I Want To Go Home Now Please

Unfortunate tales from a life largely lived in a big blue van.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

I am a broken man

Sorry. I’ve had a busy couple of weeks and the goths have fallen by the wayside. Normal service will resume very shortly. Today, however, I’ve experienced some bad luck. Here is what happened today. If you want to help me out, i’ve set up a GoFundMe here - https://www.gofundme.com/the-old-blue-rescue-campaign

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The nice thing about writing this blog is that, aside from a few minor issues, nothing has really gone that wrong in a while. Well, today some things went wrong.

It's around 3pm local time and it's another horrendously warm day in Germany. We set off around 11am from Prague, and we're about an hour and a half from our destination of Berlin. I'm driving the super cool Canadian math-pop heroes Gulfer and legit harp owner Natalie Evans (as well as the delightful Corey Mastrangelo who's backing her.) The engine starts making a nasty knocking noise that it most definitely doesn't always make and I immediately pull off the autobahn for some further diagnostics. My diagnostics reveal an interesting bit of information: that I don't know anything about vans and I should call my breakdown cover.

A brief description of what's going on and i'm told not to drive, and that someone would be out to take a look. Google translate comes through again, and after an hour of waiting a pleasant German man takes a quick look, decides it's the fuel injectors and that this van needs to go to the garage, so we're not driving it to Berlin tonight. Luckily my cover is pretty decent, and they will arrange for a 7 seater hire vehicle to arrive at the garage so we can make the show tonight. 4 of us go with the van to the garage, and 3 have to stay behind at the rest stop to wait for our return.

I'm initially terrified as our breakdown friend is discussing the issue with a very stern looking gentleman at the Mercedes garage, as I feel like this man has no interest in this dishevelled pasty englishman, especially not as they're due to close in 30 minutes. My worries subside as he eventually addresses me and cheerfully offers me a coffee and asks me to sit down. We trade google translate for a short while, and he delivers nothing but bad news, albeit in a very pleasant manner. He tells me they will examine the van tomorrow morning, and then if it is the fuel injector that is the issue then they will need to order the part and complete the repairs wednesday. Well, we need to be in Wiesbaden tomorrow, and then Dendemonde Wednesday, so that's not ideal. It is what it is though. My puppy dog eyes are no match for his no nonsense German matter of factness. He will arrange the hire vehicle which will arrive in 1 to 2 hours, we can carry on the tour and i'll just have to figure out getting back to get the van later in the week.

It's here when things start getting a bit confusing. The garage is closing now, so we can't stay here. However, we need to transfer instruments from the van to the new hire car so we need to be able to access the van. He thinks about this, and then decides that he will arrange for a taxi to take us to a local McDonalds, and the hire car will meet us there. Then we can contact him on his personal number, and he will meet us back at the garage to let us access the van. Pretty odd, but the guy is clearly trying to go above and beyond to help us out and i appreciate that. We get in a taxi to a McDonalds, and we wait.

And wait.

...and wait.

3 hours pass.

I stay in touch with our German friend, and whilst he's polite he's not much more help with regards to the hire vehicle as he left the number at the office. He advises we contact my breakdown cover. So I did, and they confusingly tell me no vehicle had been hired, and they can't guarantee a vehicle will be delivered tonight. I'm pretty confused by this so I try to clarify what exactly our German friend has arranged, but he's not a massive amount of help and Google translate is only getting me so far. I'm frustrated. The guys i'm with are frustrated, and I can't blame them. I keep in touch with tonights promoter, and try and figure out ways we can still make the show go ahead. At around 9.30pm, the other guys left behind at the rest stop have to get a taxi over to us, as the rest stop closes at 10pm. We've now been sat at this McDonalds in the middle of nowhere for about 4 hours. Our German friend is still messaging me. I'm annoyed that his hire vehicle hasn't materialised but can't help but feel a little touched that the guy is going out of his way to message me and make sure we're alright.

My breakdown are being beyond frustrating to deal with. They keep advising they'll call me back within 20 minutes, 45 minutes pass and nothing. This happens maybe 3 times before I plead with a woman on the other end who responds to my desperation with sheer brute force arseyness. At this point the show is off, the hire vehicle is nowhere in sight and we just want a taxi to take us to a hotel. It's also now 11pm and this McDonalds closes at midnight. There's nowhere else to go, and it's raining. I've all but given up on the breakdown service being able to arrange anything, so we try to arrange taxis and accomodation ourselves with very little success. The town is absolutely dead. No hotels close enough have late check ins, and none of the taxi firms are picking up the phone. We're faced with the very real possibility of having to sleep huddled outside this McDonalds in the rain.

In another amazing act of human kindness, as we're trying to ring taxi firms I enlist the help of the one English speaking employee in McDonalds. He helps me (unsucessfully) call the taxi firms, and later helps us look for local hotels. He also completely restores my faith in humanity by offering to drive us back to the garage so we can pick our bags up from the van. I advise him that it's probably a bit too late to do that now, but he's amazing. He insists and says he can do it as soon as his shift finishes. I again advise it's a bit late for that and now we're just tryig to find a hotel. He follows up by telling me he can just ditch work if we want to go now. I love this guy. I don't want him to get fired though so I politely decline before his colleagues advise him he needs to get back to work and stop fraternising with the loiterers.

I decide to walk to the nearest train station in the hope there'll be a physical taxi rank of some sort so we can at least get somewhere, anywhere. It's then I receive the sweetest words of hope:

'A hotel has been arranged for you. A taxi will pick you up in 20 minutes.'

And so here I sat, broken, stressed, alone in a hotel room and still trying to figure out where our hire vehicle is. My German mate, still awake and worried, just messaged me. I told him we had a hotel sorted. Mercedes Thomas, i'll see you tomorrow.

---------------------------------------------

Again, if you enjoy this blog and want to help out with the repair costs I'm looking at, that would be much appreciated. I've set up a gofundme here - https://www.gofundme.com/the-old-blue-rescue-campaign

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Dark times, part 2

Remember when I used to put more effort into the subheadings and put quotes here? I forgot how to edit text nice.

And oh, yeah, before I forget, take pretty much everything I say with a McDonald’s fries helping of salt. I’m not a reliable narrator.

The first tour had come and gone. I can’t say I had a good time but it was an interesting experience and the venue stickies I now have in the back of the van are always a fun conversation starter (’you were on tour with WHO?!’) The second tour was shaping up to be a whole lot more of a ballache, however. They were now the opening band of a four band package, and the tour was twice the length of the first. Both of these things carried their own new set of problems which we’ll get into. The tour also went a lot further north and a lot further south, meaning the accomodation requirements went beyond their home bases in Leicester and Felixstowe which would bring yet more new obstacles to overcome.

As I wasn’t really that fond of them and hadn’t exactly built up a tight friendship with them or anything, I asked for payment upfront for this run. The nightmareish thing about this band is they really were less of a band and more just 6 people who tolerated each other enough to play gigs together, and so receiving payment wasn’t in one nice neat sum but was in 6 individual transactions completed in 6 completely different ways. My memory isn’t what it used to be but I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them paid with a postal order. Anyway, before the tour was set to begin I’d received 5/6ths of the payment, with an outstanding amount owed to me by my favourite member, their drummer. He probably had to phone up the bank to make an appointment to visit or something, I don’t know. So he hasn’t paid me. Remember this. It’ll be important later.

I’d decided I was going to make pretty much zero extra effort on this tour beyond driving to and from the venue. I wasn’t going to go out of my way to fraternise with them, or to help load gear in or out, and I was pretty much just going to sit on my own in the van being miserable 24 hours a day.

Oh, did I mention this tour IMMEDIATELY followed the tour I wrote about in my first blog? I was not in a positive head space as far as touring was concerned.

So yeah, first few shows went by without much drama. I deliberately ignored a few text requests asking me if I could man the merch table. In fact, ‘request’ is the wrong word, it was more of an expectation. The thing that annoyed me most about it was they insisted on having the merch stand watched whilst they were playing, as if they didn’t trust the other bands or their crew to be able to keep their sticky fingers out of their uber goth t-shirts. So messages like ‘Andrew we need you to watch the merch whilst we play’ were ignored in favour of a trip to poundland to look for ‘Made Of Bricks’ by Kate Nash. I’ll find it one day.

Also, let’s talk about metal bands in general for a minute. They like their own gear. They don’t like other people using their gear. So a four band bill turns into four separate backlines. Four obnoxiously drawn out changeovers because god forbid you save some hassle and share a fucking identical Marshall 4x12 to your own. And do you really need a drum rack? Has anyone, ever, in the history of drumming, ever really needed a drum rack?!? Fuck drum racks.

But that’s really the underlying thing for me on these tours, is how much I took for granted the DIY punk scene. The sort of gigs where there’d be no question about sharing cabs and shells, and if you were stuck and asked nicely some friendly human would let you use their guitar head or guitar or whatever. In my (admittedly limited) experience, metal bands would rather play air guitar than play any piece of equipment that they hadn’t bought themselves with their parents money.

After the first night, we were in my neck of the woods for a couple of nights, so I let them crash at my place. It’s no palace but at least it’s not the back of the van.

Oh, some relevant context. The band cultivates a very specific stage presence, and have a few things that are key to their image. Bar the singer, they all have fairly long hair. They all wear black. And they cover their necks and arms with black paint.

I’ve got white walls in my house.

...did I mention this band were pretty selfish and thoughtless? I did, right?

Sigh. The walls ain’t so white no more. Neither is my shower. Or sink.

Or soul.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Dark times, part 1

Alright. I'm ready to talk about the goths.

I don't know exactly where to start or how to really spread these out, because I ended up driving this band on i think four occasions. The main reason being that despite absolutely hating every second of these tours, they kept offering me work in really quiet periods that I couldn't afford to turn down. The thing about starting from the beginning on this one is they really weren't that bad on the first tour I did. It was a major support tour with pretty much the biggest band of their genre, and due to this it was pretty well advanced and regimented. Add to this them wanting to make a good impression (on the headliners, certainly not on me), and I had a fairly alright time. I don't think I have a clear day to day moaning schedule like I did with the aussies, but there's certainly some that stand out.

My first inkling that this might not exactly be a dream job came with my dealings with the drummer of the band (who I saw as the driving force behind them) in the run up to this first tour. I'd taken the job via a facebook group so I didn't know any of the members, but my initial dealings were with their keyboard player who seemed friendly and switched on. She informed me that their drummer needed to discuss logistics with me, I of course said that was fine and recommended that he email me. It became clear that he was a bit of a luddite, and insisted on having this discussion over the phone. I begrudgingly took his call, in which he came across as incredibly arrogant, condescending and demanding (spoiler alert, i'm a pretty good judge of character) and the call basically ended with me telling him that all these locations, times and dates he wanted me to memorise would be best surmised in some sort of electronic messaging system. He sighed and agreed to just bloody email me like I originally requested. I also remember having fun conversations regarding 'if we were able to park the van in service stations overnight so they'd have access to a toilet whilst we slept in the van' and I made it perfectly clear there was no way I was sleeping in the van every night, let alone with six other people. It was clear they weren't massively experienced in this, but that's fine, I'd help them through it.

So like I said, the first tour honestly wasn't that bad. There were absolutely some signs that they weren't the most thoughtful band and on more than one occasion I'd be loading out with the same two members of a six piece band (let’s give credit where it’s due, it was the keyboardist and one of the guitarists) whilst the other four were nowhere to be seen. They definitely weren't getting food, because an hour after curfew mere seconds before we were due to get in the van to drive to where we were staying for the night they'd want to fucking eat despite being in this city literally all day i mean for fucks sake there's a mcdonalds next to the venue you absolute cretin BUT, i digress. I also recall having to calm the headliners merch vendor down after previously mentioned centre of the universe drummer rudely proclaimed that they had to make space for every item of merchandise they had in a very limited amount of space and he wasn't taking no for an answer. I guess I was in charge of merch from then on.

Due to the routing of this first tour, we managed to stay most nights at the drummer and the guitarists places without any real hassle, so thankfully no sweaty cramped van sleeps. It's only when we begin discussing the run up to the second tour I did with them that I realise how big of an issue accomodation would become. The second tour is twice as long, and covers a much wider range of places than the first. Due to this, and due to them apparently having no budget for accomodation or friends to put them up, I offer to put some feelers out and see if any of my (incredibly kind, generous, polite and patient) friends would be willing to have us. Everyone agrees with this. At first. It's maybe a week or so before the tour is about to start that who i will herefore be referring to as 'posh' guitarist contacts me with an interesting proposal: maybe we could drive back to his house every night?

He lives in Felixstowe. Google it. It's not a central location. It's not some sort of delta hub. It's very awkward to get to and far away from pretty much everything. Glasgow to Felixstowe you say? Well you know what, I'd bloody love to drive that, get no sleep, and then drive back up to Newcastle the next day. Apparently it's a real sticking point.

Here we go again.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

A Brief History of Bad Times, Part 3

I wake up in the back of the van parked up on a beautifully grimey brummy side street, prepared for an idiotic 48 hours of driving. We drive from Birmingham to Liverpool for the last show of this run, and then immediately afterwards I drive back to London (i'd previously agreed to 2 dropoffs in different areas of London which is never ideal) and then I immediately head up to Norwich where I plan to sleep for a few hours before picking up the guys in Ducking Punches to start their tour by going BACK to London. What can I say, i'm a glutton for punishment.

I drive the short distance to their wonderful city centre Travelodge, nobody asks how my night was, nobody cares. I begin to doubt they even remember my name. The drive today isn't too bad, and being a native scouser (don't tell anyone) i'm happy to get to Liverpool a bit early and spend a bit of time there. The drive is quick and painless, we get there early and despite a hairy stairy load in everything is running to schedule with no worries. I emphasise to the guys that I've agreed to do the drive back to London on the condition we leave as soon as humanly possible after the gig has finished, and whilst there are no strip club plans pencilled in for this evening, I still have a worrying feeling that they don't get or care about this condition of my employment. A short while later after we've loaded in and i'm going to desert them for a bit to go watch paint dry or something, greebo geezer guitarist pulls me aside and mentions that their singer has work tomorrow and has asked to be dropped off at his home in addition to the 2 agreed dropoff points. I state that whilst it was fine the other night, it's adding an hour onto a drive i'd already rather not be doing, and i'd rather we just stick with the original plan. You know, the one that they agreed to. You'd think for such big fans of films about football hooliganis they'd appreciate that even those mugs are able to formulate and adhere to a plan. He says he'll let him know, and I ask myself why he couldn't have just come and had the discussion with me himself.

So I go for a wander, get some food, watch grass grow, and then come back to help load out at the end of the gig. The singer, who i'd previously gotten along fine with, pushes the point of being dropped off at home. He does the classic thing of pulling out his phone and showing me how 'it's only half an hour off route on google maps', and I explain that it's an more like an hour factoring in getting there and getting back on route, and regardless i'm already doing a pretty dumb overnight drive and every extra minute I spend driving is an extra minute less of sleep i'm getting before an early start tomorrow. He takes this with the grace of a toddler and huffs off to continue not helping load out. Wonderful.

About half an hour has passed since the show has finished, and aside from the temps i'm alone outside awaiting gear. They do their best to load the gear out, but i'm a bit annoyed that the other three members are nowhere to be seen. It's close to an hour after the gig has finished that I have geezer guitarist and sulky singer back in the van, but dopey drummer is still conspicuous by his absence. I march up the stairs to find him, and he's apparently been arguing with the promoter and security for half an hour because his snare stand has gone missing. As he's not exactly the most observant person in the world and i'm desperate to leave, I help try and look for it but we have to concede it's gone. He still has no regard for the situation of lateness, as is evidenced by his desire to get food despite my constant reminders of the driving agreement. I'm eventually able to corale them all into the van on the agreement we'll stop at a services halfway to get some food.

So we stop for food, they take the piss, and we arrive in London hours later than anticipated. We load their gear out (singer is still sulking and is no help) and the drummer wanders off, for good this time, as he apparently lives nearby. We reach our final destination, half hearted goodbyes are exchanged between myself and everyone but the singer, who in a tremendous sense of de ja vu has wandered off into the house with a look of scorn and self pity delivered in my direction as if i'd murdered his family rather than made him catch an early train.

Metal bands are the fucking worst.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

We interrupt this story arc to bring you some huge news: I Want To Go Home Now Please is FINALLY a podcast. Head to http://eatdefeat.co.uk/2017/10/19/i-want-to-go-home-now-please-episode-1-the-bennies/ to stream it, or check us out on itunes, google play and all your favourite podcast apps.

Episode 1 features some brilliant banter and an epic tale from one of my favourite bands to tour with, The Bennies.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

A Brief History of Bad Times, Part 2

Nothing finer than waking up in an ice cold van on the streets of London on a Sunday morning. I’m not expecting any sort of rush to get to tonights venue in Southampton, so I wake up at a reasonable hour to grab some breakfast and have a look around the area. I don’t get stabbed, result. We leave a good hour or so later than agreed, because of course we do. This day is honestly wholly uneventful. I think I got there and went straight to a Spoons where i nursed a couple of coffees for the duration. There’s a day off between this and the next date in Birmingham, so basically i’ll be dropping everyone back in London and i’ll be going to stay with a friend for a couple of nights on the outskirts because I like my friend, he’ll have somewhere comfortable for me to sleep and he has a dog (RIP Zappa, love you Zandro.)

So we’ll just fast forward to Birmingham; you don’t really need to hear about me having a nice day off with Zandro that involved a Toby Carvery and plenty of dog pats because you thrive off my misery.

We reconvene at the green street gaffe for the journey up to Birmingham. There’s still unrest amongst the townsfolk because only one of the TV’s in the back are working. I did try and source a replacement cable on the day off but to no joy, so only half of the band get to watch Lock Stock. We’ll be heading straight to the venue but i’m told we have a travelodge for the night. I google where it is, and it’s bang in the city centre. This is the work of someone who has no regard or idea what it’s like to try and park a long wheel base splitter van in Birmingham city centre. They may as well be staying in the middle of the Leeds Liverpool canal because i’ve got about the same likelihood of being able to park a van there.

So we load in whilst the drummer looks for shapes in the clouds and the guys plot which high end stripping establishments they’ll be visiting tonight and discuss which ‘birds’ are the ‘tidiest’ on Tinder. I find out the difference between a ‘leng man’ and a ‘skeng man’ and finally the UK grime scene is fully accessible to me. I eat a foot long Subway and fall asleep in the back of the van for a few hours.

So, an aside. Have we talked about the sliding passenger door on the van? We should talk about it. It’s the stuff of legend. Very few hold the key to actually being able to close the door, and much like a game of Tetris no two times are ever the same. You need to be one with the door. You need to understand what makes it tick. You need to be firm, but fair (like the Russian police) and you need to give it a bit of kick on the back end. Jeff Rosenstock is the only person i’ve ever seen truly commit and master the art of closing it in a more consistent way than me.

What you don’t do, ever, under any circumstances, IS SLAM THE SHIT OUT OF IT.

Back to our story.

Load out is finished, and my leng men want to grab some food after loading out and before heading back to the hotel. The side door is open. Drummer, in an act of defiant macho bullshit, ignores my request to leave the side door for me to close. He slams that door harder than a footballer kicks a ball for a penalty goal (i’m not good with football, come up with your own analogy) and they walk off to grab food. I check the door. The lock is jammed. This is the first time this has ever happened (it won’t be the last) and I’m freaking out a bit. The door won’t open from the outside, so I climb over the front seats to try and open them from the inside. Unlocking and opening isn’t working, so I have to give it a bit of a shove. Then a bit of a kick. And finally a big boot that my boy Test would be proud of (I can do wrestling references.) This opens it. I’m relieved. Until I find out that no matter what I do, I can’t lock the door again. It’ll close and slide into place, but the locking mechanism is all messed up. I do everything I can to no avail, when they waltz back from their meal.

I explain to them that the door won’t lock, and about as passive aggressively as i can (spoiler: very) I tell them this is why i’d rather they just let me close the door. I decide the best course of action at this point of the evening is for me to take them to their hotel whilst I wait for my breakdown cover to come take a look at the van door with me. They give approximately zero fucks about the fact it’s now looking like i’ll have to sleep in the van, which is even better as it’s possible there would be no locking mechanism on the back door in a not great part of Birmingham outside the venue, because there’s nowhere secure to park in the centre close to the hotel.

I drop them off at their hotel to enjoy Birmingham’s seedy underbelly, they grab their stuff without so much as a goodbye and disappear inside, leaving me to return from whence i came. After a good hour or so of sitting alertly in an unlockable van, a nice fella from the RAC turns up and we double team the lock with chisels and all sorts of nonsense until it clicks back as it should to allow me to be able to lock the door. i finally fall asleep, grimey from the repair work and exhausted with stress and thank fuck that tomorrow is the last day with these cretins.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

A brief history of bad times, part 1

So hi, it’s been a while.

Quick answers to your questions:

- Yeah, i probably should do that podcast. Sorry. I recorded a bunch of interviews with cool people but never had the faith in myself or what I was doing to actually fully press ahead with it. It’ll likely see the light of day soon.

- Yeah, i will blog some more. Spoiler alert, I have like 3 tours worth of absolute nonsense with a particular band to write about that i’m trying to structure in my head. It’ll happen, probably soon. Difficult second album and all that. The thing is, 2017 has actually been a great year for me as far as the tours I’ve been a part of and there hasn’t been that beautiful air of resentment about my life choices that was present the year prior. And as far as the ones i’ll be writing about, I guess I wanted to let the dust settle on them a bit.

- Yeah, old blue is still running. German engineering, right?

EDIT: I’d originally intended this to be a single post about a fairly short tour as it wasn’t quite as action packed as the last one, but I guess I really know how to waffle on when I’m whinging. I think this will probably be in 3 parts if this is anything to go by.

So, with that out of the way, let’s take a brief stop in early spring 2016. It’d been a really rough end to 2015, and with an impressively lengthy and expensive MOT in January behind me i’d had to pick up basically whatever I could get in terms of work to, you know, not starve to death in an alley somewhere. It was around this time I had one of my favourite tours ever with Allison Weiss and Jenny Owen Youngs (that’s them up there in the cover photo, don’t they look pleasant, well behaved and friendly?) but pretty soon afterwards I had a period where i had to kind of jam a few short runs together. Basically the sort of thing where i’d be finishing a tour in Liverpool one night, then starting another tour in Norwich the next night with a drop off in London inbetween.

Well, exactly that, actually. It meant agreeing to do some silly, inadvisable driving stints, but that’s pretty much my M.O at this point and I really needed the money. Plus the second run was with Ducking Punches who i’d previously had some great experiences with. I just had to get through 5 days on a metal tour first. I hadn’t had the best of times with metal bands prior to this (just you wait…) so I wasn’t exactly foaming at the mouth to get out on this run, but also it was only 5 days, how miserable could it be?

“I’ve brought Green Street, let’s stick it on. Can’t wait to get fucked up and go to a strip club tonight.”

Ah, fuck.

So day one of this run is an early morning pickup in London followed by a full days drive up to Newcastle for the first show. The band are tour support so there’s no backline/major stress about being there early, as is evident by us leaving a good hour or so later than planned after one of the guys slept in AND decided to go for breakfast.

First impressions, the guys all seem alright. Guitarist is a bit of a geezer and a bit of a scene veteran, clearly the driving force behind this band. Friendly enough, but you can imagine him trying to gouge your eyes out with a broken bottle after a minor disagreement about what the best Metallica album is. Drummer is a total space cadet, who doesn’t really seem to have much of a vested interest in being at all helpful ever at any time. He constantly wanders off during load ins and load outs leaving everyone else to carry his stuff. Also none of his stuff is in cases, that kind of drummer. Second guitarist and bassist I learn are temps as the band doesn’t have a full time solid lineup. Both very pleasant guys who didn’t have the perceived ego of the ‘actual’ band and were fairly chatty. Finally, the vocalist is the guy who got here late and decided to go eat, making us later. He’s a bit posh, a bit quiet, but seems alright.

Can you guess who’s going to turn out to be a massive prick?

So we finally get on our way, and roughly half an hour into the journey DISASTER strikes. One of the TV’s in the back loses power, and they can only watch Green Street on one screen.We’ve previously covered my anxiety when it comes to things like this, and so with this being the first day of a new tour with a new bunch of people I don’t know, I want to try and get it resolved ASAP. I pledge to stop once we’re out of London and take a look at it. This apparently isn’t good enough for geezer guitarist who continues to moan about not being able to watch a film about football hooligans that he’s probably already watched 15 times this year. I carry on regardless, until about 5 minutes later when a horrible acrid burning smell reaches me. I shout to the back, and the verdict is that they can’t see or smell any evidence of a fire or anything to be worried about. I pull over anyway.

It turns out that one of the power cables leading to the now defunct TV has overheated and is melting into itself. I remove the fuse, apologise, and break the news that it’s unlikely that this TV will be back online for the remainder of the tour. Green Street Geezer Guitarist is understandably mortified and begins to display the five stages of grief.

“Nah, it’s fine. I can’t believe this, FUCK! Is there nothing we can do to fix it? This is the worst, I just bought 5 new DVDs for this tour. Alright, fine, we’ll just stream the Chelsea match on my phone instead.”

After a long, football violence-less drive, we arrive in Newcastle. I’m informed we have a travelodge for the night, and we’ll check in there before we load in to the venue. It’s fairly central so i’m a bit worried about parking, but Newcastle isn’t too bad for city centre parking and i’m feeling good about having a bed. We load in, I go for some food with the vocalist and we make the kind of awkward small talk two people who clearly have nothing in common make. I get a pizza with chips on. It’s not good.

I stay for the show, the band are really not to my taste and the headliners even less so. Looks like i’ll be sitting in the van playing 3DS a fair few nights on this run then.

We head back to the travelodge fairly soon after the gig has finished which was surprisingly efficient, but it turns out it’s only because they’re all keen to shower and get changed before they go out and visit Newcastle’s finest clothing removal specialists. I’ve got a key to the room and they don’t need to get in the van, so i have a good nights sleep in a bed.

Day 2 we’re up at a reasonable hour. Those who went out apparently had a great time but are feeling a bit worse for wear, so the consensus is a spoons breakfast, obviously. Spoons is a happy place where nothing bad ever happens, so not much to say about that.

Show 2 is in Peterborough, a grotty forgettable town. Really, that’s what it says on the sign. The gig is super uneventful, and after I realise there’s a huge 24 hour Asda within walking distance of the venue that’s me sorted for entertainment for the evening.

We’re heading to London afterwards to stay at grimey green street guitar geezers gaffe so we have a bit of a drive, which is made all the more fun with a drop off in Welwyn Garden on the way as the singer wants to sleep in his own bed tonight and will get a train to us tomorrow. I’m assured it’s a 2 minute detour, and whilst that’s obviously an understatement it’s not massively far out of the way, so it’s agreed to without much fuss. We drop him off, then proceed to glorious central London. The rest of the guys want to stay up and watch Metallica live shows and in true metal band fashion take up all the comfortable surfaces before I even step foot in the house without a second thought for the well being of the man behind the wheel of the 3.5 tonne deathtrap they’ll be in the back of, so I opt to sleep in the van. As is tradition.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Thanks to the awesome Mark Bell for this wonderful piece of art! Our crowdfunding to kick off the podcast finishes today, if you haven't already then head over to http://www.gofundme.com/2npjrn3d and chuck us whatever you can!

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Chapter 10: in which the end has no end

“Can you please just get them to give me the money so we can finally put an end to this nightmare?”

I awake around midday, the sunlight pouring through the tinted windows of the van. I feel like a sausage roll, sweating inside my sleeping bag. I think about the grueling drive ahead of me, and smile inside as I realise I get to do it solo. I can take my time, I can stop when I want, I can even have a nap if I want to. I think i’d enjoy this job a lot more if it wasn’t for the clients.

Being the absolute sap that I am, I had previously advised the guys in the band that I would do my best to take a longer way around the route to attempt to avoid some of the tolls en route. After about 8 hours of navigating winding village roads and realising i’m spending just as much in fuel attempting this strategy, I just give up and take the highways. Why should I be trying to save them money anyway? The tolls on the French and Italian highways are pretty brutal though, and as you can imagine if you’ve ever done this drive, 200 euros is not enough to get me home. I think it maybe just about covers the tolls.

The drive itself is pretty glorious though. It’s a sunny day despite it being November, and the scenery is just amazing. After driving through Mont Blanc I need to stop to fuel up, and I decide i’ll grab a coffee whilst i’m there. I sit outside with my laptop, enjoying the free wifi, and before I know it i’ve just sat there soaking up the ambience for about 2 hours.

It’s a long, LONG day of driving before I decide to stop for the night around half an hour outside of Calais. It’s probably gone midnight by this point, and the crossing has been booked for 6.45am the next morning. I grab some precious van sleep before completing the final leg of this torturous chapter of my life.

I’m early to rise, primed to make the ferry in good time. As I approach the loading area, there’s a fair bit of chaos as lanes are closed and various signs give contrasting information. I see the left lane says ‘CITY’ so I reason I obviously need to be in the right lane. After a minute or two, it becomes apparent that i’ve entered the freight loading area. Still exhausted and barely awake, I take a minute to consider my options. By the time I decide I’ll just pull out and find the passenger terminal, i’m all out of options as i am now surrounded on all 4 sides by huge lorries. Utterly helpless and pathetically frustrated, I sit in this steel sandwich and watch the clock tick past my boarding time as nothing appears to be moving.

Eventually, engines roar into life and within minutes the lorries are cleared and we’re fed into a different area. This area contains a roundabout with an exit to the passenger terminal, so i slope off into the correct terminal and join yet another queue. In a rare bit of good fortune, i’m not charged any extra for missing my crossing and am just pushed back to a later one.

I’m finally back in England, and after a few more hours of driving I meet the band at their practise space. I’ve had a quick glimpse at the receipts and have a rough figure in my head, which i’m happy to settle for. The band tell me they’ve left the key to the merch tin at home, and would it be possible for them to transfer the amount over. Admittedly, this is where my trusting nature gets the better of me as I agree to this without threatening to break any legs, hold on to any gear or frogmarching them to a cash machine.

Surprise surprise, the band begin to ignore my attempts at communicating with them when I ask for this money. I try i think 2 or 3 different members, no response. It’s not a huge amount, and I’m aware of how much money they’ve lost on this tour, but i’m obviously not prepared to let it go. After they shirk any responsibility, i’m forced to go back to their manager who had previously sorted out payment. All props to him, he handles it professionally and keeps in touch with me with progress. After a few days, and after previously agreeing to an amount, he states that the band need to see all of the receipts before they’re happy paying. Fair request, dick move.

I send over all the receipts, and realise i’ve actually shortchanged myself by a fair bit and the total is considerably more than I first thought. Bet they wish they’d just settled now, right? Finally, they pay.

£5 less than agreed.

I let it go.

Fuck this tour.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Interlude: in which i thank you and let you know what the future holds

Christ. I’ve honestly been a bit blown away by the response to this poxy whinging blog. Your kind words and condolences have been extremely appreciated, and i’m glad i’m not coming off as too much of a massive wanker.

So part 10 will be up tomorrow (sorry!) and will be the last entry as far as this particular tour is concerned, and i’ve been wondering what I can do to keep this nonsense alive. So it’ll be carrying on in a couple of ways.

1) I’ll continue to update this blog with some one off stories from various tours, albeit a lot less frequently than i’ve been sharing the stories from this tour. I worry they won’t be quite as endearing as these horror stories as they’ll likely be coming from a friendlier place, but who knows.

2) I will be turning ’I Want To Go Home Now Please’ into a weekly podcast, which i’m really excited about. I started a GoFundMe page a few days ago to try and raise some funds to make this a reality and smashed the (admittedly small) target I set. The page is still live, and I would love it if you could donate anything you can to help out with the setup and ongoing overhead costs that are going to be involved.

You can donate here - https://www.gofundme.com/2npjrn3d?pc=fb_dn_cpgnstaticxlarge_r&rcid=5d42d83075ae11e6aab3bc764e065f4f

The basic concept of the podcast will be that one week i’ll present a shorter episode in which I discuss an entry from this blog in a bit more detail, and then the following week it’ll be a longer episode in which i’ll sit down with a musician/someone involved in this crazy touring industry and we’ll talk at length about their horror stories as far as touring is concerned. I figure this’ll keep it a bit fresh, and will mean i have new content every week rather than just doing it every fortnight. I’ve got some fun tours with some amazing people coming up, so i’m confident that it’s going to start off with a bang.

Thanks again to all of you, hope you don’t think the last part is too much of an anticlimax (spoiler alert, i’m not done being fucked around...) and enjoy what i’ve got in store.

Summers

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Chapter 9: in which we separate entirely

“It’s honestly not my job to do that, and I think it’s a pisstake you’d even ask.”

We’re early to rise, largely because our Italian host has to go to work and doesn’t want us in his house whilst he’s not here. Can’t really blame him. We head to a coffee shop underneath his flat and make small talk for a bit. The guys want to see the sights, and I want to desperately not go anywhere near the centre of Milan with the van as it’s a god damn hellscape. We decide i’ll drop them off in the centre of the city and then drive back out to find somewhere a bit quieter to park/catch up on some sleep. On the way to the van I see and stroke a dog, which is always a morale raiser.

Milan is truly terrible. It’s like Paris in the respect that people seem to have a certain perception of it as a wonderful, romantic city when in fact it’s a trash city full of some of the worst driving outside of playing your mum at Mario Kart. I’d say there was nowhere to park, but what I mean is that there are no designated spaces so people park ANYWHERE. Nobody seems to care. I guess they’ve got more important things to worry about.

Anyway. I drop them off in the centre and make a quick escape. I drive 10 minutes or so out and find a space big enough for old blue. The van has become an oven in the midday sun, but i’m so tired from lack of sleep and being in a consistent state of heightened anxiety that i fall asleep in the back seat for most of the day.

I awake some hours later a horrendous sweaty mess, and sigh as I realise it’s time to pick the guys up. I drive back to the centre of Milan, find somewhere to temporarily park and let them know where i’m at. After a fair amount of faffing about, I have the guys in the van. I also seem to have acquired 2 Italian girls, neither of which speak fantastic English and both of which have been made to sit in the front with me. It’s a bit odd. I’m told they’re fans of the band who had previously seen them in London. After a day together, the band apparently have zero interest in any further interactions with the girls. Great.

We arrive at the venue, and after some trial and error with parking I decide i’ll just park fully on the pavement. It’s stressful but i’m satisfied after discussing it with the venue staff that the van will be fine to stay there for the duration of the evening. I’m happy with that, and now i’m just keen to get the night over with as i’ll be leaving the party in Milan after the gig.

The band soundcheck, still awkwardly ignoring the girls who joined us. The girls i guess have gotten the hint, and let us now that due to a bus strike they’ll need to get the train home which means they won’t be able to stay for the night. They explain that the train station is about a mile away, which is easily walkable.

Here’s where it gets awkward.

Aussie 2 butts in and in a tremendously patronising manner advises them that ‘Summers will give you a lift there.’ I’m noticeably uncomfortable about this prospect for a number of reasons which should probably be evident at this point really. They sense my hesitance and insist that it’s fine, but Aussie 2 pushes it further.

‘Summers doesn’t mind, he’s a nice guy.’

Fuck. Off.

I’m equal parts anxious and angry, faced with the dilemma of wanting to straight up tell him to get fucked which would cause an unnecessary argument mere hours away from the end of this tour. The girls are clearly a lot more perceptive than he is, and insist that they’re fine. I walk off and leave them to say their goodbyes, and sit upstairs.

A short while later, feeling a bit guilty, I head outside to find the girls. I double check with them that they’re fine, and after they assure me that it’s a short walk in a busy area, I leave them to it. I re-enter the pub and see Aussie 2. He comments that ‘that was fast’ and I let him know the girls were fine walking to the station on their own. He disappears outside, and I don’t see him or Aussie 1 until just before doors. They let us know when they arrive back that they decided to walk the two girls to the train station. Great. Good for you guys.

A short while later, i head backstage to grab some food, and am confronted by Aussie 2.

‘Would it really have been so difficult to just take them?’

It’s delivered in such a snide fashion that I momentarily contemplate dumping the plate of pasta i’m eating on his head. Showing remarkable restraint, I explain to him that I was confident they were fine, and it would be so much more of a hassle for me to move the van, navigate Milan and then hope the space we have is still there when I return than for them to walk 15 minutes. He’s not satisfied with this, and continues with the snarky remarks. He delivers some macho bullshit about how ‘we’ve all got sisters, wouldn’t you want to make sure they were safe in the same situation?’

Jesus christ. First of all, you’re talking to the wrong guy as far as that train of thought is concerned. Both my sisters served in the navy, one now lifts big weights for fun and the other fixes snow ploughs in the french alps. Unless it’s a situation in which the danger can be diffused by a Pokemon card battle, my sisters are generally going to be able to look after themselves a lot better than I am. Secondly, what year is this? Is this patriarchal garbage really the way you want to go about this? And third, the girls clearly politely declined my offer to drive them. Why then would I, a complete stranger, insist these two young girls get into this van with me? Not that i’m any sort of a threat to anyone (unless as previously stated we’re playing Pokemon cards) but i’d rather take a 15 minute walk in a city i’m comfortable with than get into a van with a complete stranger.

He won’t let it go. He follows this up with ‘this is your job. it’s what we’re paying you for.’ I respond that first of all, he’s not paid me a thing, and secondly my job is to get the musicians in my party from point A to B. He states that as guests of the band, these girls are also my responsibility. Save for the fact that the guys lost interest in these girls hours anyway, it’s crap. I don’t back down, because ultimately it’s the last day of tour and i’ve had enough of being treated so shoddily. I’m also full of wonderful righteous anger, because I know i’m right on this one and can’t believe i’m even having this conversation. Eventually he backs down and leaves it, still of the mindset that i’m some terrible monster who values a parking space and my own sanity over the safety of other humans (spoiler: he’s right, but that’s irrelevant.)

I’m severely fucked off, and i’m fairly close to just leaving. I really, really should have, but despite this entire blog being evidence to the contrary i consider myself a professional and want to finish what i’ve started.

The show itself is surprisingly busy, and turns out to be the best night of tour according to the group. It’s a late one, and as per usual there’s no sense of urgency as far as unloading. We probably leave the venue at 1, and I ask where i’m driving to. They have no idea, as apparently it didn’t cross anyone’s mind to arrange for somewhere to sleep tonight during this entire day of free time they’ve had. I couldn’t care less as my plan is to start my 15+ hour drive tonight by getting the hell out of Milan and sleeping in the van at a rest stop somewhere down the motorway.

We fuck about for so long as I gently remind them all I’d like to leave asap to get some driving done tonight. As usual, nobody cares. After driving to a McDonald’s so they can use wifi to find somewhere and then driving to 3 different hotels they finally find somewhere they’re happy with and unload their bags to leave. I say a faux friendly goodbye to Aussie 1 who’s been more of a general irritant than a true bad guy, and I discuss when and where i’ll be meeting the band back in the UK to drop their backline. I ask for some cash to cover fuel and toll costs, and they give me 200 euros. I explain that due to tolls in Italy and France it’s incredibly unlikely that this will cover all costs, however they’re unwilling to get any more cash out and at this point I just want to leave so we decide i’ll keep all receipts and settle it when we next meet. I’ve got a boot full of their gear, so it’s not a massive gamble, although i’m not happy i have to put these costs on my own card.

Aussie 2 is nowhere to be seen. He has disappeared into the night without so much as a wave goodbye. It turns out he was the true villain of the piece all along. Who knew?

A huge smile spreads across my face as I blast some music on and pull away from the dead weight i’ve been carting around for the past week or so. I pull over about an hour outside of Milan, and have the most peaceful night of sleep since the start of the tour, ready for the epic drive home ahead of me.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Chapter 8: in which not that much happens, if i'm honest with you

“I don’t think anyone’s going to show up.”

After the chaos of last night, everyone is trying to be a bit more positive about this whole experience. Not even the realisation that death is a very real and fast approaching concept can make me positive about driving this bunch of morons to Switzerland, however.

Despite my many warnings and scare stories, we have absolutely no issues getting into Switzerland. Nobody stops us at the border, nobody pulls us over on the highways, it's a stress free drive really. Sorry, boring, i know.

We arrive in the beautiful town of Bellinzona. It really is stunning. There are hills with castles on and everything. Our venue tonight is a quirky pub/rock bar which when we arrive has a bustling outside seating area. We're there fairly early and despite Aussie 2 supposedly being our tour manager at this point, no-one is being very proactive. With this in mind, I spend a painstaking few minutes expertly reversing my mile long van into a snug parking space beside the venue.

I enter the venue to find out what's going on, the staff are very friendly and advise us they will be feeding us soon. Wonderful. We sit down and enjoy a lovely candlelit meal of venue pasta together as we discuss plans for after the final show tomorrow in Milan. We had already established that the Aussie's were not going to be coming back to the UK with us, they want to milk this all expenses paid holiday for all it's worth and do a bit of traveling together around the mainland. I discuss the 15+ hour drive from Milan back to the Brits practice space, and they let me now that they've been giving that some serious thought.

"Yeah, i think we're just going to fly home from Milan and meet you there."

So essentially what they're trying to say is 'enjoy driving 15 hours on your own mate.'

I find it pretty ridiculous that they're so unprepared to spend a day more in a van that they're going to pay out further expenses to fly home, but i'm actually secretly pretty ecstatic at the prospect of getting rid of them all sooner.

A short while later, and Aussie 2 is barking orders about load in. He insists that it would be far too much of a hassle for us to move the relatively light backline from the van where it's parked now and demands it's moved directly in front of the venue. I tell him that's pointless as we'd be moving it 10 seconds closer to only have to move it back again, but he's having none of it. I resentfully huff off to the van and in my haste to move it forget about the waist high wall i've parked next to. A disgusting noise tells me i'll be looking at some body repair work when i finally escape this nightmare.

After load in me and Aussie 2 have a nice walk around the town, admiring our surroundings. We look unsuccessfully for a cash machine and lament over the disaster this past week has been.

It's difficult to not be smug as the night plays out exactly as I imagined. All the casual drinkers disappear once the sun goes down, and aside from a lone couple who have traveled to see the gig, the venue is empty. I hold off the urge to scream 'I TOLD YOU SO YOU DICKS' in their faces as we load out post show and begin the drive over the border to Milan to stay with tomorrow night's promoter.

The moment we enter the guys house i find a single inflatable mattress in a room and fall asleep on it whilst everyone else is faffing about with showers etc. Fuck ‘em.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Chapter 7: in which a day off turns into a literal disaster

"Did he just break the front window of the car with his elbow?!?"

I wake up in a bed, it's the best thing that's happened to me in days. We eat breakfast at the venue, and then assemble in the van for another discussion about plans. I make a last ditch attempt to try and push the Bratislava/Holland plan but Aussie 1 is not having any of it.

I haven't written a lot about the Brits in all this, because whilst I can't really say I got on well with any of them, I definitely felt bad that they'd dropped a ton of money on this and were getting less than nothing in return. I tried to position most of my arguments around the fact that as they'd paid for the tour to happen and were still paying all fuel costs, they should really get the final say on what we do. At this point however, I think they'd just had enough and wanted to cut their losses.

They decide we'll drive halfway today, stop in Ulm (Germany) and then carry on the journey tomorrow. Aussie 2 also decides at this point that the tour is really missing a TM, and he should step up to fill that role. His main strategy in the attempt to bail out this sinking ship seems to be that I need to be given money so I can fill up the van every morning before they're all ready to leave. Because sure, that's where the tour was falling apart, the extra 5 minutes we took to fuel up in the morning.

On any other tour, this would be a particularly dull entry. It's a day off, and we have no plans aside from driving to a hotel.

It's gotten dark all of a sudden, and I'm driving on the autobahn somewhere, maybe an hour or so from Ulm. Aussie 2 is asleep in the front, and everyone else is asleep in the back. I've got a single headphone in and am listening to a podcast, a little bit zoned out from a dull drive.

Suddenly, I shout as loud as I can.

"SHIIIIIIIIITTTTT!!!"

Everyone wakes up as I slam the brakes on and pull the van into the hard shoulder.

Moments before, I'd witnessed probably one of the scariest, most insane things I've ever seen. About 100m ahead in the distance, from out of NOWHERE, a car had flipped 3 times in the air from the fast lane right into the slow lane, landing on its side.

I'm pretty much frozen, still reeling and not really sure what's going on. After a few seconds I snap out of it, realising what's happened. I look to my left, and Aussie 2 is nowhere to be seen. I look ahead again, and I see Aussie 2 sprinting towards the toppled wreck like a quiffed hipster action hero. He tries to open the door, it doesn't open. He then proceeds to start smashing the passenger side window of the car with his elbow, no concern for a potential fire/explosion, to be able to drag the couple inside to safety.

This. Is. Bonkers.

I run over with a couple of bottles of previously snatched rider Sprite to give to the very lucky, very disorientated couple who have now emerged from the wreckage, and we all stand around in disbelief as a German lady who has also pulled off calls the police.

The police take a statement, and initially think we actually caused the accident:

"You hit the car?"

"No?"

"Why does your van look like that then?"

Oh. NICE ONE BANT-GELA MERKEL.

After establishing we were just bystanders, we get back on the highway and pull off soon after to grab some food and talk about how lucky we were and how we should just take the rest of the tour in our stride. They're even complimentary with regards to my driving and avoiding the accident. It's a nice moment.

It doesn't last.

I get cosy in the van as they go up to their hotel.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Great stories Are you still on tour with them now ? Who the they

Haha thankfully not, this was nearly a year ago now.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Chapter 6: in which the goal posts are moved to a different stadium and sound advice is soundly ignored

“Has this guy ever actually seen a map of Europe?”

I wake up in sunny Prague with a fine van sweat about my person, cursing my luck for not having slipped into an endless coma. It’s 11am, which is the checkout time for the hotel, so naturally nobody is here yet. I snooze for a bit longer before the Brits and Aussie 2 appears, Aussie 1 is having that crucial third shower I guess.

We decide to have a bit of a look around for breakfast, and let Aussie 1 know where we’re going. The touring party settles in a cafe that’s out of my budget, so I wander a bit further and find a dirt cheap Asian restaurant that serves me a mean breakfast chow mein and also offers me the added bonus of eating alone.

The guys have been talking over breakfast, and Aussie 1 makes it abundantly clear that he is still ill, it’s probably the most ill that anyone has ever been, and he’s not sure he wants to do the rest of the tour. We sit down and discuss the dates we have left: Chemnitz (Germany) today, Bratislava (Slovakia) after that, then Bellinzona (Switzerland), Milan (Italy) and the last show is of course, according to the tour poster, in Offenbach (Germany.)

Or, at least, it was in Offenbach before it got cancelled. Now it’s in Amsterdam.

Look at a map of Europe right now.

Google ‘Milan to Amsterdam.’

Apparently our beloved booker thinks it’s no issue at all for us to drive 1000km+ after a late show, and expect to a) be there on time and b) be able to function.

Now, if I’m honest, I’ve done worse drives. However they’ve always been on a day off, or at the end of a tour, basically when there’s no set arrival time or pressure. The drive can be chilled out and plenty of breaks can be taken. This news, added to what was already a trainwreck of a tour, was enough to send me over the edge.

“I’m not doing that drive, guys. This isn’t what I signed up for.”

Anyone who knows me knows I’m pretty chilled, and if I like the people I’m on tour with I’ll almost always go above and beyond to do what needs to be done. As you probably have gathered by now, I don’t like the people I’m with and I don’t want to do anything for them at all really.

Luckily by this point they haaaaaate being in the van. From what I understand of touring Australia there isn’t a great deal of driving: it’s too big for that, so tours are usually short runs in more concentrated areas. (Apologies if I’m way off on that, that was just the impression I was given.) So they really aren’t enjoying these (relatively short and simple) drives and definitely don’t want to do a 12+ hour trip for what isn’t even a paid show.

The group decision is to cancel the Amsterdam show. Thumbs up.

Problems arise, however, when it comes to the subject of the rest of the shows. Aussie 1’s illness means he doesn’t want to do all of the shows, and so we do a bit of investigation to see what the best course of action would be. A quick search for the Facebook event reveals that tonight’s show has a low 'attending’ number, however there is a guarantee, so it’s decided we will head to Chemnitz. Great.

Now here’s where things get a bit silly and I have trouble understanding the trains of thought going on. The show in Bratislava looks to be great - over 100 people 'attending’, a guarantee, local bands, etc. In my mind, it’s an obvious choice to not pull it.

Switzerland and Milan I have historically not had great experiences with, and Switzerland especially can be a real nightmare for DIY tours. As they’re not a member of the EU they will almost always stop a foreign car at the border, and are especially savvy as far as touring bands are concerned. Once they identify you are a band, they will ask if you plan to sell merchandise whilst playing there. If you have merchandise, you are expected to pay an amount of tax, upfront, for every bit of merch you have. The tax is refunded on whatever you don’t sell on the way out, but it’s still an awkward and time consuming thing to worry about for an already incredibly unorganised tour. I also state that we need a vignette, which I don’t mention that I actually already have from a tour earlier in the year.

My helpfulness is at an all time low at this point, my bad.

Anyway, my point is: Switzerland is absolutely not worth visiting as a band unless you have a really solid show/run of shows. As this show was in the middle of nowhere on a Sunday night and there was no guarantee or even a Facebook event, I make it very clear that they should cancel this show. In fact, my suggestion is that we cancel the shows in Bellinzona and Milan and instead play the shows either side in Bratislava and Amsterdam. It means a heck of a drive from Slovakia to Holland, but it means we have 2 whole days to do it in.

You’ve already guessed what happens here, right?

They, for reasons unbeknownst to me, decide to pull Bratislava and Amsterdam so they can play Bellinzona and Milan. They want to cancel the only show of the 4 that looks like people might turn up to and commit to 2 shows which will undoubtedly be terrible and will result in all kinds of aggravation and awkwardness.

I have 100% lost all faith in humanity. I wonder if this is an especially cruel reality show before realising that even television executives must have more humanity than to place someone in this situation.

I argue the points, believe me, but they’re adamant. We play Chemnitz, take a day off, play Bellinzona and Milan and then take a day off to drive back to England.

The rest of the day is largely uneventful. The drive isn’t too bad (though they still find cause to stop during a 2 hour drive) and when we arrive the venue and surrounding area looks pretty incredible.

They don’t seem to agree. Noses are turned up immediately, and heavy sighs are audible from the back of the van. Fuck these guys. The place is great, inside and out. We’re given an incredible spread of various culinary delights, there are beds above the venue, and there’s even a gym that i’m delighted by but in reality will never use.

The show itself, I have no idea. There was a bed and wifi. Night.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Chapter 5: in which the medical diagnosis is 'being a wet lettuce.'

“I honestly don’t think there’s a world of difference between a hostel and a hotel in the centre of Prague.”

I awake from a wondrous Travelodge slumber and grab a much needed shower before myself and Brit 4, who have shared a room, check out. Brit 4 is a bit of a quiet intense guy, and him not wanting to indulge in any small talk is just fine by me. We head for the van for 10, which was confirmed as the time for van call the night before. Nobody else emerges for at least half an hour.

The other Brits and Aussie 2 eventually show their faces around 10.30, by which time I’ve indulged in some breakfast delights at the neighbouring McDonald’s. They’re disappointed to have missed the breakfast cut off, and I am resoundingly unsympathetic as I munch quietly on a sausage and egg Mcmuffin.

Another problem with this tour is a complete lack of management. I enjoy and have a lot of experience with tour managing, and on any other tour i would have taken the reigns of this rickety wagon and steered it back on course. But it’s hard to want to go above and beyond for people who care so little about you or your well being, so I figure I’ll do what I’m told and nothing more. Whilst I feel anger on behalf of the promoters they’re letting down, I decide that if they’re late it’s their own fault.

We wait for at least another half hour for Aussie 1. He respects neither the rules of the travelodge or of van call. In my eyes, he is a heathen and we should leave him to die here, but unfortunately with him being the headliner we can’t really do much without him. He eventually saunters out at a leisurely pace, checking his hair in the wing mirror and sitting quietly in the back of the van with barely a word said.

We find out at this point that he’s feeling a bit under the weather today. Specifically, he has a sore throat. He lets us know that he’s not sure if he’s going to do the show tonight. This does not bode well.

Dessau to Prague isn’t too bad of a drive, and we arrive at our destination a fair bit earlier than necessary. So I suppose he DID have time for that second shower. The club had some… interesting graphic design choices.

After a period of hanging around the van, our promoter shows up. I’d say he was in the top five most punchable people I’ve ever met. His English is great but delivered in a faux American accent, and he spends the entirety of the time with us telling us about his band, and what labels are interested in them, and what famous bands he’s friends with… My dislike of him momentarily detracts from my dislike of the touring party, so I suppose every cloud has a silver lining.

Inbetween the extended moments of him being a gigantic dullard, he lets us know that he’s pretty sure no one is going to show up tonight, and he actively tried to talk the booker out of doing the show. I’m not sure if he or the booker comes off as the bigger moron in this one. It’s like they decided to have a twat-off and they ended up just deciding that rather than declaring a victor they’d team up and try and make as many people miserable as possible.

It’s around this time that Aussie 1 decides he isn’t playing tonight.

Aussie 2 and the Brits are naturally a bit perturbed by this as if he doesn’t play they can’t justify charging into the show, and attempt to talk him into it, but he’s adamant. There’s a bit of back and forth with the promoter, and apparently his response is:

‘The venue say you can cancel the show but you have to drink at the bar until 9pm.’

A peculiar compromise which would be nigh on impossible to enforce (what were they going to do if we left, not book them again?) but as we’re fairly out of the centre we agree. I have a coffee and they start drinking. After some more conversation, it’s agreed that Aussie 2 and the Brits will play acoustically, and they won’t charge in. Which means nobody gets paid, but as least there’s the chance to sell some merch.

A couple of hours later (it’s a late one) a few people have shown up, and it’s a nice friendly atmosphere. Again, it’s a smoking venue so I’m outside in the van. I think I bought and ate an entire tub of ice cream. Unfortunately due to his fragile condition, Aussie 1 is also joining me in the van so I have to feign interest as he awkwardly talks to me. I’m made aware that a couple have driven 2 hours just to see him tonight, but he still has no interest in playing.

There are obviously 2 trains of thought here:

1) having a sore throat on tour is shit, especially when you’re a vocalist, and a night off would probably do it a world of good, especially if it means staying out of a smoking venue.

2) stop being an absolute lettuce, suck it up and give this small cluster of people who are somehow fans of your music what they came well out of their way to see.

I want to tell him that “some of these people have come from Stoke” but I don’t think he’d get the reference, so why waste my good material on him.

I’ve been in the same position, I get it, but you just get up and do what you can. Which, thankfully, he ultimately does when he heads down to play a few songs.

It’s probably around 1am when we’re all done, and we’re told that we’re welcome to stay with the promoter at his place. Aussie 1 soundly rejects this when he hears there wouldn’t be a bed for him, because god forbid he sleep on a sofa, and insists I look online for somewhere to stay. Which is great, as whilst I had zero interest in spending more time with our obnoxious promoter, it would likely have meant somewhere for me to stay other than the van. I can’t justify the cost of booking a room, and nobody is forthcoming with wanting to cover the cost of one for me so I guess I’m in the van again tonight.

It’s always an interesting one with the subject of accommodation. In my mind, you want to look after your driver. They’re the one responsible for your safety, you want them well rested. Most British DIY bands will adopt a ‘driver gets the best bed’ policy, which is always great. Not so much with international bands, sadly. But, I digress.

After a few minutes of looking, I find the cheapest, closest hostel. I show my findings to Aussie 1 and he  rejects it, stating that it should specifically be a hotel, not a hostel. I offer a slight glance of disbelief, wondering if he’s taking the piss, but he appears to be entirely genuine in his rockstar request. He takes my phone, and a short while later seems to find accommodation suitable for someone of his standing.

Luckily for me, it’s a 5 minute walk down the road. I breathe a sigh of relief as I throw their bags out onto the pavement, lock up the back and hop inside the van. I silently wish for a meteor to fall and crush the van with me in it as I drift off.

[iwanttogohomenowplease]

Chapter 4: in which it becomes apparent that someone has made a very poor business decision

“Wait… You PAID to get on this tour?!”

We wake up in time for check out, and it’s around this time I’m regaled with details of the groups adventure on the Reeperbahn the night before. It’s then I find out that there was an inordinate amount of money spent on one of Hamburgs finest prostitutes. According to Aussie 2, he initially went in with a low cost offer, and as the festivities went along he was asked for increasing sums of money for additional services. I guess prostitution is a lot like used car sales in that respect.

We have a fairly leisurely morning in Hamburg, the guys decide to eat at a local cafe and as is my M.O I try and find a way to eat as well as I can for as cheaply as humanly possible. I think I hit the Penny store on the Reeperbahn and grab some sub-euro pastries and a dirt cheap coffee.

The drive to Dessau for the next gig is fairly uneventful, around 4 hours of efficient German scenery. Dessau itself isn’t really what you’d call an ‘A’ town. Or a 'B’ town really. It’s eastern Germany at its post war best, blocky and clinical. The venue itself is kind of cool. The stage basically looks like a front room: wallpapered back wall, and some standing lamps on stage in lieu of any sort of lighting rig. It’s a cool place, and as per usual the promoters and venue staff are very accommodating.

Not that anyone on the tour appreciates it, mind. After the grimy metropolis that is Hamburg, Dessau is apparently far beneath them. Sulky faces match the whiney complaints and it’s clear we’re back to square one as far as morale is concerned. I chat with Aussie 2 outside, who is characteristically fine with the whole thing.

“As long as I can sell some merch, I couldn’t really give a fuck where we play.”

Which, hey, isn’t the worst attitude in the world. Aussie 2 isn’t getting paid for any of the shows, I find out. Aussie 1 is giving him a daily amount for food etc, but aside from that he’s just making money from Tshirt sales. It’s not really an uncommon thing to happen as far as supports, especially if they’re sharing transportation. Hell, I’ve done it.

It’s my conversation with some of the guys from the band that sheds light on something I really hadn’t anticipated, however. I find out that the reason they’re especially down on how this tour has played out is that they paid £2000 just to play the shows. On top of that, they were solely responsible for the costs involved with hiring me and all fuel, parking, toll, ferry etc expenses.

I’m left pretty speechless by this, to be honest. I’m sure it’s just my naivety coming from a DIY punk background, but I’d really never come across paying for tour support before. Especially not at this level, playing these kind of venues. They had essentially dropped thousands of pounds to be able to play to 10-30 people every night. Whoever made the decision to agree to that probably needs to rethink a lot of their life choices. Apparently the £2000 was specifically requested to be able to cover the Aussies flights to and from Europe, which is kind of crazy.

The way I see it, a well booked and promoted tour should recoup any and all costs associated with actually doing the tour. Again, from what I gather (I wasn’t tour managing this run, so I wasn’t privy to settlement amounts etc) the guarantees were really not great, if they existed at all.

The show itself was fine, though complaints were still loud and frequent. There were around the same amount of people there as there were last night, albeit in a much smaller room. I spend most of the night outside in the van, as it’s a smoking venue and I’d rather not feel and smell any worse than I do already.

We’re put up in a travelodge room next to a McDonald’s, which is the absolute dream, right? I get to sleep in a bed, good times.