I do consider myself to be very cool, this it because a) I am cool and because b) I mainly hang out with Historians.
Doctor Who is my favourite TV programme - I know that thats very cool. Matt Smith the current Doctor is a beautiful man (I am still waiting for someone to buy me a Matt Smith as the Doctor cardboard cut out for my bedroom as I know buying one for myself is not cool). I like historical novels - they are also very cool (well amongst certain historians, mainly me and Hutch, my bestest historian friend). I specialise in the history of Sex, Prostitutes, Actresses and forward thinking women - that is also very cool. I went to a Catholic all girls school, that wasn't very cool. We have already established my music taste is very cool.
Any what is the point of all this (you knew I was cool anyway).
This is my second, and previously promised blog about the Ram Raid. When I left it last time I had just discovered the band and I had gone into work to tell everyone how great they were. And I had been laughed at for professing my love for them (I have also professed my life long love for, amongst other things, Matt Smith in his Doctor Who bow tie and sexy boots, gin and wine gums).
So fast forward two week to the next time I could get down to watch them. My active encouragement meant that this time I was not alone in watching them and many of the team came too (I was slightly on edge all season in case one of my staff said anything inappropriate to them, and they managed to make it all the way to the last time we saw them play before Chef decided he would impart certain information, I still need to hit him over the head for that).
Anyway they played, they were great. As they finished and everyone left I found myself sorting out an unpaid bill of my staffs'. I stomped round the almost empty bar talking about 'how my job would be amazing if I didn't have any guests or any staff'. I looked round and saw the band sat their having their dinner, the lead singer was licking his plate, this made him slightly less attractive in my mind, but I have tried to block that image out.
Anyway I was just getting ready to leave and brave going out into the cold to wait for the bus when I turned round and all three of them were standing around me. This came as a bit of a shock. The lead singer is in the habit of standing really close to your face when he is talking to you, I don't mind this at all but to to turn round and have him suddenly about an inch away from my face almost made me jump out of my skin.
They asked me a really odd question about how to get to Courchevel. To which I had absolutely no idea. They then all introduced themselves and I got a kiss on both cheeks from the lead singer, in a state of shock I said 'Oh two kisses, well we are in France' (there, see how cool I am). They told me of other gigs they did in Meribel and I walked home still in a state of shock.
Come the following Monday I physically dragged my housemates, the Rep and the childcare manager to a little French bar in town to see them play again. The childcare manager was a little shocked at the inflated prices and tried to leave several times. I practically had to sit on him to make him stay. After the first half they told me they were getting the last bus home because they were very tired. If they thought I believed them they were wrong, I knew they were getting the last bus home because they wanted to have sex. I had no desire to leave and spend the evening blocking out sex noises but I also didn't want to sit on my own in a bar. So I went to sit with the manager of the Meribar and his wife. I felt rather awkward. I had another glass of wine. I then decided it would be ok to sit on my own. During the time I had sat with the manager and his wife, the bassist had come over to talk to him and I had mentioned how my friends had left me and it was my day off the next day.
When they had finished, I got up to leave, getting on the thousand layers needed to walk up a mountain in January at 1 in the morning. As I was about to exit the bassist and the lead singer approached me, asked me how I was and then asked me if I wanted to hang out with them. Yes I did.
We went first to Dicks, when I walked into Dicks with the Ram Raid, chef and his mrs my HA, H1 and the rest of the kitchen team were stood their. Their mouths fell open with disbelief. We weren't in their long, my staff were even more surprised when I quickly left with the band. That is how the rumours started.
We went to a little French nightclub populated solely with rich Russians. The owner of the club handed over a bloody expensive bottle of Whisky. I hate whisky. I drank it. It was disgusting. I got very drunk.
When I got home I wrote a little post it note for my housemates, it read something like 'went out with ram raid, drank whisky, I have a great life'.
A matter of hours later I had to get up, I had to get on three coaches to visit my mum and my brother in Val D'isere. About halfway down the mountain on the coach I began to sober up. Not long after this I realised the constant turning of the coach down very narrow mountain roads was making me feel rather unwell.
When I finally reached Val D'Isere, I got off the coach at the coach station, and what should be the first thing I should see but a Ram Raid poster (I had a very similar one up in my living room after stealing it from the Meribar). My mother, who I hadn't seen for several months, came up and hugged me. I said 'oh mum look, that is the band I spent last night with (if we are being honest that was not the best choice of words), she looked at me a bit strangely and said 'they are not drug dealers are they?'
'No mum'
'How do you know?'
'Well I don't think they are, they don't look like drug dealers'
'And what do drug dealers look like'
'Mum I don't hang out with drug dealers'
'That's good - well I'm pleased your making friends'.
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