Did I ever tell you about the time I was sent to a tiny little secondary stage at the O2 Islington Academy?
Did I tell you how I stood there plotting to kill our editor as I was pinned between the pre pubescent girls, horny dads and the PA system?
Did I tell you how Misterwives bounded onto the stage and skipped and clapped like they were Prozac made flesh?
Did I tell you how I left the venue weeping, not knowing whether to masturbate in the toilets, hang myself from the door or both?
Did I tell you how support act Vérité kept reverberating in my head for the rest of the night?
Did I tell you about Verité?
Photos and disgruntlement by Carl Byron Batson. Not to be reproduced without express prior permission.
Photographer, published poet, former party animal, body builder, grave robber
to the stars and renowned chainsaw juggler, Carl can often be spotted on his
Harley Davidson pretending to be in Terminator 2. He is also frequently seen in
the press pits of old London town, camera in hand, avoiding being hit by bottles
of wee and crippling his opposition with secret Kung Fu moves.