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System Of A Down - 26th March 2002.

That's right, on the 26th March, 2002, young Foss's 19th birthday occurred. So me, Paul, and the Foss himself went up to the Brixton Academy to watch System Of A Down.
The day started normally enough, we were given a lift to Richmond by Kev in his new Clio, where we were to make our own way to Brixton. Arriving in Richmond at about 3ish, the three of us wandered aimlessly for about 15 minutes looking for a train, before deciding that our best bet was to go to a pub and have a pint, so we could discuss the plan properly. We stumbled haphazardly upon the Duke of York, a fine establishment, which was quite expensively priced...but reassuringly so. We sat in an enclave, and debated the best way of finding the way to get to our destination. It was at this point that a burly Londoner sat down next to us, and began to eat 'Pie and Mash'. Paul saw the dish and exclaimed, "that looks disgusting."

After a pig's ear (beer) , we felt a lot better and found a train to Waterloo, or so we thought. On this train, a hippy type got on, and began to sing a Beatles song, and then one he'd penned himself, called 'Take Your Time'. Despite his obvious dependence on illegal substances, he was actually quite good, and deserved the 40 pence I gave him. He soon left though, and in fact, so did we, getting off at Hammersmith. Paul and Foss were hungry, and I needed a gypsy's kiss (piss) so we went to a pub, which we soon discovered to be too up-market for us. We all used the public amenities downstairs and left. We found a Burger King and had meals. We sat next to a woman who was having problems with her mobile phone, and shouted at the helpless person on the other end for a good 15 minutes. After our burger, Paul and I played a trick on Foss on the escalators, and we set about finding our way to Waterloo, and hopefully, alcoholic beverages.

We actually ended up on the Strand, where we walked aimlessly for ages, and then decided to go to Brixton after all. We arrived in Brixton at about half five, where we went to The Goose rub a dub dub (pub). We stayed in the Goose until about seven, sat next to three Jamaican chaps, who had a massive whisky fuelled argument, and who all ended up leaving at seperate times. The only other significant event was that one of them looked like Osama Bin Laden, and spoke like George from Rainbow.
We found the Academy easily enough, and were inside in minutes, thanks to our crafty queue jumping. Once inside, we set about the important thing, where to find a tiddly wink (drink). At �1.65 for half a pint, we were limited, but Red Stripe, otherwise known as Jamaica's premier lager, hit the spot quite well.
It was now time for the main event. The first band, Dillinger Escape Plan were supposed to be quite good. Well, I'm not sure whether the real band had been tied up and replaced by the A-Team, or possibly the B-team, but quite soon into their set, it became clear that they were crap. Some people shouted at them, some threw bottles, but most just chatted amongst themselves, pausing only briefly to look in disgust at the embarrasment on stage.

After the debacle that was the Dillinger Escape Plan, we yearned for System to come on stage, as did the rest of the increasingly impatient crowd. However, our boredom was aalleviated by the presence of the most extraordinary mullet that appeared on stage. This was the daddy of haircuts, and we let him know it.
Now came System of a Down. The atmosphere was thicker than a school dinner custard, but may well have been more difficult to cut. What can I say? System were superb. They blasted through their set like a buffalo in a glass shop, and played all the favourites, Suite-Pee, Know, Sugar, Suggestions, Chop Suey, Toxicity, in fact most of both System Of A Down and Toxicity. It was fair to say that my broken watch, aching body and tired legs were a fair reflection of the intensity of the show. They talked to the crowd, always a good thing...take note Spears...and took the time to arse about for a bit, showing that they aren't as serious as some of their lyrics may suggest. The only drawback was the amount of dustbin lids (kids) in the audience, but hey, someone has to catch the flying elbows! Especially Foss's.

After the gig, we all met up outside, where I bought a poster for the princely sum of �1 from Winston from Eastenders. We also saw Dan Fulford, who had made the trip up on his own, and was staying in London that night. It was around this time that The Goose pub lost it's good reputation with us, when it denied Paul a gypsy's kiss (piss). However, we reached the Tube before most people, and got a seat....on the wrong train. We didn't want to go to Elephant and Castle. We got off and were transported quickly to Waterloo.
I will never cease to be amazed by British Rail, or whatever it's called nowadays. Not only do they charge the extortionate price of �2.15 for a single croissant, �1.10 for a bottle of water and 20p for use of a toilet, but they also see fit to charge �23.10 to get you home to Salisbury. Disgraceful I say. For that price, the train should talk and smile, be friends with a tractor and helicopter, and be run by a fat man who resembles a ball. Alas, it wasn't, and we got on the last train home.
For about half an hour, Paul, excited and drunk, began some unusual tomfoolery involving a small hole in his hoody, his nose, his eye, a train ticket, and a poster. Sounds odd...well yes, it was. He also spotted one of the Proclaimers sitting opposite us, although it may not have actually been him. After his moments of madness, he finally fell asleep, as did I. Foss, resolute, stayed awake and on guard for flashers, benders, and general evil people. Eventually, the train rolled into Salisbury station, where Alan Foss was waiting to pick us up. Exhausted, we made our way home.