We were also supposed to meet Amy so that Man Meth' could pass her camera to her. We sat down at 1001 and talked about movies and travels. It was around the time when we were talking about 'Lost In Translation' when Man Method said,
"Can't you relate to 'Lost In Translation' more now that you've been spending some alone time in London? There's nothing wrong with the country your in, but all your wandering and wondering is a direct result of you being alone in the city. That's why I now make it a point to only travel to countries where I've got a friend."
This isn't the exact quote, but you get the idea. The reason why I bring this up will be explained later.
Amy arrived and I hung about in Shoreditch with them till about 1ish to catch my 2.25pm train to Derby for the Download Festival in Donnington, a moment I had been waiting for for quite awhile. At last I'd be able to check out one of the heaviest bands in the world, Black Sabbath, live before my very eyes, together with the GnR/STP amalgam that is Velvet Revolver, the 'love-metal' of HIM, the bone-crunching riffing of Anthrax and the hillarious silliness of Bowling For Soup.
That's not all. There was also the Snicker's Bowl, where some of the greatest legends in skating would be ripping it up: Tony Alva, Steve Cabalero and the 'Holmes' himself, Christian Hosoi. There was also the Napster stage, markets, merch and booze. This was to be a truly rocking weekend.
My only worry was my inability to get any form of accomodation. All the B&B's and hotels were fully booked. Worst case scenario I'll just sleep at the train station, I thought.
Two hours on a train and twenty minutes on a bus, and I was there:
I was alone. And I'd rather spend my time with one friend doing nothing as opposed to standing in a field freezing my bollocks off surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people I didn't know.
The thought depressed the shit out of me. Sure, there was Anthrax, HIM, Velvet Revolver, fucking BLACK SABBATH, but the experience was nowhere near as good as it could have been had I been accompanied by just one like-minded fellow.
Did I really want to spend my last night in England feeling depressed at one of the biggest rock festivals I'd ever be privy to? did I really want to sleep in a train station? There was nothing wrong with the place, everything was fine. It's just not as enjoyable when you're alone.
And that pretty much sums up my entire holiday in a nutshell: the time's I spent with my friends were the best moments of the holiday, and they only accounted for 4 or 5 days of the entire 10, and for the rest of the trip I felt alone and depressed. It made me realize that (for me at least) it's not the geographical location that makes a place truly great, it's the company you keep. And at that moment I missed my job, my hectic-fucking-schedule, my crazy bands and my wonderful girlfriend. I missed my car, teh ais and food that gave me the shits something chronic. I-Missed-Malaysia. And that's a pretty weird statement, coming from me.
I rushed out of Donington, got on the first train back to London, called up Man Meth' and explained the situation. I then had a lot more fun than I could have ever possibly had at the gig. Man Method greeted me with a smile that said two things:
1. Great to see ya.
2. Told you so, Dumbfuck McGee!
We then made our way out into the night accompanied by Shy and his friend (whose name I think was Amika, or something along those lines), and what did we find?
Huge re-prints of key panels from the three Sin City stories that have been adapted for the movie adorned the walls together with papier mache models of key characters. I think the place was called 'Jaguar Handbag' or something (Man Meth'll probably correct that) and even though they were playing the theme tune to 'Bonanza' and other 'great' hits that weren't so great, I was having a blast, chilling with my friends and laughing the night away.
After that we hit up some other place (which I can't remember), danced like loons and got schooled big time by some afro dude in a suit who proceeded to bust a move like something out of 'You Got Served'. In fact, we did get served, Voltron-style.
Some bagels, some sleep and some coffee later, I was packing up my bags, boarding a plane, flicking in-flight movie channels between 'Constantine', 'Robots' and 'Gangster', going through immigration, and coming out of the KLIA, a smile slowly creeping as I took it all in. I was back in Malaysia. I was home. And I was glad.
The trip had it's downsides, but it also had some great moments, and more than anything it was a valuable lesson. I finally felt a sense of closure over the whole London/KL thing. There isn't a doubt in my mind now. Sure, I love London, I love the atmosphere, I love the people and the places and the beans and chips and the friends I have there, but I've made my home in KL now, and I'm all the better for it. London is the past and it's never going to be the same as way back when. This is Khai 2.0, new and improved, with a new location, mission and waistline. So bye-bye, London. So long, and thanks for all the fish.
And chips.
...
...that was bad.
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