2) Swans at Town and Country Club, London 1986 or 7. Having gone on a pre-gig bender at several of north London's seemier palaces dedicated to the worship and consumption of alcoholic beverages we rolled up at the T&C to experience the most nauseating, disturbing and unpleasant set of sounds imaginable by anyone who has never been an inmate at Broadmoor. Each note, chord and passage was eloquently crafted to induce vomit and any number of equally horrendous bodily discharges.
As if this visitation of hell was not enough, on the way home after two nightbuses that took us only vaguely in the general direction of our ultimate destination, me and mate were stopped by the police to be searched for (non-existent) drugs. I co-operated quietly just wanting to get off home, (we were, after all, merely spitting distance by this stage) my mate? No, he demanded (loudly) his 'rights', officers' warrant cards and serial numbers etc and, thus, the fun really started.
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