Saturday, 15 January 2011

1000 Angels.

Bethnal Green tube station saw me tottering through it in a pair of high heeled boots, guitar on my back, last April. The high heels were a new thing due to the horrid break-up I was engaged in at the time. I wanted to look like an attractive woman (n.b all women will understand this - heartache makes you do some stupid things).

Walking a long way with a heavy guitar is not something you want to do in high heels. I didn't realise that Bethnal Green station was so far away from the rehearsal room I was headed to - it looked so close on the map. That there London is not as simple as it looks. 

As I clipped and clopped down the street, I noticed a few bikers were about - seated low to the ground on their squat bikes. Lots of hair. Lots of leather. 

As I grew closer to my destination, more hair, more leather, more bikes. I thought 'oo is it a Hell's Angels outing today?'. Closer and closer to the rehearsal room I became, and thicker and thicker the sea of bikers became, until I was swamped by them.

My feet were killing me. There were Hell's Angels as far as the eye could see. Not only Hell's Angels, but Lithuanian ones, according to their jackets, Spanish Diablos, French Malevolents and all kinds of foreign evil lovers were gathered en masse in this part of London town on the same day I was hobbling down with blisters and the beginnings of muscle spasms in my calves. 

It began to get stupid. I could barely pick a path through the leather-clad people. Women too, with piercings and fishnet things adorning their bodies. Bikes were crammed up close to each other and large men with serious frowns all stood around. I nearly knocked one of their bikes over with my guitar as I weaved my way through the incredibly strange scene. 

The rehearsal room was in sight, and so was a funeral car, parked right outside the door I was trying to reach. 

As I apologetically squeezed past, I thought I best ask what the 'devil is going on?' (although I didn't phrase it quite like that for fear of getting punched). Turns out that a big shot Angel had reached his final stop in life and this was his big send off. Pretty much all of Europe's demon lovers, and also, inadvertently, me, had gathered in that small part of London to see the leader of the Angels off to his relevant afterlife. 

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