The number of the Dong

Swoop shows off his inner rock god in the pre-match photo

It was a cold, rainy Tuesday night, but that wasn’t enough to stop Bullet ticketlessly white-facing his way through the outer arena gates a solid 30 minutes before the event’s billed start time, and a whole hour before companions Swoop and Bambi (Writer’s note: is Bambi with an i or a y??) arrived. Panicking like 15 year olds daring to buy fags from the corner shop, the three Bashers nervously discussed the possibility of Swoop posing as Square Root and blagging his and Dongy’s way into the VIP suite. When he finally rocked up traditionally late to the ball, Long Dong was sporting a cheeky grin and an even cheekier satchel as the four strolled casually past security without a hitch, whew.

Basking in the problem-free glory of getting in, the crew sat down with deliciously free beers just minutes before the lights dimmed and the British metal icons got on stage, opening with… some possibly famous Iron Maiden song that not one of us knew. Bullet and Swoop took more selfies than you could shake a stick at whilst Dongy went wild, barely able to contain his excitement in the presence of rock legends.

Long Dong could barely contain his excitement throughout.

The free flow beer started well and the free food was, well, pricey (No really. It turns out there was no free food). The 20″ plates soon widened eyes and had mouths watering, before a tin foil cover was removed revealing some pitifully sized pizzas that lasted a whole 3 minutes.

Fortunately, the show was a belter – albeit barely witnessed by Bullet, who was busy Facetiming anyone who would listen and fixating on the chap stood a few yards away moshing his socks off (not to worry, Bullet went to an Iron Maiden concert in 1995 and has been pretty much best friends with Bruce Dickinson ever since). Meanwhile, Swoop showed off some impressive skills in maths by counting the number of guitarists in the band – maybe he could pass for Square Root after all!

In a somewhat impossible turn of events, the Heineken VIP suite, and allegedly the entire arena ‘ran out of beer’. After a several minute period of spitting feathers and some unfathomable charm from Bambi, the waitress left the suite and coyly returned with some red wine that tasted a lot like piss but kept the team happy, apart from Long Dong who would settle for nothing but beer as the show was heading into the encore.

As proceedings came to a close, the adventure was only beginning for young Bambi and his new found partner in crime, The Silver Bullet. As Long Dong and Swoop scampered off down the escalator, Bullet and Bambi used some pretty persuasive Chinese skills to convince local staff they were friends of the band. After party zai nali?!

Following the somewhat vague instructions of “down the escalator and turn right”, the pair found ourselves on the beginning of an eventful night.  Quickly entering the now deserted VIP lounge downstairs, Bullet and Bambi passed through and into the ground seating area as the roadies were taking down the stage and paying no heed to the well dressed rockers strolling on by.

Finding themselves backstage, the pair were phased by the sheer quantity of doorways and stealthily crept around like ninjas of the night, until in a wave of genius, Bullet spotted a foreigner and piped up, trying to use the same “I know Bruce Dickinson” story that had worked on the bewildered Chinese staff but was not a sensible story for people who actually have a clue. After being escorted to the loading bay to join another stray wanderer, the pair began to depart.

But it wasn’t over yet. Spotting another entrance, the elegant Bambi and his wistful partner galloped back into the building, recognising they’d been conned and that the after party was clearly upstairs. A few closed staircases, out of service elevators and ignorant ayis later; the two found the home of the undersized but well-cheesed pizzas they’d been served just two hours ago.

For reasons unbeknownst to mankind, the pair passed up this fine dining opportunity to remain in search of their pal, Bruce.

Imagine the disappointment of finding an unmanned bar only to discover the venue had, in fact, run out of beer.

After almost an hour of gallivanting around the arena, Bullet was insistent that the after party must have moved onto a hotel and was all but ready to leave. As Bambi turned on his camera for a quick backstage video, he spotted a quietly guarded corner the pair had yet to discover. Walking casually past the guard, who couldn’t care less who we were or what we were doing, we bumped past a couple of foreigners carrying gear before spotting a door on the right. “Dressing room”. The game was on. With empty pizza boxes and beer bottles on the dressing table, we knew Bruce was nearby, and braced ourselves for what was to come. This particular room yielded nothing but a sweaty cloth, but dressing room “1” was just next door.

Keeping far from calm and collected,  the two strolled in to dressing room 1 before quickly spotting a Bruce lookalike and beginning to look a lot like rabbits in headlights.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” was the calm and collected remark of an American roadie as the two Bs were walk-chased out of the room, Bambi struggling to maintain his footing but adamant that he had spotted Bruce Dickinson reviewing tape.

“Get out. You know get the fuck out of here.”

“We’re okay, we’re cool” chirped Bullet, trying to work some British charm on the situation.

“No you’re not fucking cool. Get out.”

“My name’s Mark, nice to meet you.” (Writer’s note: Classic. I don’t even know what to say)

The charm offensive managed to get some chit chat from the roadie but he was unfortunately adamant that they left, and that Bruce had already left the building. Sad times as the two departed the arena but quickly found a taxi to head to Xintiandi to finish the night in style.

Bruce… is that you?!