Service Station Review: Mystery Service Station
Ok, my second service station review may not be as reasoned and detailed as the last one. It involved me getting up at 5.30 in the morning to do a 10 minute gig at 5pm, followed by another, proper gig at 10.30pm.
Anyway, I awoke at roughly 2am with a mini-hangover from the vodka, listening to a Brazilian man singing David Bowie songs in Portugese accompanied by an acoustic guitar, and my drummer holding his phone up to my ear, playing the sound of a woman screaming. This may go some way to explain my severe confusion and mental anguish. I have a vague recollection of wandering around the forecourt with my hood up. I’m not sure if I bought anything, so I can’t comment on the quality of service, although the drummer spent £3 on a sandwich, so I took that as karma for the emotional torture he put me through.
This isn’t really going anywhere, so I’m going to end with a more traditional anecdote, set in another Mystery Service Station toilet somewhere in the South West. There was a man, relieving himself and enjoying an ice cream at the same time. I think it was a Magnum, although I’m not sure what model. When he finished, he put the ice cream down on the edge of the sink, zipped up, retrieved his Magnum and left. Not really funny, but was the single most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen in a public toilet.
Subsequent research has told me that this was, in fact, Warwick South, so all I can say is go there sober. Warwick North receives two blood-curdling rape screams out of a possible five.