Fear and Loathing in Cumbria

Here was the man again, this time without his vehicle. We were instantly on edge; we had encountered him the night before and knew of his inability to converse in even pigeon reason. Previously during a thrashing rain storm the Brat had stumbled out into the mud to enquire about the cattle swarm that had held our convoy in a kettle neck. It was a bonafide question as we had been inside the vectra for days, run low on supplies and the claustrophobia had begun to set in like cockroaches under our fettered skins. We should have realised what we were dealing with when met with utter indifference and the makings of a superiority complex.

This time Rachel-Mary felt the brunt of his frustration, a lifetime of unanswered hate mail and cry jerking compensated in him abusing his strange authority within this micro society. Firstly one of his sentries grabbed our wrists and yanked our privileges away, we were not resistant even though our six rider beers were starting to take their elusive effect. Calorgas had been left scratched and we were all dazed by the whirlwind of confrontation. The magic bracelets had allowed us into their inner sanctum but now we were denied, confined to the grass around our convoy. We waited quietly to be escorted offsite, apparently the national authorities had been called to back up their representative unit. Chinese whispers amongst the crew with the man at its helm had led them to believe we were responsible for all society’s ills and there was no consoling them.

Our speaker knew her fate, exclusivity had been violently pulled away and we had nothing left to do but wait by the roadside. We found common ground with our guard. He was detached from the plight of either party and stood silently monitoring the situation. He was a man of the world and you could see from his eyes he had experienced true war and was entirely bemused.

Walker had luckily found a couple fluent in tolerance and was carefully deliberating payment for the charade. The brat was unusually speechless. I could do nothing but send a telegram to Doigmatic and inform him of the situation and its ensuing hilarity. From the corner of my eye I saw Calor sit down and spark up, she hadn’t done that for weeks and I knew immediately that she felt responsible for the entire debacle, her gushing apology had been met with insistent apathy and she had been told her actions would amount her to nothing.

Previously that afternoon we had turned a tune together in a former nazi circus tent. The natives seemed to enjoy the spectacle which culminated in the girl somersaulting into the drums and laying in a spent heap amongst them. The drum keeper was immediately irate and I began to try and ascertain the extent of the damage. There was nothing that could be dome to tranquilize his anger; the man had become strangely attached to his hired kit. Walker returned from his deliberations and informed us that the damage had been inconsequential; a small scratch to the largest of the drums. As we were escorted off site to the living soundtrack of Noah and the Whale the venom of the man and his sidekicks bore into our backs. In the distance a few of the assembly from the earlier show attempted to gather together a revolt but their attempts were in vain as at that point we only wanted to be free from this compound and sample the delights of a fish restaurant in the nearby village of Shap.


UPDATE: APPARENTLY THIS LOL OUT IS NOW NATIONAL NEWS. NME.COM I'M NOT TOO SURE WHY ANYONE WOULD CARE BUT FOR THE BENEFIT OF NME.COM READERS WHO MAY HAVE BEEN REDIRECTED HERE. PLEASE PRESS THE BACK BUTTON AT THE TOP LEFT OF YOUR BROWSER. FOR THE BENEFIT OF ANYONE WHO THINKS WE ARE BASTARDS WHO TRASH OTHER PEOPLES GEAR. WE PAID £40 FOR APPARENT 'DAMAGE' WHICH WE ARE NOT SURE WE EVEN DID AND WERE THREATENED LIKE CRIMINALS BY THE FUCKTARDO STAFF.

no future for me etc.