Amsterdam
A not so average weekend in the life of Real Steel ...Arrive at the school somewhere between 9:30pm and 10:00 with a small back pack and a jacket. That is about as much information as we are given as we all stand around in the car park. We board the coach about an hour behind schedule and head for Bath. At Bath we stop and wait for Toussaint who is also behind schedule, then finally all go to Heathrow. For reasons that are obvious only to the air traffic controller, there is a wait at the airport and this gives us a chance to unload all the drums and put them in the way of everybody else until we are helped by a steward or three. We board the plane around 6:00am and fly out to Amsterdam. By this time all our hand luggage has been confiscated for being too big and it is locked away in the toilet. We are met at the airport by two very obviously Swedish people. Every one starts to wonder why nobody thought that it would be cold and we try to share out three jumpers between 15 girls. We are taken to the hotel, which just happens to be called Hotel Kock, this causes a fit of giggles followed by a number of Swedish and willy jokes. (This would have happened anyway no matter what the hotel was called). Our hosts leave us and the jokes get worse. We find our rooms and realise that even if we are all spread out if we open the doors and turn M.T.V. up really loud we can still hear each other.
That night we decide to eat out and while the majority of us go a cute little restaurant a couple people just have to have McDonalds. We try to find a club that is not too strange and end up in this weird little cafe selling Coffee and Tequila Slammers. A band plays and after an hour or two the night comes to an end.
The next day is even stranger than the first. We are met by our hosts and taken to this freezing cold hall. After a quick pep talk we do what Real Steel do best and go shopping. It is getting close to the time we have to play and every body is completely knackered. Any way we go on stage do the stuff and get a pretty big reception. Some idiot complains that we did not smile enough and we look at him as if he just suggested we eat our own excrement and walk away. We now have to pack up and go to the underground. As I sit around dreaming of what flavour Hagen Daz ice cream to have we are told to run. We don't do running, or any kind of physical exercise for that matter. We just make it to the train and the airport on time and we are bundled on to the plane along with our bags and drums. I did get some funny looks as I tried to take a car wheel (obviously a highly tuned percussion instrument) through customs but hey we are Real Steel after all!
Amsterdam photo album
Written by Sandra Stevens, past Real Steel Tenor Bass player.