Just back from a couple of nights in Amsterdam with Jon, one of our regular jaunts to mainland Europe in pursuit of Suicidal Tendencies. Still far too tired to write at length (or vaguely coherently) so here are the edited highlights:
- Had our photo taken with tourists something like fifteen times. We were kilted up and it seems this is something of a novelty in the ‘Dam…
- Ate an enormous pile of spare ribs at the Cafe De Klos (my favourite eatery in the world) on the first night then went back and had a 650g chunk of t-bone steak. So full of red meat, bread and potatoes I think my digestive tract wants to run away.
- Had a conversation with a Bostonian beggar who claimed to have killed a man who raped kids. He was surprisingly chirpy considering and he showed us a garden gnome-shaped buttplug in a shop window (called the Ass Midget) so we gave him cash.
- Had our Scots egos massaged by countless tales of how cool and well-behaved the Scotland fans were when they invaded Amsterdam for a footie match a couple of months previously.
- Fell in love with a girl on the tour in the Heineken brewery. She told us how they made Heineken but to be honest I can’t remember a word she said, just the sound of her voice and frankly unreasonable beauty. Blonde Heineken lady is going to live in my dreams for a long, long time.
The crowning glory though came when we hit the gig last night. The support act was a genius French duo called The Inspector Cluzo who had also supported Suicidal when we saw them in Paris last year. As soon as they hit the stage Jon and I were front and centre, rocking out like spastics in our kilts but for some reason the rest of the crowd was hanging back in the hall, standing stock still and just clapping politely after the songs. This did not go down well with the Cluzo, oh no – they tried exhorting the crowd to come forward but precious few paid any heed.
All of a sudden Malcolm the singer/guitarist stopped in the middle of their classic “Fuck The Bass Player” (Cluzo are just drums and guitar), pointed right at Jon and I and said the magic words “You two, get up on the stage right now!”. What??? Seriously??? We didn’t need a second invitation and leapt up there in record time to general bemusement from the crowd. After Malcolm confirmed that we were friends because the French and Scottish both hate the English we got down to business – singing backing vocals for them. I shit you not. Jon and I onstage with the Cluzo, kilted up and screaming “Fuck the bass player!” at the tops of our lungs. Best. Fun. Ever.
And even better, it means that technically we’ve now supported Suicidal Tendencies. Living the dream…
(By the way, Suicidal blasted through their most amazing set yet, and we’ve seen them in Blackpool, Glasgow, Brussels, Milan and Paris before now. They even pulled Facist Pig and I Shot Reagan out of the bag, sheer godlike majesty)