Yesterday was made of win. We went roadtripping to Tilburg to go to a concert… for the second time in my life I was actually going for the support act (Sabaton) and not for the main act (Hammerfall) – but we were all willing to give Hammerfall a chance. After all, Dragonforce didn’t suck, either.
So we went to the gig, and oh my god, I’d forgotten just how awesome and sympathetic Sabaton is! They completely rocked the house and got every single person in the 013 hall to sing along, to jump and clap their hands and party. It was brilliant. And even though they’ve performed for bigger audiences by now, they must have done gigs for more enthused audiences… the unguarded, surprised and totally elated way they respond to a happy crowd just makes you want to hug them senseless. They also referred to the gig at Graspop last summer as the best in their lives (which I can totally understand), but immediately added that this night was getting very damn close, and that they should always start their tours here in the Netherlands.
Anyway, it was just a brilliant gig, but way too short. Stupid support act. They’re way too big now to be just a support act. They deserve their own support act! You should have seen the way the crowd responded – how everyone went nuts at Primo Victoria. It was beautiful 
And then, after the sheer awesomeness of Sabaton, Hammerfall came on stage. And that was instantly just so lame and uninspired that Olli, Bren, Marco and I went to buy Sabaton t-shirts. Tijs and Derek followed soon after. We had a few drinks and went home… walking out of a gig like that is something I’ve seldom done before. I really wanted Hammerfall to suprise me, but they didn’t even hold a candle to Sabaton’s burning sun. It must really suck to be outplayed by your support act like that, by the way. 
Anyway, we cruised home and continued our party into the early hours of the morning and had a brilliant time talking and laughing and hanging out like the old days…
…and then at 11am the landlord called me awake.
I sat straight up in bed, heart thundering in my throat. Who the hell calls you at 11am on a Saturday? Fuck. Anyway, the viewers of yesterday wanted to know how much we paid on gas each month. “I don’t know,” I said, brain still muddled.
“You don’t know?” the landlord said, incredulous.
“It doesn’t just spring to mind. I just woke up, you know.”
“Yeah, you sound like that,” the landlord laughed, and then went on about how he really wanted to know this as soon as possible. I said I’d let him know, and hung up on him.
ASSHOLE! You could have said SORRY at least that you woke me up. This is the second morning he wakes me up with his stuff; yesterday he had the gall to ring our doorbell at 8am in the morning, too. God, I’m all but ready to spit in his face. It’s a good thing we’re moving out of there soon. Because if he keeps this up, he’ll definitely end up with a face full of spit. Bitch.