Nero writes: New Years eve, the most over rated night out of the year. It's always cack. With so many parties fighting for your attention you can guarantee that every one will end up going to different ones. And there'll also be loads of dickheads out drinking for the first time since last year, that will try to kiss you in the immediate few hours near midnight. Fuck right off. Anyway, this new year didn't start particuarly well for a certain aging tVC-er. She facking crashed the facking car, din' she. With a car load of male 'experts' there along for the ride. Giving them an excuse to reflect on their obvious superiority in all things 'cars'. Driving ridiculously fast (so what's new there then?) for the wet and foggy conditions, she approached a round-a-bout too fast and drove smack into the sign in the middle. Whoops. Oz remained ominously silent. Now Ey giggled admiringly. Ooch didn't even notice (until 10 minutes later when he found himself changing the wheel). The vibe most definately altered. No one was hurt, but the bonnet looked somewhat crumpled. There was no one around, so hurridly we started the engine and drove off, before the police spotted us, and surveyed the damage. The bonnet was quite crumpled and the front tyre pierced. Luckily we had a spare... although unfortunately we didn't have any tools. Gap ran off to a nearby garage to buy a wheel wrench. The lads stayed by the car, guffawing. Gap returned, san wheel wrench. Shit. It was nearly 11 and we were a few miles from the club. Gap ran back to the garage and phoned a taxi. Whilst waiting for it to come, Creaky and Offwat were spotted driving towards us and Now Ey jumped out and waved them down.
Creaky had a wheel wrench. Hurrah. The taxi turned up and whisked Oz off, while we tried to change the tyre without getting oil all over our posh club clobber (jeans and trainers). The police pull up and Gap puts on her best 'dizzy little house wife out in hubbys car' act. After being reassured that we're just changing a flatty they drive off, despite the grass verge being scattered with bits of rig for the party after. Wheel on, we continue our journey, covered in mud and oil. When we arrive at the club, the boys rush in. Gap is stopped by the tossy bouncers, who, surprise, surprise, won't let her in. 'Six quid' the massively un-smiling 'female' grunts. 'I'm the DJ's girlfriend' (sad, I know). 'So, he's already had one person in'. 'So, I'm his girlfriend and I'm not paying. It's the only perk of the job.' 'You'll have to pay. One guest per DJ.' Then they took her car keys while she went in the club to hassle Oz to get her in. Still they wouldn't let her in. So Tim hassled them and they still wouldn't let her in. So Oz's guest had to be dragged out to pay. Nice start. Then they wanted to search her. For 5 minutes. Arseholes. Stress. Finally getting in we had to put up with the horrendous distortion coming from the rig. Sounding particularly bad it was quite impossible to tell what record was being played and when so I can't really comment on the sets, although the tapes sound good. You may as well have been standing next to a body builder with a steroid habit banging a biscuit tin with a wooden stick. Nice. However not being ones to let such 'minor' details spoil our fun we headed quickly towards oblivion. The night turned out to be Timo's final one at the helm(et). Due to increasingly being undermined, he decided finally to part company with the owners and conserve his energies for Wiggy. As 12 dawned we looked forward to another year of mayhem and tried to avoid being kissed by pissed up chavs, (Kevin and co). Some left early not being able to put up with the strangled sounds emerging from the rig any longer, the rest of us waited impatiently for the party after. Chunky and Chunkess waited excitedly to jet off to warmer climes and shag. The party after? Mellow. Drunken. Small. Fun. Excessive. Melissa. AJ with a bevvy of young beauties eager to mend his broken heart, stroking his hand across the speaker.... Cheers to Mungo for having us. See you next year?