/ / // / // /// // // / / // / ///// // / / / /// /// // / // / / / //////////////////// / // / // /// // // / / // / ///// // / / / /// /// // / // / / / //////////////////// / // / // /// // // / / // / ///// // / / // ////// ///// ///////// / / // And suddenly finding yourself in the suburbs of Cardiff with sore necks & black hangovers & the smell of puke lingering & a van outside full of empty cans. With all the seagulls bleating somewhere nearby. Probably about 'how nice are chips, mate'. And then on the motorway again with boring England right on the other side of the window, and the radio destroys us. Hilarity & contempt. Alan Partridge lives and he talks amongst us. Talking of how yesterday's hit songs were at least spelt correctly, not forgetting an aside about scrap metal prices. Who listens to this shit? Normal people? Tour started in Bristol, in a crypt, with the sound we made lashing around & bouncing off the bare stone, and then it ended at 5am in an empty van in Reading on a Monday morning. Back where we began. (Time of our fucking lives & all the rest, mind you.) After a few days all you want is perhaps a decent bathroom, somewhere to wipe your arse in peace. But this is rock n roll so you'd better get on with it. No choice but to cherish the flat beer and sticky floors. Spliffs hanging out the side of the van. Back to work in a week so let's get as fucked up as we can now. And thank jesus god we are more adept at that than we are making music. Load in, load out. Always several stairs. Wish we had less gear. Set lists get written just before we start playing, on the back of old flyers and wetherspoons receipts. From Manchester onwards we're playing pretty hard, easily the best we've ever played. That still doesn't mean anyone wants to buy our crummy merch though. A few things are realised, not all good. Such as: I guess we're actually those dicks in noise bands who refuse to wear earplugs when we play cos it ruins the "purity" of the experience but when we walk into whatever shitty local rock club later that night..."Christ, isn't it a bit loud here?" So we put our earplugs in for the pumping dance music, accidentally making a big show of it. All the locals look at us like we're daft twats. Yeah, we're a joke - and what a joke too! Who cares when every morning your brains have been replaced with discarded fag butts, a handful of ring pulls, missing scenes... Dreaming of hot meals, perfect bladder control & all the rest. Then late at night again, hammering down the motorway cuz the only place to stay was a dank practice room, music blaring to the point where the dashboard shakes like fuck. The rain smacks the front of the van LOUD & smears across the glass. Oncoming headlights make it look like the windscreen is cracked, I'm shitting myself. Sweet leaf paranoia maybe. I swerve, correct myself. After a few days of this my ears are always screaming at me - all the time - and my body is covered in bruises. There are 9 on my right leg alone, I counted them. Some of the fuckers are a heavy purple. How did they get there? 10 gigs in a row and all of a sudden we're ok at this. It won't last. /////////////////////////////////// / // / // /// // // / / // / ///// // / / / /// /// // / // / / / //////////////////// // / // /// // // / / // / ///// // / / / /// /// // / // / / / //////////////////// / // / // /// // // / / // / ///// // / / / /// /// // / // / / / ///////////////// / // / // /// // // / / // / ///// // / / / /// /// // / // / / / //////////////////// / // / // /// // // / / // / ///// // / / / / /// // / // / / / //////////////////// / // / // /// // // / / // //// // / / / /// /// // / // / / / //////////////////// / // / // /// // // / / // / ///// // / / / /// /// // / // / / / //////////////////// / // / // /// // // / / // / ///// // / / / /// /// // / // / / / //////////////////// / // / // /// // // / / // / ///// // / / / /// /// // / // / / / / cheers to everyone who puts us on, came to see us, all the rest.x o x o x ///// / // / // /// // / / // /
