Rocking

Those that know me will be surprised to hear that I unleashed the RockGod inside me last night, courtesy of and much to the horror of Belle de Bengal.

It started out (as it always does) easily enough. We were due to have our regular Wednesday catch up/civilised supper (this normally involves two hours of gossip and two hours of a film).

Turning up half an hour late she dragged me off to the Kerrang pre-awards party, an event so exclusive that she had to plead and sob in order to gain me entrance.

Initially it would have been the 'exclusive' nature of this invitation that would have swung my vote. Let's face facts...Hard rock really isn't my sort of music. That said, an open mind is something I fiercely possess. Onwards and Upwards I thought. I'll try harder this time to make out the lyrics and seem interested in the music. I may even catch a celeb or two i thought. Of course, things never work out the way we plan.

The lyrics I didn't understand in the slightest. As far as I'm concerned, hard rock is all about whinny angry skinny little men who rant and rave about some childhood misery. I also know that all the 'crazy people' collect in a mosh pit and hit each other. Thankfully there was no mosh pit.

What we had instead is a lot of loud music, small hamburgers and cones filled with fries. Grungy.

I didn't recognise a soul, although I did take a photograph of Charlie (who? ) from Busted (who?). I feel safe in the knowledge that this will mean something to someone out there. Honest.

And for the real corker. I actually began to really enjoy the music. Prodigy. Iron Maiden. Fightstar. And a few others. The drinks were free. 10 measures of Vodka later I was raving the way only the truly dedicated do. And I loved it. Three hours of earnest and obsessive thumping on the roof terrace, vodka and redbull in hand, fists resembling the 'sign of rock' and a true and proper belief that I was actually playing the drums and the guitar.

Bloody amazing.