The crew included French (now known as Brunch), Kloakius (now P. Brozl) and Sylvia (now anything other than Sylvia. Sally, Susan, Simon, etc).
Our pal Stefan Marx made us this sign to help negotiate German public transport. "If you get lost show it to somebody"
There appeared to be a vending machine selling gin and tonics at the station but I couldn't find the right button. Bastards!
Some dirty motherfucker stole my Venom flag from outside my tent. There's now a big space on my wall at home. They'll get their's when the poser holocaust comes.
On the first night somebody threw up pretty close to my tent. The weird thing is it kept making noises. Maybe there was a cricket trapped under the puke or something. Anyway, it soon became known as The Talking Sick. Strangely I was the only one who could hear this. Maybe i'm just on the same wavelength as vomit, it wouldn't surprise me.
Who did we bump into but The Hove Warrior and Wayne. Unwittingly legends in both skateboarding and death metal we weren't even vaguely surprised to see them there. The Warrior was moaning that Wayne wanted to see Soulfly and that the festival wasn't brutal enough this year. I'm inclined to agree.
You know when it get's super hot and you just need to cool off? Why not shed some clothes and splash about at the festival water basins? Hell, you could even ask a passer-by to wank you off. In front of THOUSANDS of people.
Always nice to see fans of Burzum, one of the few truly misanthropic and genuinely miserable bands (not to mention Varg being a convicted murderer and extremely right wing author) DISCO DANCING in the crowd during Motorhead. Trust a British band to bring the party vibe to the Nazis. This was on the last night and even we were cutting a rug to Iron Fist and Overkill. Probably the one and only time i'll start a chant of "ENGER-LAND, ENGER-LAND, ENGER-LAND!!"Part 2 tomorrow...
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