Ever felt like you miss your own bed more than life itself?
We are quite privileged in many ways that we are allowed certain comforts while traveling now. The hotels tend to be of the higher end variety and the meals of a certain quality. But, Jeez it sure is great to be in your own bed of an evening.
I feel a little that I've neglected this blog recently but I've been very, very busy and it's not as if anyone's reeeeeeealy gonna notice anyway but 'tis nice after a long day to toddle out a few memories and perhaps a bon mot or two.
Brain not fully functioning in it's illogical fashion so this is more likely to be a simple list of thoughts.
Shepherds Bush Empire.
A wonderful evening. Rather nervous for obvious reasons .... first night of the big band etc. Wasn't sure how the reception was going to be but it was simply wonderful. I was eventually last out the building (with Brucie and Iain) a happy man. Back at the hotel Iain threw Brucie out of a window which made the night even sweeter.
Glasgow Barrowlands.
Almost a hometown show for me now and one I really wasn't sure about the reaction would be. The Barras crowds can be somewhat .... feisty. However they did us proud. A few of those first night nerves had gone, everyone looked much more comfortable and the show was a belter. We travelled up by tour bus and we all had our little Costcutter bags of two Becks and some Monster Munch. Those string section boys though .... they put us to shame. It's a funny thing, everyone assumes our buses will be the ultimate rock 'n' roll cliche. I'm not saying we don't have our moments but we're actually nice boys. I stayed behind in Glasgow as Mr Coxon wanted to bus it and flew down the following day for the NME awards to find Mr Boyd fast asleep in my hotel bed already .... When will I get treated with the respect I deserve? I soon booted him over to one side and we conked out like management's version of
Bert and Ernie.
NME Awards.
Well first of all sorry to the Dundonian fans who lost out to this. I had to wait for a confirmation of a new date before announcing the re-schedule so I hope you are not all to mad about it and can celebrate what was one of the proudest moments I've had. I am not one for showbiz parties and mutual backslapping events but it was great to see Peter get the eward surrounded by those who have most helped him along the way. Mick, Adam, Andy, Drew, Stephen .... fucking proud of everyone who earned their place at the table. Nothing more to add.
Milan.
Myspace secret show .... I still have memories of the farce that was The Camden Crawl a few years back. This one was handled by our good friends at Grinding Halt in Italy and 'twas nice to see them again. The venue, Alcatraz, was very aptly named. The dressing room door looked like it should have had a hatch at the bottom for a tray of porridge to be slopped through. The show however was a belter. Quite a refreshing thing to see that Peter can hold his own so well in a different environment with no back up band whatsoever. Nice crowd, nice time, great show.
There were a few interesting incidents on the night but the main one that sticks in my mind is a very strange man (i.e. MAD) who managed to get into the dressing room and refused to leave. Wouldn't have minded but all he was doing was shouting at the top of his voice, over and over *assumes awful Italian accent*, "I AM SHIT MAN, ORWELL, I AM A SHITAMAN, ORWELL! ORWELL!". A little bundle ensued and he was 'persuaded' to leave luckily just before the 'death moves' were utilised. Then it was off to some bars for Pina Coladas and some discos for some dreadful disco dancing.
Bleary eyed back to Scotland the next day for my mates McD and June's joint birthday party and a whole day of sleeping next day.
Not much rest for the wicked though as myself and Mr Slater trudged off to meet up with Peter, Dropper, Nickie and The Boabie at our new favourite Parisian hideaway for mucho promo. All of which was terribly, terribly successful and should be on your TV's and radios soon you lucky Frenchies. Two days of that and I was fit to drop so imagine my delight to get to Beauvais (hell in no uncertain terms) to discover my destination airport was snowed in and the road back to Gourock dicey in the extreme ....
It's at times like these that the littlest of things can make or break you and this little one made my week. The taxi driver back from the airport, a really nice fellow called Tommy, turned round to me just outside Largs and said, "You look fucked son. Turn that fuckin' phone off and I'll take you for a pint." It just proves that there are still some gentlemen out there. And guess what .... when we walked into the bar .... the opening chords of Delivery started up, that is a true story.
