The diary of a mad man.
Four nights. Five gigs. Could I do them all? Well, no. But I tried. I really did.
It loomed like my Mount Vesuvius.
I was Sir Edmund Hillary standing at the bottom of Mount Everest, Frodo sizing up the scale of Mount Doom.
The gigs kept coming, the bands kept getting announced, the dates kept piling up on top of each other.
They were all crashing together on one massive, monumental weekend full of rock, grunge, pop-punk and prog-metal a…
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