Elitist Twat and The Lost Boys: AC/DC Live In Berlin 2015

A breakfast of champions was taken at 5 o'clock in the morning when we met up with Azel (Wizard/Bacon Crisp lover) and his mate Hoolie (Ballbreaker hater/non-elitist twat). As we drank our breakfast, exchanged the usual insults and sorted out the elitist twat pecking order, time was as happily ticking by as the conversation. It may have been Hoolie, though I am loathed to give him any credit, but someone must have remembered why we were in an airport at stupid o'clock in the morning and with a cry of "fucking hell it's five to six, final call and we're fifteen fucking minutes away' we sauntered gently off towards our departing plane. Needless to say we needn't have worried as RyanAir hadn't even opened the gate never mind closed it, nor had they even bothered to bring one of their own planes, Crazy Dave's Air Extravaganza it was. Not that Azel and I were bothered as we wandered off to get on a completely different plane, "What's that? I can't walk there because it's a runway?" Why don't they put zebra crossings on them...?

Hoolie enjoys Azel's legendary Angus impression ...

We landed at the flughafen about an hour and a half later and after a minor amount of aimless wandering we located the Bahnhof, bought tickets and got on the right train. Had the curse of Azel been lifted? Would everything finally go according to plan? Were there going to be easily accessible bacon crisps at two in the morning?

At the bahnhof ...

Azel and Hoolie were abandoned to their own devices at Charlottenburg. I felt sorry for Hoolie, I really did, leaving him to look after Azel on his own but I figured they were long term mates so he must have experience of the impending difficulties. Me and the boy cracked on to Spandau and our river front hotel suite. Contact was made with my favourite Russian, Rocker and after descriptions of the previous night's AC/DC related carnage, exemplified by Sharon's somewhat reserved demeanour, we were off to the stadium for some 'lunch'. Raff had picked the perfect meet up spot, beers, trees, and immediately outside the train station to the Olympic Stadium. You just couldn't miss it. I mean really, it was right in front of you.

"Jem?"

"Yes, Azel"

"I'm lost and I'm hungry"

Of course you are.

Not even the attentiveness of Hoolie could have prevented this inevitability. Safely swept up, Azel and Hoolie, joined by Raff, Stefan and Angelica, John and Scott and many more familiar faces, got down to the serious business of talking bollocks and drinking beer. Marcinha and his cousin joined us soon after and Mr Petrolhead landed among us just in time for the parade down to the stadium. It had been a beautiful sunshine filled afternoon and the evening was set fair as we approached the impressive Olympicstadion. 

A word for the King among men that is Raff, who once again helped loads of fans get into the inner circle, ensuring that they had a great time down with their friends. Thank you sir. 

Raff, Marcinha and Mr Petrolhead lead off the parade

Tickets and wristbands sorted, and more entrances tried than the last time I went out on the pull, we finally made our way inside. Scenes at the toilets made the recent issues at Calais look like one of Liz's Garden Parties, aside from those difficulties all was gut. Until we lost Azel again. And Hoolie. And Marchinha. If someone can sort me out 100 high visibility jackets to take to fucking Wembley that would be great. Never saw Azel again, just hope the old boy is alright, I did hear a tale of some red headed bear of a man stepping in and saving the day with some classic English diplomacy when things got a little tasty down the front. I even caught a glimpse of Hoolie being hoisted up on a bunch of new German friend's shoulders while he and they screamed "Azel! Azel!" Before he sank beneath the surging Teutonic wave. Marcinha? Marcinha was last seen having a very civilised cappuccino at Checkpoint Charlie thank you very much. Stay classy.

Vintage Trouble laid down the firm foundations for a night of rock and roll as you would expect and our appetites whetted, we awaited the greatest rock and roll band of all time. I don't think I have ever enjoyed a gig more. My face hurts with all of the smiling, my fingers are stiff with all of the technically demanding but also really soulful air guitar I was laying down, my cheek is sore and swollen from repeatedly banging it on the fella in front. You think he'd take the hint right? Oh and one of my toes has come off. Not totally convinced that I won't lose the entire foot.

It and they were beyond magnificent. They fucking mean it. Look in Ang's eyes. Just look in his eye's.