Part two!

[mad_andy]

Day 2

I think the fact that I went to breakfast barefoot drew more stares than the tattoos. There was a boat show on in the city, which is why (the little man told me last night) all the good rooms were taken; I could give a shit, because, hey, breakfast! I love German breakfasts. Screw all that healthy shit, plates of sliced cold sausage and bread and cheese, mmmyes. No tea, and guess who forgot to bring teabags? Argh. Well, I found some Ceylon tea and drank the bugger black, better than nothing.

Fortified, I nipped out to find a hairbrush. Where the hell do you find a hairbrush? I asked at the nearest chemist - bright and shiny and modern and clean, right in the middle of the sleazy area I temporarily called home, weird - and flung myself at the feet of the lady chemist.

Help, I said. I am all alone a long way from home and I have forgotten my hairbrush. I am an idiot.

She and her colleague, to whom I am ever indebted, searched the shop for me. Into drawers, on top of cupboards. I stood in the shop, and felt smaller than ever.

Eventually a cry of triumph from behind the scenes; a weird little folding effort, with a mirror in one side and foldy bristles. That’ll do me, what do I owe you?

A gift, she said.

Looking at it later it looks like the sort of freebie you get if you make a big order of a certain drug from a certain company, that sort of thing. Promotional stuff. Did I care? Hell no. I was effusive in my thanks, and scuttled off back to the hotel in triumph. The area is much less sleazy in daylight, I discovered. Lots of Indian shops, gorgeous fabric, jewellry, bongs (?), and rice by the ton. I suspect that you can get a very good curry in Hamburg, but I digress.

Back at the hotel, into the dark little room that gives internet access - no wireless, but at least I could get connected. Brief wail at my friends online, then back up to the room to dry off and decide what to wear later; it was pissing with rain, and I joked with the guy at reception that I’d brought the weather with me. No wonder Weiki moved to Tenerife. I would too.

Crashed for a few hours. Stress is hell on the system. Got up a few hours later, wore everything I’d brought in various combinations before deciding on the simplest, getting my shit together, one last pep talk in the mirror at myself and off.

Sod public transport, I got the receptionist to order me a taxi. I’d written down the address, as I’d noticed that very few taxi drivers speak English wherever you are. Including England, these days. Anyway, I showed the nice man my piece of paper (I was right, not a word of English) and he nodded. Off we went, past the notorious Reeperbahn (more on that later) and sure enough, the Fischmarkt. Fab. The venue. Fab x2. Nobody there, not even hanging around, and an hour before it was due to start. Fuck.

The thought flitted across my mind that if I had the wrong date I was going to chuck myself in the Elbe, but I paid the driver and went off to find something to eat. Passing the Ballroom I checked the posters; right date, nobody there. Sod it, there’s an Irish pub, they’re the same everywhere. Bound to be someone in there that speaks English.

Oh dear, wrong! Still, we managed; it’s amazing what a lot of arm waving, pointing and wiggling eyebrows can get across when it has to. Anyhow, what they called a ‘farmers breakfast’ turned out to be an omelet, and a very nice one too. Sliced potato, ham, cheese, you know the sort of thing. Excellent. And possibly the biggest pickle I’ve ever seen, which I avoided.

Also in the pub - apart from all the good sober German citizens staring at me as though I had two heads - were two drunk guys eating their dinner. One of them stared at me. A lot. And just as I was about to ask him what he was staring at, he launched into an impassioned stream of his native language, which was not mine.

Er, wot?

He set off again, and smiled.

Um. English? I don’t speak German. Sorry love.

His friend, now giggling like a stoner, did have some of my language and told me that his friend was asking what a lady as sweet as me (I swear, that’s what he said) was doing allll alone in a bar. I said, er. Seeing a band.

But why are you alone?

Several answers suggested themselves to me at this point. (a) because my girlfriend is in jail for killing a client, (b) because I just dumped my husband’s body in the river, (c) mind your own fucking business.

I went for (d), which was that I was meeting friends.

That shut them up for a bit, but not for long. Gotta love drunk and horny guys, they’re the same the world over. A storm of German directed at the bar staff, with them glancing between me and drunk guy with a lot of giggling. The pretty one (dark eyed, curly haired, buxom and - yeah man, hell of a barmaid) asked me what I wanted to drink, and I found a pint of coke delivered to my table. First time that’s ever happened, and I was at least gracious enough enough to say thank you.

Why so may tattoos?

Because I like them.

That sort of finished that conversation right there. They left shortly after that, with the drunk one stumbling over to ask me for my telephone number.

“Honey, I don’t speak German and you don’t speak English - doomed to failure, don’t you think?”

The barstaff fell over themselves, and his mate grabbed his arm and towed him out. So at least the whole thing ended on a light note, and I didn’t get followed or anything unfortunate like that.

So thinking I set off for the Ballroom again and found that the doors were open and there were people inside, hallelujah!

...none of whom apparently wanted to talk to me.

Balls.

So I hung around, told myself everyone was nervous and that’s why they were all huddling with their friends and not saying anything. Women edged closer to their men when I walked past, and all but growled at me. Gerroff, he’s mine.

I don’t fucking want yours, OK?

So I propped up the bar, and tried to think happy thoughts. Next to me was a similarly lonely chap, and when we both started singing along with ‘Blood religion’ we laughed and made eye contact. He offered me a cigarette, told me my trousers were undone, and the ice was broken. Hello Stefan from Dusseldorf, I’m up here, OK? You’d think he’d never seen cleavage before.

Then an enormously attractive chap bounded over and introduced himself as Oli. It was one Oliver Theiss, who runs the fanclub, and I was so pleased to see him I could have hugged him - but I stuck to just shaking his hand, as his girlfriend was one of the growlers. I gave him my tale of woe, and to hear him laughing over it made me feel somewhat better about the whole thing; if I can get a laugh out of a horror story I know I’m at least partway toward getting over the experience. It’s all in the way I tell ‘em.

So off he went, and I was surprised at how few people were there; no more than thirty, so even as small as the Ballroom is it wasn’t at all crowded. Cool place, by the way; they have a replica stargate - yes, THAT stargate - around the entrance, and it’s pretty good. Surreal but rather fun.

Basti was there. Ha ha ha.

Oli gave a little speech welcoming us all, told us that the band were late and that Dan wouldn’t be coming. He has apparently had kidney stones, and couldn’t travel until his final scan which is apparently on Monday. So no Daniel, which was rather a shame; I was looking forward to teasing him about his song on the new album. Still, Dirk, Kai, and Henjo were going to be there so that was all good.

We all watched the new video, which was pretty intense on a big screen with full surround sound, and I’d just slunk back to my corner of the bar with Stefan (nobody else talking to me still) when the first of the band showed up.

Dirk.

As gorgeous in the flesh as I’d hoped... as was his girlfriend, and his very pretty little boy who must be about two. His older son was with him now, and despite the sullen-teenager look doesn’t half look like his dad. I hung back, tried not to gawk, and had a rather stern word with myself. Star struck, ffs. I wasn’t this bad when I met Bruce, and he really is someone.

Still getting over the whole OMG-I’m-breathing-the-same-air-as-Dirk the commotion at the front door told me that Kai had arrived, complete with girlfriend (who is actually the girl in the new video) and two small children. Later his ex wife Gabi showed up and they were all very friendly. Weird.

However.

There was food laid out on the bar, and although I didn’t eat anything Dirk did - having to frequently brush past me to get to it. And what struck me was how small he is - I know he’s not a tall guy but he’s tiny, sharp featured and delicate, slim of hip and longer of leg than I’d anticipated. I squashed the urge to stroke his hair, and ended up joking with him about being able to get tea at the bar, as he was drinking coffee and I hadn’t had a cup of tea for two days. He made another pass at the food, and joked with me that he was going to get fat at this rate.

All nice and friendly, easy, no problems. Good-o. Stefan began to tease me, because I’d muttered to him that I was rather nervous of meeting the band, and he didn’t believe that I was shy.

Bumped into Kai and asked him why he was wearing the wooly hat. Damn thing. He said it was to keep his head warm and he might take it off later. Liar liar! But I had to ask. Showed him my Gamma Ray tattoos and he was impressed; got talking about ink, and he said he might get another one sometime, after he’d had his current one recoloured because it’s faded a bit. (Well keep it out the sun you burk). I offered to do it for him and he raised those thin eyebrows in surprise. You’re a tattooist?

A tattoo artist, yes.

With the Boots of Doom on I can look him dead in the eye, so that sorts the height thing. He’s 5’5” wearing trainers, and that’s final.

So he asked if I worked in a studio in London and I said no, but I could always bring the kit to a gig. He hmmed, then got distracted and dragged off by his kids. (Who call him ‘papa’, and it’s absolutely adorable to see him with them!)

Score another one to me.

Still nobody else talking to me, so I continued to lurk. Henjo showed up, and earned my undying adoration by making his way across to me to welcome me, as he saw that I was hanging back. God love the man! He said something and I blinked up at him (crap, he really is tall); told him I was English and he laughed, asked where I was from. I said my accent must be scaring people because nobody was talking to me except Stefan and him - he said well, you speak such proper English it’s scary!

He’s much much taller than I expected, very friendly, loves to flirt, is so definitely a boob man it makes me laugh, and his English is excellent. He is shy, though; he’ll look right at you until he gets flirty, then he looks away! He was the first one I got brave enough to ask for a picture with; the reason I’m looking so delighted in the picture is that you can’t see where his hand is, or feel just how close to me he was snuggled!

I asked him about tattoos, and he said no, they weren’t really his thing; he said he doesn’t wear rings or anything, so he’s not really into body adornment. I said I would do him one, and he just cocked an eyebrow at me and laughed. I do just want to add at this point that there were a lot of fanboys panting for his attention, and I well squashed up against him at the bar; so of course, this was when I asked him if he would take his shirt off at gigs! He laughed out loud at that one, and said na, nobody wanted to see his body. I beg to differ, I told him with a smirk, and pointed out that I knew a fair number of women who would love to see him play shirtless.

“Maybe I’ll just take it all off,” he said. “Or just with one sock, like the Chili Peppers!”

That’s what the guitar is for.

“Yes, but I have mine a bit too high for that,” he said. “Anyway, I’d have to go to the gym a lot. Lift weights and stuff.”

God love the man. He’d also said, when I asked about tattoos, that yes he had one but couldn’t show me where; when I made disappointed noises he said that it grew when he showed it off and dissolved into a snickering fit. I rolled my eyes and snorted at him - ye gods, he’s so sweet! Every time I squeezed past him to get to the ladies loo he smiled down at me, so there is now another Henjo fan in the house.

Anyway, I got really brave at this point and ended up asking Dirk for a picture. He quite happily wrapped one arm around my waist and leaned in - Jesus, he really is a small bloke. With a very taut ass, I might add. Slim hips, and no objection to being cuddled fairly closely - seems to be happy to cuddle right back, which made my heart go pitter pat for a moment or three. Which was nothing compared to what it did when I asked Kai, who called Dirk across and I ended up being sandwiched between them - I had an arm around each waist, and they were both leaning on me. Holy crap.

I passed a girl at the bar - you can bet there were a few more wanting pics - and I was grinning so wide she laughed at me. I showed her the pic and said yep, that’s me walking on air for a bit!

We got talking. I’d noticed she was on her own, and that all the band had greeted her with some enthusiasm; during the course of the conversation it turns out that she’s known them for years, and is in fact the girl in the Eagle video. Yep, the one with the eyes on her boobs....

Well she was hell of a lot of fun and we shared a wicked sense of humour, so suddenly the evening was looking up. Dear Stefan was still hanging out with me, which was great; trouble was, he’d started making noises about coming back to my hotel with me and, er, yeah. Not gonna happen. Nice guy and all, harmless - if I’d had a twin room and pointed him at the other bed I honestly think he would have stayed there - but not nearly nice enough to squash into a single bed with. Dirk, heh, small enough and I would in a shot, but not gonna happen! (Dudes, if I had his girlfriend I wouldn’t fuck around either. I swear.)

My new pal Lara decided to absolutely make my night. The guys were all lined up against the far wall with a banner that a few fans had made, and once that was done it was get your pic taken with all three time. I was, as you might imagine, in there like a shot; another lovely waist squeeze from Henjo and lean from Kai and I trotted off back to Lara well pleased. I snapped away like buggery at Dirk (at my end of the line), and he started pulling faces at me - you taking pics again?!

He came over after the pictures, and we got talking about tattoos once Lara got the conversation started. I didn’t know he had one on his right calf; he rolled up his trouser leg to show me, so at one point I found myself kneeling on the floor at his feet, nose a bare inch from his leg, discussing the technicalities of how the colour had faded and the best way to bring it back up again!

We spoke about tattoos in sensitive places, and he asked just how one would go about tattooing a penis; when I told him he winced, and said ‘been nice chatting, bye!’ before grabbing my shoulder and roaring with laughter.

One thing I did notice during this conversation; he’s a toucher. One of those people that when he’s talking to you will tend to tap you on the arm or grasp your shoulder to make a point. And when he’s not doing that he’s hopping from foot to foot, fidgeting, playing with his hair - which I got to stroke and yes, it is as soft and silky as it looks and yes, I did have a bit of a Moment - and flicking his glance around the place. It always zeros back in on you quick enough and you know he’s paying attention, but he can’t stand still. The man is a fidgeter!

He has also quit smoking and drinking - back in February, he said. Apparently they were doing some work at the studio which involved cutting up some sheet rock to make a stud wall. No masks - silly boy - and he was smoking all the while. Unsurprisingly (daft bugger) he woke up the next morning with a pain in his chest. It scared him so much that he hasn’t smoked since. He also has asthma, which was something else I didn’t know about him.

So he’s been keeping fit, cycling and going to the gym, and although he says he fancies a drink every now and then (going so far at this point as to grab my beer glass and growl at me!) he hasn’t wanted to smoke. Which of course led to talking about how awkward this was going to be on tour; Kai and Henjo are heavy smokers, and Dan and Dirk are now non-smokers, and this time they have a single decked bus. He did say that as they won’t be playing his song as part of the set he’s going to get his revenge during the great smoking debate that’s bound to break out!

I think I was amazed by how open and friendly all the guys were, especially Dirk; yes, so it helped that when I had most of the long conversations (and there were several, which made me squeak happily) I was hanging out with someone they already know and trust, but even so. Apparently they don’t often hang out for so long at the fan parties, but Dirk said that they’ve been working so hard in the studio that it was nice just to kick back and relax for the evening. Kai was in his element, talking and laughing and waving his arms - he’s definitely a live wire, that one!

After the public were allowed in at nine it began to get really crowded. I ended up wedged in a corner with Lara and Dirk, Stefan behind me cornering Kai’s girlfriend; we rescued her a couple of times but in the end just left her to it - she seemed to have coping with him down to a fine art!

When Dirk said he was going he said he would come back to say goodbye but, unwilling to take the chance that he might not we made our way downstairs and out. For all that needing a breath of fresh air was sort of a fabrication (ok we were following Dirk, my idea and she was laughing too hard to say no), it really was nice. By god it was hot and smoky in there! Dirk finished his conversation with some other guys and came over to us; he had a wee complain about the smoke machine they were using for the stargate, and thanks to Slay’s pyrotechnic expertise that was something else I could talk to him sensibly about.

When I also knew the word for the little air sacs in the lungs (alveoli, and it’s the same in English as it is in German) he grasped my shoulders and said wow, you know a lot!

I demurred gently. And then got the loveliest, loveliest hug - damn, more of a cuddle - and a promise to see me in London.

Grin? Me?

Ear to bloody ear, mate.

I was getting a headache and Lara was tired, so we decided to head off. Fighting our way back through the thickening crowd to the cloakroom it was clear we’d made the right decision; too much longer in that lot and I would have been blind with pain in about another half hour. Said goodbye to various lads who had loosened up enough to talk to me over the course of the evening - including a very lovely Swede - and fought our way back to say good night to Kai. Ye gods, another lovely cuddle, and he whispered in my ear that I should bring my tattoo kit to the London show. I said I’d chuck it in the car, and then had to say goodbye to Stefan - who was awfully disappointed that I was leaving so early. He got a good grope in, but gave me a stack of CD's that he’d brought for someone else who hadn’t showed - remixes and bootlegs - and settled for another grope before I managed to wriggle out of his grasp and escape.

Oli gave me a lovely hug and asked me what I would be doing the following day, all friendly while his girlfriend glared at me as though she wanted me to die under a rock somewhere. Bless the girl, maybe her face is stuck like that! He’s a sweetie though.

So off Lara and I went, with me describing the art of slash bandfiction to her, and she giving me tales of slashy moments she’s observed between them over the years. Things that, as she said, she didn’t look at with a slasher's eye at the time but surely would now! She writes slash fic for various TV shows, so was very open to the idea of band fiction. Not to mention being pretty delighted to come across another slasher, as was I.

So up on to the Reeperbahn in search of a taxi and holy moley... everyone should go to the Reeperbahn at night at least once. It’s an area that has taken sleaze to a new height, made it almost ritzy with the use of sleek advertising and neon lights, glitter and glam and international appeal. It’s weird. Like Vegas but smaller and with more peepshows....

Thank god for native speakers - she dealt with the taxi driver while I stood around and gawked at the surroundings, then a hug and a promise to email and off I went back to my hotel. Head whirling, and you can bet your ass there was a big smile on my face - going to have to go some to beat tonight!

Comments

[rdyfrde.livejournal.com]

Basti was there. Ha ha ha.
He didn't look anything like a bat, I'd imagine ;) I think I've seen a picture of him in the past on the Kiske website.

With the Boots of Doom on I can look him dead in the eye, so that sorts the height thing. He’s 5’5” wearing trainers, and that’s final.
Hee hee, I knew he'd lied on his Helloween questionnaire :)

He hmmed, then got distracted and dragged off by his kids. (Who call him ‘papa’, and it’s absolutely adorable to see him with them!)
Awww, how sweet.

He’s much much taller than I expected
Yeah according to my calculations, he's around 6'1-6'2. He can't be much more than that since Dan still has a good height advantage over him.

I asked him about tattoos, and he said no, they weren’t really his thing; he said he doesn’t wear rings or anything, so he’s not really into body adornment.
If I had thought about it, I could have had you ask him what the significance of his necklace is. He wears it everywhere, even in the shower since it's still on him in that bathrobe picture.

(Dudes, if I had his girlfriend I wouldn’t fuck around either. I swear.)
She the mean looking sort? I kind of wondered what she looked like since you didn't snap any pictures of her near Dirk.