Return of THE FEAR!

[Paul keohane]

Back in Cork Airport after a trip and session for some gig/gigs for the weekend, you were picked up by someone special...

Ah i get ya now!

[StoutAndAle]

I note the way you specify "shown" and not the only time you've "seen"!! Obviously you understood ye had a mutual interest 😜

He's one of the soundest, most intelligent guys out there, he just doesn't have high notions of himself like others.. His performance on Blackboard Jungle is legendary, I can only imagine what the mother found when she was emptying out a young Ray D'Arcy's pockets afterwards 🙀

He was always dead on with me. Which is why the scat stories were even harder to believe.

I was in college around the same time as him. I'd been aware of his band for a while but hadn't got around to seeing them live. The opportunity finally presented itself in maybe 1999 or 2000 (bit hazy on the date of this to be honest) when the band that I was in at the time ended up on the same bill as them. It was in Nancy Spains if my memory serves me correctly. Dave and Johnny were there but, as usual, just lurking. There was another lad with them who was incredibly soft spoken.

We were on early, played our set to pretty much nobody bar the bands that were also playing.  The soft spoken lad appeared next to me as I was put putting my guitar into its case.

"I liked your stuff." says he.

"Sorry what?" says I

"I liked your stuff. Nice guitar. OK. Bye" and off he went.

QK come on later in the evening and they're pretty good. At this stage it was just Dave and Johnny in the band. And then someone in a gimp suit appeared. A full on fucking gimp suit.

Near the end of the set the lads threw a noose over the top of the rafters and were coaxing the gimp into it. All hell started to break loose. That was the end of their set and the next band were told to get the fuck up and start theirs.

The gimp leapt off the stage and landed like a cat on the floor. He started prowling around and just generally scaring people. It was very creepy.

He got to where me and the other lads were. One of us said to him;

"C'mere man, you have some set of balls on you doing that shit."

"Thanks. It's not so bad. OK. Bye."

[StoutAndAle]

.

[Snare]

 🤣😂 class, definitely put effort into doing things differently!

[Kurt Cocaine]

Lad, you're a fucking wordsmith. I'll give you that... 

[Paul keohane]

  

[Paul keohane]

I dont think QK were formed as early as 99/2000?,they did an awesome cover of CC 'hammer smashed face',its probably up on YouTube or somewhere.

[Paul keohane]

Speaking of Johonny,years ago Skippy gave me a call ,'you have to call up,johonny was in South america and brought me back something'

Hopped in the car and drove over,there was real secrecy around this 'gift' Johonny brought him back,skippy pulls a cylindrical shaped thing out of a gear bag,pulls back the plastic ,to reveal a Lamas fetus in a jar!! 

I nearly died!! I was expecting a big block of hash!

[Pentagrimes]

No way.  We're you back in the same venue?? Memorable might not exactly be the word describe that night under the circumstances but the scar remains!

I remember getting completely paranoid the following morning.  We had crashed in the venue and just drank on once we woke up and they had opened a side door into an alleyway.  In my alcohol induced paranoia I was convinced we were going to be abducted through that door and dissapeared. Dunno if I ever mentioned it or just kept it to myself but I was freaked out. It didn't help that my ankle was swollen twice it's size and I couldn't stand up 

Was it your gammy ankle or gammy knee that lead to the 30 minute attempt to get down from the top bunk at Chaos Descends?That's still one of the greatest things I've ever seen. And I was a fucking disaster area myself that weekend

[StoutAndAle]

"The following is a true story. Only the names have been changed... to protect the guilty" – Bon Scott

The weekend that I turned 21 I didn't want to have a party. At the time I wasn't seeing eye-to-eye with my father, mother or step-father so I just wanted to be left out of any plans that they might have had for me. I left home when I was 17 and I've done alright for myself ever since. Where we grew up was fairly dog rough so you had to know how to assimilate, fight or get the fuck out. I managed the latter two. I'm regarded as posh because I decided I wanted more, went to college and worked. I just wanted to hang with a few buddies and my kid brother who had just turned 18 a few months before. He's a gas man now, mainly sensible – he was a stone cold lunatic back then.

A plan was hatched - all meet at my nice new bachelor pad in the city centre, few cans, have the craic and then onto Freds. This plan was obviously made before I decided that I was a much better singer than Chris Cornell and treated the mid-week crowd in Fred Zeppelin's to a heart broken rendition of "Birth Ritual" and had to be lifted off the premises. (See a few pages back).

The lads started to arrive around 1630hrs or so and one-by-one they got to hear my tale of the wok, the skip and Spiderman. One of them, Chuckles, who had been with me on that fateful night said;

"Yeah. We wondered what happened to you after you ran away from Freds."

"Ran away?" I asked

"You took off like a fucking bat out of hell down the South Mall. You were lifting it. You have some pace for a fat cunt."

I have no recollection of this. The last thing I ever choose to do is run. Even in the gym, the treadmill is my least favourite machine. I am not a good or willing runner.

Everyone takes turns laughing at me and pulling the piss. I know when I'm beat and take a slagging. The buzzer goes, it's my buddy JB.

"Come on up" says I

"I, eh, have someone with me" says JB

"Who is....." asks I

"OPEN HER UP TO FUCK! OPEEEEEEN SESAME!" I hear a voice roar. I recognise it but I can't place it.

I open the door. Must be one of the lads having a mess.

I turn back to the bunch of boys in the gaff and I'm just about to say something when I hear this wild, shrill cackling from the stairs. At the same time at least three of us in the room say in unison "Bertie".

If you're from Cork or lived in Cork in the late 90s/early 00s and travelled in the circles that most of us here do then you'll know this lad. You'll have been at a party and got stuck with him whilst he smoked all your cigarettes. Or you'll have been in Freds, Preachers, The Quad or somewhere and had him sit down at your table, cadge drinks and stay the night. Fuck it, he was at a party in JB's gaff one evening and ended up deciding to live there for three weeks. That is a story in itself...

So I open the door to JB and Bertie who shoves his way into the flat.

He's about 10 – 15 years older than everyone else in the flat.

"Alright?" he asks, "I met your man on the road there. He said there was a bit of a party so I said I'd come along. Alright yeah? I didn't get you anything cos I didn't know it was your birthday and anyway, even if I did know, I'd have bought you nothing cos I think you're a cunt" followed by his trademark cackle and then "Only messin'. Have a sense of humour for fuck sake!" and then the cackle and then "Ritchie?! I haven't seen you in ages".

"Oh Christ" mutters Ritchie, putting his tobacco and Rizlas into his jacket.

I turn back to JB.

"Sorry man" says he, handing me a slab of cans and a birthday gift. You can tell who your mates are.

"Here!" roars Bertie "Do you have any decent scotch?"

"I do, yeah" say I "It's in the crystal decanter on the Danish sideboard"

"Where's the sideboard?"

"There's no scotch. I don't drink spirits too often. There's beer over there."

"Fuck that! Do you have a bottle of decent red wine?"

"I don't drink wi....."

"For fuck sake, this is some party lads. No booze, no wine, no women. Fuck sake. Have you a bit of smoke?"

"No. Not my thing"

"JESUS CHRIST!" says he swiping a beer. "I don't know why I bothered coming here at all."

This has all taken place in about 90 seconds from him entering the room.

"I have a bit" offers one of the lads.

Bertie snatches the baggie from him – "This is pure shit. You were robbed."

BZZZZZZZZ. Thank fuck, more people.

"Yeah?" I ask

"Waaaaaaaaassssss deh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckin' story, sham?!" I know exactly who this is. It's my kid brother.

I turn to the lads "Pods and Maxer are on the way".

"WAHEY!" The lads love my kid brother. Like I said he's a gas man and so is his best mate Maxer.

(Sidebar – Years after this story takes place, jump ahead to 2015, Maxer was up in court on a drunk and disorderly charge. The judge left him off with it. He went into The Washington Inn, a pub next to the courthouse, to celebrate. Got demented. Several hours later he got arrested and charged for being drunk & disorderly - pissing on the courthouse steps.)

Door opens to reveal the two boys in their uniform of the time – Football jersey, 501s, Air Max.

"Happenin' kiiiiiids?" roars Pods at the entire room. Big cheer.

"What's the story with the knackers?" asks Bertie

Everything stops.

"That's my brother" says I

"Eh....."

"Hey you. You call me a knacker again, you'll be losing a few of those straight Southside teeth, kid" says Pods "right, birthday boy, there you go." He hands me some beer coasters that he's carved himself. "Now, can I have a smoke in here?"

"Yup" says I

The two boys produce bars of hash that could dam a river.

"Could I, eh, you know, eh, get in, on that action there?" enquires Bertie

"Can ya have a smoke, d'ja mean?" asks Maxer

"Yes"

"You can, when we're ready"

"Can I skin one? I think that yours might be a bit on the teeny bopper side"

"No. Dis is my hash, right? If you wanta skin wan you can buy some and skin it yourself but dis is my hash." says Maxer.

"Um, no. If you're offering me a smoke. I'll wait".

The two boys go to work at the kitchen table. It's like a production line with the two of them. I start to mingle with the other lads. More people than I expected have turned up. Great! Every once in a while I hear a shrill cackle from the table behind me. After an hour or two we decide that the time has come to go to Freds. I am dreading this. I haven't been in since I acted the gowl in there. Fuck it, lets go.

Bertie is out of it. He's upright but stoned solid.

"This is all wonderful" says he.

"Right we're all going to Freds" says I.

"No, I don't think so. Let's go to Souths" he replies.

For those not from Cork – Souths is a staid hotel bar in The Imperial Hotel i.e. not the sort of gaff a load of young fellas would go to.

"Yeah. On your own there, kiiiiiiiiid!" says Podsie. "Let's go.  Freds. Come on".

Bertie floats through town out of his head and then at the corner of Freds says;"Lovely to see you all. Bye now".

The fucker has gotten high and pissed for free and had dodged off. To be honest, I didn't care – like I said, he wasn't someone I knew too well.

I hold the door of Freds open for all the lads while gearing myself up to go in. Please, Jesus, don't let Mick be on. Please don't let Mick be on. I pray.

In I go.

"Hi Mick" says I.

Fuck you, Jesus. You're no friend of mine.

"Ah... Stout. I was wondering when you'd show your face around here" says Mick, stoney faced. Glowering.

"Look. I just wanted to apologise... I was demented and that's no excuse but..."

He's staring at me. Through me. Dead eyed. Hands by his side. Fists balled. Christ. He looks like he wants to hit me. Jesus. Am I going to get decked on my birthday?

"... am I barred?"

He breaks into his trademark grin. The lads are all pissing themselves. One of them texted him to say we were on the way.

"Gotcha, yeh fucker! Barred? If that was the worst thing that happened to me all week in this place, I'd be delighted. Pint?" he asks, laughing.

"I, eh, won't, no. Maybe in a minute. Thanks." I haven't touched a drop so far, I don't feel the need to start filming Spiderman 2 just yet.

We sit down the back, there's enough of us there to take over one whole side of the rear section of the bar. Steve the DJ puts on "Birth Ritual" and starts pointing and laughing. We all laugh even though I am fighting back a reddener that could cook popcorn.

"Look at the state of this!" shouts Chuckles.

We all look towards the door. Bertie has come through it at a very jaunty 45° angle. His shirt is wide open down to the belly button and he's covered in what looks like sweat. His hair is stuck to his face.

"Not a hope!" roars Mick at the door.

"Ahhhhm huuuuuuur faaah Stout's baaaaaar-day!" slurs Bertie.

Mick looks down at us. We all shrug.

"Right" says Mick "I'll give you one drink and see where we go from there".

"D'jjjjuuu haaaaaf and deeechent Scotches?" Berite inquires.

"Teachers?"

"Daaash fine"

He comes over and joins us. He is FUCKED. "Hashes is stttrong".

I look over at Podsie and Maxer who look OK. Then again, they're made of hash.

Over the next 30 minutes Bertie dozes off, gets slapped awake by Mick, dozes off again, goes to the bar, gets refused, comes back with 4 bags of Bacon Fries, eats them all by himself. He's starting to come around. Not perfect but he's not completely out of it anymore.

"Let's go to The Brog" he says

"We're grand here" someone tells him.

"Fuck ye so!" and he's gone. Again.

My brother and his buddy are also getting up to leave.

"There's young ones over in The Catwalk. This place is full of lads. Enjoy your birthday. See you tomorrow" says Podsie. And they're gone too.

End of Part One.

[StoutAndAle]

Part Two.

A few hours later and we're heading to The Works.

The Works was an alternative rock nightclub with 3 DJs open every Thurs – Sat... the likes of which will never be seen again.

In we go. I still haven't had beer or anything. Just Tanora and 7-Ups. THE FEAR taught me a lesson the other night.

The lads are in varying stages of drunkenness. Chuckles comes over to me. I'm just standing there looking around, listening to the tunes.

"Have a pint!" he shouts, over the music

"I'm grand a while thanks" says I

"Go on. Have something!"

"I'll have a Jaegermeister"

"Right so... C'mere isn't that yer wan that you were sort of seeing? The one who dropped you during the week?"

I look over. Oh for fuc... This night is not going well. 

"Yeah, it is" I nod.

"She's with some fella there, lookit!"

Great. I look over and look back at Chuckles.

"C'mere man, leave that Jaegermeister off. I think I'll just go home"

"It's not even half eleven yet. On your birthday?! Fuck them. Fuck the lot of them"

"I'll just leave it, I think"

I turn to say goodnight to the rest of my buddies and am greeted by the sight of Bertie being carried, fucking CARRIED into the club. Two other lads that I know vaguely from drinking in Freds have an arm each and are lifting him in. I should mention at this point that The Works was up two flights of stairs. I have no idea how he got past the bouncers.

"Stout! Stout!" he starts roaring in my direction. His two aides see this as their opportunity to get rid of him and promptly prop him up at the bar next to me. He is chewing the eyebrows off of himself. I've never taken Ecstasy but I'm not naive enough to not spot someone else who's currently buzzed on it.

"I tooo-ok two-ooo yokes" gurns Bertie.

See? I was right.

"My puss-ah is in here." he continues "I scored in the Brog with this chick and this is where she said she was going to".

"Ehhhh. OK. Where is she?" I ask, trying to get rid of him.

He sweeps his arm across the entire room "Sooome-where heeeere."

"Uh-huh".

"Listen.... listen" he starts to whisper in a hushed tone "order me a drink there. I have to go to the jacks" tapping his nose. He heads off in the direction of the toilet, then stumbles back "I HAVE SOME SPEED AND A BIT OF CHARLIE!" he roars and then puts his index finger to his pursed lips in a shush motion.

I shrug it off and turn back to find that Chuckles has bought me the Jaegermeister that I told him I didn't want. I pick it up and take a sip, it's warm. I ask the guy behind the bar for a glass with ice. As I'm pouring the Jaegermeister into the fresh glass I notice someone next to me, I glance at a face that I don't recognise. It's a lad in his late 30s, possibly early 40s, in a Korn t-shirt, biker jacket and New Rock boots trying to give me an intimidating 1000 yard stare. I say trying to because I'm 6'2" and this guy is barely breaking 5'5" even in the New Rocks.

"How's it going?" I ask

"Do we have a problem here?" he spits out.

"Right..."

"I'm with her now" he says, pointing at the girl that I was sort of seeing. "You stay well away from us. You lost, buddy".

"I don't know what the fuck you think I'm going to do but yeah, fine, it wasn't serious or anything. Relax, man."

He knocks the drink out of my hand and starts poking me in the chest.

"Serious? Shit can get serious real quick!" he says to me while still poking me in the chest.

I've had enough of this now. I can feel the anger well up.

"Stop!" I utter - whilst grabbing his fingers, bending them backwards and twisting his wrist. He lets out a yelp.

I am just about to let him go, I really don't need any hassle, when all of a sudden a black army surplus paraboot sails into my field of vision and slams into this guy's jaw. THWACK! I let go of his hand and he crumbles to the floor. 

I hear someone make a loud Bruce Lee "Haaaaaaaah!" noise. It's a much more alert but extremely sweaty Bertie. He gives Korn shirt a few more kicks.

"We're even!" he says to me "Even!"

"Even?! For what?!"

"For when I knobbed that bird Nora that you were going out with a while back."

"I never went out with anyone called Nora!"

"Even! EEEEEEEEE-VEN!"

And then fucks off into the crowd on the dance floor. Yer man in the Korn shirt is still on the ground, in an awful condition I might add. Face busted open, blackish blood coming from his mouth, definite teeth loss. Security has arrived. I'm standing over this lad debating on what to do when I'm unceremoniously grabbed and hauled through the club with everybody in there staring at me wondering what I've done. The girl that I was sort of seeing is sitting your man up, bawling her eyes out calling me a fucking bastard, a psycho and all sorts of other names. They get me out of the alternative room and have me on the landing, they're still holding onto me, my arms behind my back and I'm facing down the two flights of stairs. For a minute I begin to panic that they're going to throw me down the stairwell headfirst - Cork bouncers around this time in the late '90s were fairly heavy handed - one had even killed a guy outside a club in the city.

"I didn't do anything!" I start to plead my case.

"We'll let the Guards decide. They're on the way"

"The only thing I did was stop him poking me in the chest"

"Fine way of doing it" says one of them.

Just then my friends arrive on the scene. They start in on my defence. The bouncers are having none of it. People start filtering out to have a nose. Thank Christ for busybodies! A few of them pipe up with "You have the wrong guy there" and "It definitely wasn't him". The bouncers ease up on me. One of them gets on a radio. They start getting a description of the perpetrator and looking back at me. "Black hair, thin, white shirt wide open" meanwhile I'm shaven-headed, portly and wearing a black t-shirt.

"Right" says the bouncer. "Head away home."

"Home? I haven't done anything wrong".

As if by magic - the swing doors of the club open - out comes the walking wounded along with yer one and some of their friends. The lad is in pieces. One eye is all swollen shut, nose is a mess, blood everywhere. I genuinely start to feel sorry for him. Nobody deserves that on a night out.

"Leave. Now." says the bouncer. I start to head down into the street.

A male and female guard pass me on the stairs heading towards the bouncers. Somebody behind me says that I'm a witness.

Fucking busybodies! The female guard comes back down to meet me.

"Yeah" I say "but look all I know is that the guy that got hit was trying to start an argument with me. I asked him to stop and someone else hit him."

"Someone else?" asks the female guard. I notice that she looks uncannily like Paul Baloff.

"Yes" I reply wondering if I should casually mention the Baloff thing. She might be into Exodus and thus, flattered.

"Who was this someone else?"

"I don't know"

"You don't know? Are you sure about that? We'll be checking the footage"

"I don't know him."

"What's your name?"

I swear to Christ, I'm seriously debating whether or not to tell her that my name is Gary Holt when the other guard says "It's not him". Baloff stares at me for about 10 seconds and then marches up the stairs.

I decide to call it quits and head home but first I'm going to get a kebab in The Spice Route - the metal community of Cork will know this place well, it's where a lot of us ended our night out in '90s. Chuckles catches up to me and says he wants food too. I get to the counter and give the lads behind it a wave. They're well used to me coming into the place in all sorts of conditions. I order my usual - lamb korma kebab and chips - not on the menu but the lads will do it for regulars or anyone else with money... probably. I hear a voice from behind me.

"Ah Stout, how's it going now?" It's Bertie. He's standing right next to us in the queue. His shirt is wide open, eyes manic, sweating, pint bottle of Bulmers in his hand. Hanging of his arm is a vaguely attractive A-typical "rock chick" in jeans, GN'R t-shirt (of course) and a fur type jacket thing which has a big streak of white power up it. Either she's just been swimming and talced up or she's been at the nose candy with your man.

"Eh, yeah, grand". says I

"Was there hassle in the club? The law were pulling up as we were leaving." he asks.

"Well you..."

"Sorry now, one second there. Yeah... two Ch-ch-icken-en naans-sh, two chipsh, and whatever drink. Yeah?!" he slurs slightly.

"Two shish naans, two chips and water to drink. Yes, yes my friend." says the counter guy.

"No... that's not what I said" Bertie snaps back at the lad as he rolls his eyes at me.

"OK, my friend. What did you say? You tell me, I will make it for you"

"I'm not your fucking friend right? And if you want to operate a business in this country you'd do well to learn the lingo."

Oh Christ! I need to get the fuck out of here. The counter lads shoot me a look as if to say "Do you know this idiot?"

"I have the grub here" say Chuckles copping the situation "let's go".

I try to give a sincere, apologetic "I'm not a racist and I don't know this person" type of look to the guys working in The Spice Route but afterwards Chuckles tells me that it looked more like someone trying to squeeze out a cheeky fart.

"Will we eat it on the steps?" ask Chuckles.

I have had enough fun for one night. With my luck Paul Baloff will arrive to sort this ruck out. I grab my food, say my goodbyes and head home where I eat and watch some Seinfeld til I doze off.

I am woken earlyish by my Nokia phone playing its "Raining Blood" ringtone which I programmed into it one night in the pub to the delight of everyone else around me. Only took about an hour.

"Yeah" I groan.

"Yes. Hello. Right. Is this Stout? Bertie here".

"OK, yeah?"

"Very quick question. Did I give you my wallet last night?"

"No"

There then followed some rustling and muted shouts of "He doesn't have it! Where the fuck is my wallet?". He comes back to the phone;
"Sorry now. I've just woken up here next to some TRAMP and my wallet is gone. I've called everyone I know and nobody has it. I KNOW she's taken it and ripped me off!"

"Is this the girl that was with you last night?"

"Girl... Ha! She's a fucking robbing TRAMP! I'm not allowing you to leave til I find my fucking wallet!"

I then hear another male voice on the line in the background telling Bertie to keep it down.

"Mind your own fucking business! I have been robbed" he roars "by a WHORE! YOU. ARE. NOT. LEAVING!"

More noise in the background, female shouting, a couple of who-the-fuck-do-you-think-you-ares and you-want-to-watch-your-mouths followed by Bertie coming back to the line;

"All sorted. That was my housemate. I left it on the coffee table downstairs. OK BYEEEE!"

[Carnage]

  Brilliant!

[Eoin McLove]

No way.  We're you back in the same venue?? Memorable might not exactly be the word describe that night under the circumstances but the scar remains!

I remember getting completely paranoid the following morning.  We had crashed in the venue and just drank on once we woke up and they had opened a side door into an alleyway.  In my alcohol induced paranoia I was convinced we were going to be abducted through that door and dissapeared. Dunno if I ever mentioned it or just kept it to myself but I was freaked out. It didn't help that my ankle was swollen twice it's size and I couldn't stand up 

Was it your gammy ankle or gammy knee that lead to the 30 minute attempt to get down from the top bunk at Chaos Descends?That's still one of the greatest things I've ever seen. And I was a fucking disaster area myself that weekend

That was a torn cruciate a couple of years before the ankle incident. I'm currently doing physio for my other knee which has been clicking non stop when I walk or kneel down for the past month. Middle age rules!

[Trev]

  you're a pure artist Stout!

[Caomhaoin]

Your memory is astounding lad. Class tale