This venue had an impact on me, not just because of the history of the place, but it also made me realise how lucky I am to be doing this job. Maximo Park played here last year at the MTV Europe Awards, the Cure play here in 4 days, and there's some sort of 4-night porno exhibition at the end of the month. Sadly work is underway on a new, smaller arena right next door, so the air is thick with what I now remember to be cement dust. One lady just told me "This is a very old building, 36 years!" So, that's old, is it? Fair enough. I suppose following allied bombing, that may be understandable. But I digress. Again.
Many of the better views are blocked by hoardings and the grass is chewed up to a brown pulp. Being February, the boating lake is frozen and it's generally nipster. If I had the luxury of a free afternoon like the rest of the crew, I would pay 4 euros to tour the buildings, maybe even the no-doubt extorionate fee for the BMW museum across the highway. As it is I'll just have to wander around inhaling dust and waiting for a toothless forklift driver (the driver, not the forklift) to pick up the case of merchandise I spent an hour sorting in below zero temperatures this morning.
I picked up some sort of virus or possibly food poisoning after the last run and spent Sunday night and most of monday feeling like crap on a crutch. Regardless of the true cause, I will no longer be eating leftover chicken in the dark under any circumstances. I don't have much weight to shed so a day and a half with the trots (spelling diahorroea is such a pain) has left me looking positively emaciated. My jeans are hanging somewhere around my ballbags.
Tune in tomorrow for my most difficult title yet...
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