under the TV says “Do we really have to watch this shit Dave?”
“Yeah we do, it’s the best show on telle. We can watch this and then we can put some music on after” says Dave.
“It’s a piece of shit show, look at them they all look like their faces have been moulded together by wax”
“just watch the bloody show, it wont be on for long”.

A lad called Christian comes on for an audition and gets the usual 4 yeses “Well I think we all knew he was going to go through didn’t we” says the lad at the front “sob story and a few tears and that’s all that it needed”
“But he can sing though” the girl next to him says.
“Ah well, still got through cause he looked abit pretty and he told a sad story”.
A lad sitting on the floor in front of me with a hat on and a half a bottle of rum says “You know this whole damn show is about judging people, good or bad, how you look and what you’re wearing”
“Well der” says Dave”
“Here me out” says the drunk lad “All its doing is making people who like the show judge people who aren’t X Factor type singers, as soon a rock band comes on the show they will always say “well they are shit and they look like tramps” and then people who hate the show like you at the front will say “oh here we go, it’s the X Factor, just pretty people who have singing training come on and win and talk about all the bad things that have happened to them in their lives” blah blah blah, you’re just as bad as each other”.
He then walks off into the kitchen and grabs another beer and Dave turns the TV off and says “That’s about enough of that, lets just go play beer pong before we all start having a big fight over some singing show” and we all go back into the kitchen to carry on the drinking games.

We go back into the kitchen and the rest of the group of people continue their game of beer pong and I take my place back in the corner and I sit on a stool that’s located next to a collection of peanuts. I listen in to a conversation between a lad and a girl who arrived while we were watching the X Factor and they have heard about the near argument that took place in the living and they are continuing the discussion between themselves. “I can’t stand that show” says the lad “it’s full of fakes”
“It’s all full of fakes all of TV” says the girl
“I know, they’re all pretend on that dancing show too”
“Strictly comes dancing?”
“Yeah that one, I don’t like that either”
“That’s ok, it’s only dancing and you know there will always be a crap one on that show, no sob stories on it”
“Still fakes though”
Yeah, but I like it”.
Dave comes over to the girl and lad and sits with them “you two talking about the X Factor now aswell” he says
“Yeah, it’s crap” says the lad and the girl just replies with “Strictly is ok”.
A lad with the hat on with an empty  bottle of comes over and says “I can’t believe it’s come to this people still arguing over shows about judgement, it’s destroyed music. All it’s done has made both sides judge everything, whether it’s music or fucking TV or even twating dancing”. He stumbles back into the doorway and turns to everyone “I think the taxi’s are here”.
Dave gets up and goes to the front door and shouts “taxi’s are here”

We all head outside to see 7 taxis lined up one after the other. Dave tells me and Sam to get in the front one and the other will jump in the rest.
We get in the taxi and the driver tells us to pay up front “You’re gonna have to pay up front lads, too many taxis and every ones abit rowdy” so we hand over the cash and we start to move for the town.
“You lads having a good night” says the taxi driver
“Yeah we are having a good night, every ones just arguing about the X Factor” says Sam
“Oh is that one again”
“Yeah it is” I said with a sigh
“I always used to go to gigs, always. Every weekend I used to go but now I only go every couple of months but every time I go everyone seems to be a judge on the X Factor. Everyone is criticising how a band looks, sounds, plays. They can’t just enjoy the gig. And every time I speak to one of those people they seem to all hate shows like that but seems to act the same as the judges do. It’s ruined everything”. He drops us next to all the other taxis and we get out and join the others and we walk towards the first pub.
We walk past a busker before we go into the first place and we surround him like a gang of vultures and join in with his collection of musical classics. We provide the backing vocals to hits like Champagne Supernova and Bittersweet Symphony and even old school favourites like Wannabe and Tragedy. After about 15 minutes of singing it feels like the atmosphere has gone weak and dead and we are all craving the first drink in the pub. We say goodbye and laugh as we walk away but I notice that the buskers hat is empty so I put in a ten pound note and I shake his hand and say “that was fun mate” and he nods at me and smiles a toothless grin and i go and join the group of 15 and go into the pub where the Xtra Factor is on the TV coming back from the commercial break.
I notice the busker through the window of the pub, he picks up his hat and put its on his head tapping it down softly and then he puts away his guitar. He walks away opening a can a beer as he moves and a voice from somewhere down the street shouts from the dark ” Maybe you should go on the X Factor”.

Broken finger.

I sit down in the hospital and i’m in A&E and I’m nursing a broken finger. I fell down in the Firebug pub after ordering my first pint of Guinness. I was there to see a Beatles tribute band, Bootleg Beatles. I’ve been told countless times by people that they are the best tribute act going around and when I heard they were playing the Firebug I had to go see them. So I order my drink and I walk away from the bar and I trip over my untied shoelace and my face headed towards the floor. As I tried to break my fall my middle finger bent to the side and I felt a sharp crunch and I let out a sound like a roost of bats. My pint of Guinness shattered on the floor and the black stuff spread around like sick. The whole bar turned around and looked to see where the high pitched noise and shatter of glass had come from and they couldn’t see a thing but a group of men standing around looking at the floor. I was picked up off the ground and a man in a trilby holds my arm up and looks at my hand and they noise of what could only be the sound of cats hissing echoes around the pub. “That’s a broken finger, mate” the man said and he orders me to the hospital.
Now I’m here, in A&E and I’m I looking around at the devastation that surrounds me. Kids with blood over their faces, old ladies with taped up arms and legs and teenagers holding their ankles with football boots on. It seems to me likes it’s the waiting room for a preview of the last rites. I feel like my injury is useless somehow, like it’s not worthy of any sympathy at all.
A man sits down next to me with a flat nose, blood around his mouth and a bloody bandage around his hand. I noticed him pacing up and down near the reception area when I walked in to the hospital. “What’s happened to you?” he says to me with a growl and the stench of whiskey comes pouring out of his mouth as he says it
“This I’ve broke my finger” I say nervously and he looks down at my hand just to see if I really have a broken finger.
“Your fingers look a little bruised don’t they”
“They fucking hurt too”
“I got into a fight with the missus, I got home late and she punched me right on the nose and broke my noise, then she broke a glass and she decided to chuck it straight at me and I cut all my hand up, and I don’t know how but I bit my lip too”
“It does look pretty bad mate”
“I’ll be alright when I get seen, I’ve been in here for 2 and a half hours and nothing”. A man in a white coat comes walking over to us and says to the man whos in the fight “can you come with me sir”
“It’s about fuckin’ time, I’ve been here for 2 and half hours and I’ve not had one drink and in my bloody pain” the man in the fight says. He walks off with the man in the coat and through a wooden doors and out of my sight and I sit their in the waiting room and wait for my turn to be seen.

After sitting here for nearly an hour a man is wheeled in a wheel chair. On old Indian man wearing a high vis jacket and brown trousers and he’s clutching his heart. Two young men that look like his sons wheel him up to the reception desk and start talking to the receptionist. They’re out of breath with worried looks on their faces, they keep tapping and whispering into the ear of the old man. After about 30 seconds two doctors come running through the brown doors behind me and wheel him back through them. They shoot passed me like lightning and I can hear one of the doctors say “it’s going to be ok”. The two young men follow behind, the worried look on their faces turns into shock and fear as they chase behind the old man and the doctors.
I listen in on a conversation between an old man and a younger man sitting in front of me. “That’s another Muslim put first before me” says the young boy, wearing a Nike t-shirt and seemingly nothing wrong with him other than a red hand. “Oh arr” says the old man “They put them first over all of us”
“I’ve been waiting for hours, I’ve cut my thump on a knife and I’ve been waiting for bloody 3 hours now and I’ve still not been seen but these lot get seen before me” says the young man. The old taps him on his shoulder and says “I’m waiting for my wife to come out, she only got seen about an hour ago and they wouldn’t let me in, we were waiting for over 2 hours us selves”. “Mr Rodgers” says a young voice from the back of us “your wife is waiting for you, can you come with me” the old man then gets up and shakes the young mans hand and leaves, walking past me as he adjusts his brown flat cap and with a small smile on his face.

It’s half 2 in the morning and I’ve been waiting to be seen for 3 hours now and I feel like i’m ready to give up. My mouths dry and my hand has gone numb, so numb it wouldn’t last holding a pint glass for even a second. I think about the man being wheeled by in the wheel chair, where is he now? Where’s the young man who got battered until bloody by his girlfriend and where’s the old man with the flat cap.
I go to stand up when I notice the TV in the corner has the news on. A teenage boy and his mum sit behind me, the boy has broke his arm, it sounds like he fell down the stairs while going for a drink in the middle of the night. “Cut’s to the NHS will cause problems” says the man in the TV. “It’s not the cuts it’s the system” screams a man being interviewed on the news. “Junior DOCTORS!” says a young student.
“You see Dil, you’re lucky we are here now because this place won’t have hardly any money soon and that means your arm might fall off. So you glad you came” Says the mum
“Yeah, I guess” the son says.
I give up waiting and I get up and leave. I look around the A&E section of the hospital and it’s not as crowded as it once was. There is still a women in the corner that I spotted when I first walked in, she had her foot on the chair and now it’s on the floor and she’s asleep. The room is small too, maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the walls have moved in. The nurses have changed, the clipboards with doctor have changed and the canteen at the front has now closed.
As I leave an old lady is wheeled past me in a wheel chair clutching her head which is covered in blood and she’s moaning. What looks like her daughter or granddaughter is clutching her hand. A young doctor comes running out, with dark under his eyes and greets her and says “come with me, you’ll be fine”.