I had a ticket to a gig in London on Sunday evening, so it made sense to stay there during the day. The only problem was, I was flipping tired and no relaxing after-parties seemed to be on offer. Fortunately, after Ye Traditionale Post-Slimez Post-Mortem in the nearby coffee shop, I phoned Smill and she said I could crash at hers for a bit, so I did, after walking to Euston station with voluntary handcuffee #2, via Kings Cross so we could admire the Platform 9 3/4 sign and trolley embedded in the wall.

I'd said I'd meet Nick, who I met at a rock night in November, for a few drinks at 4, so I set my alarm for 3. Sadly, since I'm a muppet, I set it for 3am, and so didn't wake up until 3.30. Anyway. I didn't know how this would go, since I spoke to Nick for about five minutes at the rock night, and although we've spoken on the phone a few times since and get on well enough, it seemed a slightly odd basis for (what is just) a friendship. I make an effort to spend time with my closest friends, but no one else. But maybe I should? Because, apart from not being able to find anywhere to sit in the pub, our hours together were most pleasant.

The gig was very under-attended, though I found a couple of folk to talk to. I won't bother to try and describe the music, because the more I learn about metal, the less I feel I know about it. For example, Megadeth, Kreator and The Haunted are all described as thrash metal, yet all sound completely different to me. But it was all metal and mostly good.

I hadn't heard any of the bands before, but went because it was quite cheap and sounded like my cup of tea. The first band, Final Breath were quite generic, but very good and eminently headbangable. The second, Ancient, were also somewhat generic in a more black metal way, but were well worth watching and their singer had a fine collection of spiky accroutrements (a spiky guitar strap, New Rocks with biiiig spikes coming out of them, and a crown of spikes).

I'm really not sure about the headliners, Illdisposed, though. They weren't bad, but I couldn't get very excited, and neither could the rest of the crowd, with the exception of the one-man moshpit in on my left, who (unwittingly, I'm sure) punched me in the mouth and kicked me in the ankle. The lead singer (who did, as I'd heard, have a pretty cool growling voice) protested tiredness ("We played in Nottingham last night" Ooh, a whole two hours away? You poor things) and rambled in a way disturbingly reminiscent of Eurotrash: Danishly, bizarrely and in a way that didn't satisfy. There was no encore or call for one.

Nothing against Danes, though, as Lars let me stay at his afterwards. Hurrah!