A Very Special New Year

I think it’s fair to say the
‘Assassins’ were shitting themselves. 
I’d been under contract to the Hells Angels for the last six months and
been well taken care of, anything I’ve asked for I’ve got, and I mean anything.
In fact I’m buzzin’. I’d heard all sorts of things about their place and all
good, especially for a dedicated hedonist like me.  ‘We’ve never played anything like this
before’, Brett said sounding a bit nervous, ‘what are these guys like man?’ ‘‘They
ain’t never done me no harm,’ I said, putting on my best redneck accent,
‘they’ve been looking after me reeealll... gooood’. I don’t think this eased
his nerves so I passed him a spliff.

 
Brett’s the bass player with ‘Assassin’ a Heavy Metal band from
Birmingham; they’re over here in Copenhagen doing a tour with my band over the
festive season. Brett is so small he disappears when he straps his guitar on.
It’s so funny to see him on stage with two feet sticking out of the bottom of
his huge Fender bass and his head hidden behind a pair of huge milk bottle
bottom glasses, just like a Spike Milligan drawing. But what a great guy, in
fact all five of them are. I’ve been having a ball with them and their
hilarious accents since they’ve been over, dossing on their hotel room floor
most nights. My band is well pissed off because they’ve hardly seen me except
on stage; I could tell when we went to pick the gear up this afternoon they
were a bit frosty, never mind they’ll get over it. It’s not often I get the chance
to get wasted with a load of crazy idiots.

    
Me and Brett are sat up front of an old converted ambulance which the
band drove over in; the other guys are all in the back with the gear. After
every pothole we could hear them bouncing around dropping bottles and cursing
their hangovers. It’s not stopping me and Brett from enjoying the spliff
though. We’re on our way to their last gig; playing for the Hells Angels at
their head-quarters out in a place appropriately called Tune. We’re in the
process of trying to find it through the huge Christmas trees growing on either
side of the track. It’s hidden away somewhere in the middle of this forest a
few miles outside of the city. My band members wouldn’t do it, chicken-shits,
but as these guys were relying on us for the PA I’ve had to come along to do
the sound.  

     
Thank god for a clear sky, and an almost full moon beginning to blossom
above the treeline lighting up the way. It’s been dark since lunchtime and it’s
about seven now, you’re lucky if you get an hours daylight over here in the
winter. That’s why there are so many suicides; depression sets in you see, it’s
the busiest time of the year for the drug stalls in Christiania.

        We turned a bend in the track and Brett
slammed the brakes on. ‘What the fuck!’ he hissed through pursed lips, dropping
the spliff. Without thinking, like a superhero I dived to the floor to find it.
The sound of bottles dropping and loud cursing came from out the back of the
van. ‘What the fuck you doing up there?’ someone kindly asked. ‘Brett dropped a
bleedin’ spliff,’ I replied, equally as pleasant. ‘Oh, OK’, came back a very
understanding Brummies’ voice.

         ‘Have a look at this Fitch...’
whispered Brett. Having retrieved the joint I slowly raised my head above the
dashboard. There in front of me was ‘Fort Apache’’. We were in the middle of a
John Ford movie. ‘Jeez...keep an eye out for Indians mate, John Wayne’s on his
way with the 5th Cavalry.’ I whispered back. This was surreal, either that or
it was the best hash I’d ever had. A full scale old western fort stood
silhouetted against the moonlight, I could even make out a couple of guards
with rifles patrolling the parapet above the huge double doored entrance.

    
Brett slowly inched the van forward towards the doors; I wound my window
down and stuck my head out. A faceless voice shouted down from the parapet,
‘Who are you?’ ‘Chris Friis sent us we’re the band.’ I shouted back. There was
a time lapse that seemed to go on forever then the same voice shouted, ‘Wait
there.’’ So we did.  A nervous hush fell
within the van, and if anyone spoke it was barely in a whisper. 

     
After about ten minutes we could hear movement and the sound of heavy
bolts being pulled back. We’d changed movies now we were in a Hammer Horror,
wondering if Igor was on duty. One side of the door opened slightly and a
colossal hairy leather and denim clad figure stepped out, looked the van up and
down then strode towards my open window. He was carrying a shotgun. Just at
that very moment someone in the back chose to let go of an excruciatingly loud
fart. This was followed by muffled schoolboy giggling.

     
‘I am happy that you leave that outside’ said the colossal hairy Hells
Angel in broken English. I tried to keep a straight face but failed when Brett
burst out into hysterical laughter. I’m sure the colossal hairy almost smiled.
‘You cannot unload at moment we are having meeting. Bring the truck and follow
me.’ He turned back towards the doors; another guy stepped out pushing them wide
open, I noticed he wore a pistol on his belt. Brett, having calmed down a bit,
drove as instructed and we passed through into a large square with brightly lit
wooden buildings all-round the compound. There were lines upon lines of amazing
motorbikes parked up, I could make out they were mostly Harley's’; they looked
so beautiful gleaming in the moonlight. We could hear raised voices coming from
what seemed to be a long hall on the far side from us. The colossal hairy signalled
to stop by the door of a two storied building, Brett and I got out and went
round to open up the back, the lads spilled out as did the stink. ‘Which one of
you dirty fuckers did that?’ I said pretending to rub my burning eyes. ‘‘I
did,’ said the drummer, ‘and proud of it too.’

    
  We were led up a steep staircase
to a room on the first floor. There was the audible sound of deep breaths being
taken as we entered. There were three enormous fish tanks running along the
whole length of three of the walls. They were full of massive piranhas’!
‘Wow,’’ we all said in unison, ‘what the fuck!’ Colossal hairy spoke, ‘Wait
here, I will be back.’’ He really said that, honest. We settled onto two large
brown leather sofas in front of a roaring wood burner, with the light from the
fish tanks it looked pretty cosy. Within two minutes he arrived back carrying
two crates of Tuborg Gold plonking them down on the floor between us. ‘Have
that for now, they are finishing to make the stage.’’ he said and left.

     
I flipped the top off a beer with my lighter and lit a fag, the others
did the same. ‘This is OK ain’t it?’ I said, laying back into the big comfy
leather sofa. ‘‘You seen the size of them fuckin’ fish man, wonder what they
feed ‘em on?’ said Brett, fascinated. ‘‘You’re about the right size for ‘em
Brett,’ said Nick one of the guitarists, ‘‘better watch out.’ ‘Piss off!’ he
replied. A small black cat jumped up on to my lap and made itself at home, this
indicating an unexpected gentler side to the Hell’s Angels I thought, unless it
was actual fish food. I noticed there were a few running around. I shivered.

    
Over an hour later I grabbed the last bottle from the second crate,
‘Hope he brings some more’ I said, ‘I’ve got hell of a thirst coming on.’ By
now it was turned half past eight and I was beginning to wonder what was going
on, after all we had to unload the van and get the gear set up and sound
checked. We heard footsteps coming up the stairs and two different colossal
hairies came in. ‘We’ve come to help unload the truck guys, follow us.’ They
spoke with Geordie accents...marvellous it gets better and better.

    
We were taken across the square to the building where we heard the
raised voices earlier. Brett brought the van over only just missing a line of
bikes, images of them dropping like dominoes entered my head. He shouldn’t be
allowed to drive with those eyes, jeez! We entered by a large door into what
was a big dormitory full of wooden bunk beds and passed through this into an
enormous hall. Along the opposite wall there was a long fully stocked bar with
Hells Angels sitting on stools the full length of it, others were sat a tables
or stood in groups. To our left a couple of them were finishing off hammering
the last nails in the stage.

    
Before we knew it the Geordie guys had started bringing in the gear from
the van, all I had to do was tell them where to put it. I found a table and
placed it a good distance from the stage and started setting up the mixing
desk. A Hells Angel, the smallest one I’d seen, came up to me and introduced
himself, ‘Hi I’m Stefan, I’m in charge if there’s anything that you need just
give me a shout.’ ‘Hi I’m Fitch, we could do with a couple of extension leads
if you’ve got ‘em,’ I said, ‘and where can we plug in?’ He showed me the
electric points then disappeared for a minute and came back with the leads.
‘‘Thanks a lot,’ I told him. ‘I could do with something to keep me awake’, I
cheekily asked. ‘‘Come with me,’ he said.

     
We walked over to the bar and he said a few words to a guy sat on a
stool who promptly took a tissue from a holder on the bar then tore one corner
off and placed it flat in front of him. He then reached into an inside pocket
and pulled out a plastic bag absolutely brim full of pink speed, there must
have been ounces in it. Using a small spoon he proceeded to heap spoonfuls of
the pink powder into the centre of the piece of tissue. When there was what
looked like two or three grams of the stuff there he looked up at me as if to
say, ‘is that enough?’, I nodded and he folded the corners in twisting them
together and made a little dolly bag out of it and handed it to me. Wow I
thought, ‘that’ll do us all’.

     
I was just about to turn and walk away when he touched my arm and
gestured for me to swallow it...whole. He looked at me and smiled, I thought
what the hell and popped it into my mouth and swallowed, he looked at the
barman and nodded the barman brought me a beer. I took a slug and washed it
down thinking ‘shit I’ll be up for a fuckin’ week with all that!’  ‘Everything OK now Fitch?’ It was Stefan. I
said, ‘Magic man, thank you again.’ He smiled and said, ‘If you and the band
need more beer I’ve put a few crates by the stage help yourselves.’ I thanked
him for the third time and went back to my desk.

     
Not long after Brett came over. ‘What was all that about?’ he asked. So
I told him what had just happened. ‘Can you sort me out?’’ ‘Go over there and
ask him ya’ self,’ I told him, ‘don’t be scared it’s cool.’ So he trundled over
on his little legs, after five minutes he came back with a big beam on his
face. ‘‘Don’t tell the guys,’ he said, ‘they’ll go mad. They don’t like me
doin’ it when we’re playin’.’’ I nodded and shouted towards the stage, ‘You lot
ready to sound check yet?’ ‘Give us a few more minutes,’’ Brett said, almost
skipping back towards the stage.

    
Nick shouted from the stage a few minutes later, ‘Ready to go Fitch.’
This was the first time I’d done all of this on my own we usually had our own
sound guy, but I’’d been involved with it so many times I was confident enough,
especially now my head was beginning to take off. Whoosh...there it goes! It
seemed to all go smoothly; all they really wanted was to be as loud as possible
so I just turned everything up to ‘eleven’. That’ll should the roof off!

     
‘Sounds good,’ it was Stefan, ‘can you go on about twelve thirty, after
the food and the fireworks?’ ‘Sure, whenever you want. How long do you want
them to play?’ I asked him. ‘Up to you, a couple of hours OK?’ ‘No worries,’ I
told him, ‘I know the bass player and me could play all night.’ He laughed and
walked off. I’m beginning to like these guys, there must be a few hundred of
them here now from all around the world. I’ve seen colours here from as far
away as Brazil but by far the rowdiest are the British groups, bloody typical,
the others seem to be staying away from them. The same as I’ve always done on
my travels.

    
I couldn’t help but notice that the number of scantily clad women had
increased in the room. The traffic between bar and dormitory had begun to flow
freely, I wondered if that was on the house too. These guys certainly know how
to throw a party! I checked my watch only ten minutes to go. The crowd were
starting to head outside through a double door at the back. I looked for Brett
and spied him at the bar talking to death one of the Geordies, I couldn’t see
the other four guys. I caught Brett’s eye pointed to the door and started out
that way.

    
Outside opened up into a lawned open space surrounded by forest. In the
middle revolving over a fiery pit skewered on the biggest spit ever was a full
sized steer! ‘I wish I was hungry.’ Brett said next to me. ‘A bit over facing
though, don’t ya think? I couldn’t eat a full one.’ I replied. I noticed that
his eyeballs were hanging out on stalks; he’’d have a job hiding those from the
band. Speed takes away your appetite so there was no chance we would be having
any, though I found out where the others were, in the queue plates in hand.

    
At midnight a humongously loud bang went off somewhere nearby and
everybody cheered and hugged each other, me and Brett included. Neither of us
was ready for what happened next. Explosions and bright colours were flying
upwards from every direction; did we jump, we were at the centre of the best
firework show you could ever imagine and my brain was doing exactly the same
inside my head. I never believed I would ever hear hundreds of hard as nails
Hells Angels in a field going ‘‘ooh...haa’ like big kids. The scantily clad
ladies came hurrying out wrapped in blankets and began jumping up and down
shrieking right in front of us, bare breasts bouncing before our very large
eyes. ‘Think we’’ll remember this New Year for a while,’ I whispered in Brett’s
ear. He looked up at me and his eyes, enlarged by the milk bottle bottoms,
matched the moon for brilliance. We both fell into uncontrollable
hysterics...that lasted for the next two days!