Friday morning was accompanied by a desperate urge to urinate and slight hang over. I couldn’t be bothered getting all cold and actually going to the toilet, so I made good use of an empty plastic pint pot and pissed into that. After washing my armpits and cock with a series of wet wipes, I got myself dressed and sorted out, ready to face an intense day of non-stop metal.
I decided to risk confiscation and attempt to sneak my SLR through security. I’d have struggled to settle on the idea of my cloth fortress protecting it from potential villains for a full day, and there was still a slight possibility of a photo pass lurking around somewhere in the back of my mind. Security never even blinked an eye; easy. But unfortunately without the necessary credentials, my camera would have to remain hidden and unused.
First on was an unsigned band called Unknown Fear playing in the New Blood tent. I can’t remember much of this band because of furiously, unsuccessfully, ringing Adam trying to sort out my pass, but I do recall being impressed and wanting to take their picture; this further added to my frustration. In an act of pure desperation, I decided to fiendishly try one last manipulative approach before giving up on the photo dream. My last hope was to passively threaten him.
The thing is, before playing bass guitar for a living, I used to write for the BBC amongst other publications, so I decided to drop a few bombs on Adam.
“Hi Adam, sorry to keep pestering you, but I think you should know I used to work for the BBC. I’ll be sending some of these photos to Chris Long, and maybe even writing a review if he needs it covering. Could I get that pass mate?”
The key words here are review and BBC, although BBC isn’t a word it’s an acronym. Fear enters Adam’s mind. Review without photo pass = sad Stephen and bad review, review with photo pass = happy Stephen and good review. I would have given a good review whatever the situation but I really wanted that pass.
Within minutes I received a text message shortly followed by a phone call.
“Hiya mate, meet me at the side of the stage, I’ve got that pass for you.”
After a quick stop and chat, exchanging fake greetings and smiles, I achieved my third goal and blagged a pass. Like a proud hardon, out popped my camera ready for action.
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