Oh my God! STOKO's birthday, Christmas and New Year have arrived at once. He's on a 'plane to America, he's getting free drink and he's going to see FAITH NO MORE! Ain't this what living is really all about! "No," says a road-weary photographer named DENIS O'REGAN!
DIARY OF A LIGGER
SUNDAY
Work? Sod that I'm off on holiday. Never been to America... now then, what's Denis' phone number...
And so the valiant explorers staggered onto the plane. Thank God I am merely a medium-sized fat c**t as opposed to a full-blown mammoth and thus can nearly fit into the seats. Free drinks. Exceptionally bad move. Hooting drunk. Sleep desirable but impossible due to blubberous whale next to me behaving like someone with Parkinson's disease on ecstasy. Issued the traditional curly mating call of 'keep still or I'll fucking kill you'. Arrived at Baltimore. Forsook trivialities like sleeping or unpacking. Found nearest bar. Crawled back, shat in the bidet and slept in the bath.
MONDAY
Hangover + clean bed = confusion. What the fuck am I doing here? Oh aye, chattage
with Faith No More about anything trivial, or failing that their latest yummy-as-pancake album ‘Angel Dust'. Now they're in this hotel somewhere but where are the bastards?
Track the elusive blighters down eight hours later, “An interview? Shit we didn't know about this..." Thank God we bumped into bassist Bill Gould, the man whose aerodynamic physique inspired the legend 'You Fat Bastard' way before the Unbelievably Shite Machine joined the EEC. Minutes later we're backstage wiv da boys on their world tour destined to finish next March. A somewhat daunting task?
"I love it." Jim Martin loves it. "On tour I can pursue my main interests in life."
Which are?
"Beer, playing pool and beautiful women."
All at the same time?
"Preferable, but impractical. I love getting o and doing this, going all over the world drinking beer, playing pool and looking at beautiful women.
So what does that leave for when you get home. Tea, telly and toast?
"Fuck no. I love camping. Getting away from horrible civilisation and disappearing somewhere where there's nothing except beer, a pool table..."
And beautiful women perhaps?
"Hopefully."
Tonight, 'our sons' (as their mums call them) play a blinder. Ripstonkingly fresh and virtually cliché free. And it's the newer material which grabs you with a loving grasp of the nude bits more than the old, an odd and unusual observation because, being 13 feet tall and 147 stone, I am one of the world's biggest Faith No More fans and to see one of your favourite bands actually getting better is depressingly uncommon.
Problemo numero uno (for our foreign readers).
