Friday, 26 February 2016

Bikers Love Babes

I’ve had a half written blog on my laptop ever since the NEC bike show (in October, Cough) and after a meeting last week the fear has been re-installed within me. I got openly laughed at in disbelief by a social media manager for not knowing how to log into my own company’s linkedin page… Why the heck cant running a business just be cutting and sticking ay? thats the only bloody bit im good at anyhows. 

So here it is, Four months late but so totally worth it.
Spoiler alert: it involves a missing tooth and George Michael.

First problem of Day One: Getting to the NEC Birmingham. As always when doing anything to do with transporting paper dresses the heavens where pouring harder than Niagara, making an already hard task near on impossible. Its begun to sort of feel like a personalised ‘up yours Daisy’ from God. However the big man was on my side when he graced me with an unemployed, burly brother and his love of driving. So I did my best bodge job strapping the (now damp) dresses to the inside of the van and off we went. Rachael, Dumpster Marketing Exec, Rob, Brother and van lover, and Me, Leader of the gang (Yes that’s a Garry Glitter reference).


Of course within 30 mins I was sticky, covered in peach juice after going on a hunt for snacks and being far too cocky with a fruit pot fit for 3 year olds, easy pull tab my asshole. Driving to Birmingham was like driving into the apocalypse, you could actually see the sky get darker, the mood grew somber the further we progressed up north. I wasn’t sure whether we were going to a bike show or to our last day on earth.

After a solid 4 hours driving the peach juice was now a dried crust and for sure added an element of mystery to my outfit. So I embraced it and off loaded the three dresses with a fruity cool in front of the heads of Suzuki Aftersales.

I got inside the NEC arena and it was n.u.t.s. There was a bloomin’ 5 meter graphic of my best mate on the back wall. They also had the Suzuki Moto GP team race truck on the stand (which could easily fit at least 5 small families plus pets). So after setting up the dresses and mending all the bits that had fallen off in transit, I snuck into the team truck to, well put quite frankly, touch some expensive stuff and see if I could steal a lanyard. Swear down it was nicer than any house ive ever been in. Like on pimp my ride when Xzibit puts 982734 plasma TVs in the back of a ford KA, Leather errrrywhere. I felt like Tay Swift on tour.




Turns out that all the setting up and prep for the next day was done by 4. So myself and Rob chucked Rach and Kealey (Dumpster account manager) in the back of the van and ventured to our gaff for the night. Forgot the van didn’t have any windows in the back, and slid the door open to find two very nauseous, pale looking people. How illegal immigrants all pile into the back of a lorry I have no idea, props to them.


I then got my lowly spinster vibe on in the travel lodge. Felt like a divorced housewife on my own in a kingsize bed at 5 in the afternoon. So i did what every good divorced housewife would do… had a nap and then went to get pissed at the bar in the car park. Peachy Keens (legitimate name) was a dream, only got better when we found out George Michael, THE George Michael was performing there that night. The 80yr old bar lady assured us that tickets were selling fast and to put our names down soon...The list had 2 names on it and im sure one of them was George himself.



Peachy Keens was a bizarre establishment, although being surprisingly full for a Thursday night in a travel lodge car park, the bar lady looked at me as if id been smoking the reefer when I asked for a bag of crisps. Apparently peachy keens ‘only serves nuts’.  I was like daymnnn girl, yo feisty for an OAP.  Anyway, after a chugging competition between Rob and Kealey (Rob bossed her), 3 bottles of wine and Rachel losing her tooth then flinging it across the floor by accident, we ended up pissed in McDonalds at 7 then back in bed watching im a celeb by 8 #playaplya



(Back in bed, fully clothed and quite clearly hammered)

Whether I had a functioning team for the day ahead was questionable but as far as I was concerned I was done, the dresses were there safely. Zero shits given about anything or anyone else.

Kick in Day two and by the time I woke up my account manager had been back and forth to the station twice picking up the models and then the MUA, Rachael had showered and was feeding them, and I, well I was in bed…hungover. Just goes to show having a big team really does have its benefits sometimes. I went and said hello to everyone then pretended that I needed to do important things like press releases, when really I went back to my room to watch married at first sight USA version (Side note: Would highly recommend it, young, naïve, clueless love is just the sweetest).


Due to the Dumpster Design Dream team everything was bizarrely on schedule.
- Got the models loaded into the cars and said our fair wells to Peachy Keens,
- Got to the NEC (apart form missing the turning first time around because Kealey and I were chinwagging about how heated seats make it feel like you’ve wee’d yourself in the most delightful way)
- Got the event passes and felt like part of the bloody NEC mafia
- Got the models watered and fed and then…
bish bash bosh, within the hour they were dressed and on the display plinth.


All fairly simple apart from it soon became apparent that a Japanese changing screen in the middle of a bike show doesn’t defer passers-by from looking like you would expect it too, in fact it attracts them… with one man even poking his head over the top to find myself groping a topless model with one hand while trying to straddle her in bike panels with the other. Probably splooshed his pants it was so close to his sex fantasy.

There was a swarm of press wherever the dresses went, TV crews, motoGP team managers, everyone bloody loved the things. Even the hairy bikers came over and praised the creations. It was very clear that bikers love babes. And turns out babes dressed IN bikes… well, that’s every riders wet dream. 




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