MAAAAAAAAANNNNNHHHEEEEEIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMM!

Mannheim. It sounds like the surname of the new hotshot detective in a Police show, whose methods of catching the Crimz (street talk for criminals) always sit out of step with the normal conventions of the law. This would cause the Police Chief to shout this at the end of each episode: “MAAAAAAANNNNNNNHEEEIIIIIIMMMMMMMM!!! YOU USED WHAT TO CATCH THAT THIEF!?” IN MY OFFICE - NOOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!”. The premise of the show would continue to follow this trend, with Mannheim breaking police protocol to catch the Crimz and getting into all sorts of scrapes along the way. But somehow he never gets suspended even though he’s technically also breaking the law. That’s the wonders of television, you can make things up and people will believe it as if it’s on television it must be possible.

But Mannheim is also a city in Germany, and probably not named after a Police detective. If it is, just call me the new David Blaine and then get me my own television show. I’ll suspend myself upside down for 100 days with only one box of French breadsticks and a bag full of cress to keep me alive. But I digress, again. Mannheim is a city in Germany and it was the scene of our last German show of this here Enter Shikari tour. Our first time in the city, although we have played in the very nearby Heidelberg - the scene of my magnificent ‘World Beer Crate Endurance Test’ world record last November. That was a good day. The gig was in Alte Feuerwache - which means Old Fire-station I think? Or, that’s what it is anyway - a former fire station. But since the law was passed in 1874 to ban any object from going on fire by the Mannheim government it’s been a venue.

And we nearly made it to the venue without being stopped by the police! But, ten minutes from the destination we were stopped by two of the oldest undercover highway patrolmen i’ve ever seen. There’s something really unsettling about 2 men in their late 60’s with matching woolen jumpers and guns. They accused us of going at 130 kilometers per hour, which is frankly impossible for a van of our size with a trailer. Unless we got Nos canisters installed. If Steven and Gordon got their way we probably would. And spoilers for the back of the trailer. Eventually they let us away, taking our tally up to 8 police stoppages in 3 week. Possibly some sort of terrible record.

Once at the venue we slid about getting all the gear inside and then relaxed in what was a very cool looking venue. The dressing room even had big black drapes to section it off - like we were in some sort of goth hospital. Soundcheck was great, I even had to take some bass drum out of my monitor wedge - which is surely a first. Come gig time though, disaster struck! My snare drum bottom skin burst after the third song and the spare snare sounded worse when it was swapped in as it hadn’t been tuned in around 4 months. Oooooops. So John Wayne sounded like I was hitting a bag filled with potatoes instead of a drum. I cranked it up after this without really listening to it, just to get some sort of snare-esque sound out of it. So, sort of a disappointing show - although we sold a lot of Merch afterwards, which worries me. I might just play assorted bags of vegetables from now on, equaling cash success in swag.

Shikari were great, super tight and it sounded massive. But everyone was starting to look slightly tired afterwards. Another big drive to get to Paris tomorrow, but we ended up mucking about at the venue until way passed our bedtimes. We got back to the hotel about 2 with the knowledge we had to leave at 7am fresh in our minds. Hooooorrrraaah.

MMMMMMAAAAAANNNNHHHHHHEEEEEIIIIMMMMMM!!!!!

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My Lifestyle Controls My Deathstyle

Right, getting pretty bored of all this snow now. It was the perfect way to bring in Christmas, making snow angels in the park and snowball fights with the local youths. I didn’t do either of those things, but it paints a pretty picture. And it was even good to bring in the New Year with our white friend (not cocaine) - but it’s now been over 6 weeks since i’ve been able to run about outside without fear of breaking my frail neck. And I loves a run! We thought we’d finally escaped it when we drove into Saarbrucken for our day off after Switzerland and I was just about to do a victory sprint when some suspicious slushy stuff started to fall from the sky. It was the worst kind of snow - rainy snow. Terrible vibes.

So our day off was spent cowering inside for the most part. We went into the sleepy but affluent town of Saarbrucken where jeans cost 200 Euros and boutique knife shops are ten a penny, and dined like authentic Germans - we went for a Mexican. I managed to guess the WiFi password so I might not be able to write many more of these blogs once the FBI learn this and sign me up as their new computer hacker. The restaurant was called Especial and I shrewdly guessed the password to be ‘Especial’ - don’t ask me how it came to me, it’s like some sort of 6th sense style talent. After this, I was exhausted from all the mental power to come up with a password and had my head further bashed in by the tasty cuisine. It was back to the hotel for the night, attempted to watch Metallica’s “Some Kind Of Monster” DVD and tried to comprehend how three men in their 40’s can be so ridiculous on camera so many times in the space of two hours. The best part is when they come up with the timeless lyric “My Lifestyle controls my Deathstyle.” WHAT!?

The next day it was onto Cologne, a city we know quite well after being stranded there for many days on the Fall Of Troy tour last November. There are many worse cities to be stuck in though, we really like Cologne. The show was at a place called Gloria which used to be a gay erotic cinema, which is quite a specialist business really. It did explain the red velvet wall coverings though. We arrived there quite early and had some errands to run before soundcheck. Me, Barry and Stevie went to the encouragingly named Professional Music Store to replace some gear that was broken in the call of duty, forgetting how unhelpful people in most music shops like to be. And Sam went and bought a t-shirt with a pilot on it, equally vital to the Twin Atlantic live experience.

After soundcheck we met with Jonathan from our label who we hadn’t seen since a very rainy night in London at the end of November, so it was good to see him again. He joined us for the German catering, which was like all the meals in the world in different trays. I had chicken with weird noodles and potatoes. And gnocchi. Very tasty, although all the different tastes left me scared and confused. So, it was a traumatic experience going onstage with all the tastes of the rainbow circling around in my head. Anyway, the show went well apart from a few falling toms and wacky broken guitar pedals. And someone in the crowd said we were ‘rubbish’ to which Sam retorted “I know we are”, which somehow shut him up. 1-0 Sam then, although the 0 may actually be us and not the heckler.

Afterwards we watched Shikari melt the faces of the packed (former homosexual blue picture house) room, there was even people dressed in bunny and bear costumes in the crowd. They must have been warm. Afterwards we planned to goto an after show with everyone to an Irish Bar called Flannigan’s (an Aaaarrrfffftershow then?), but time got the better of us and the fact most of us had been drinking mineral water all night meant by 1am we were as up for partying as an old man who had lost all his family in a particularly furious after party explosion. And I know an old man that happened too. He was pretty annoyed when it happened. Swore he’d never party again. And as far as I know, he stuck to his word.

The moral of this story is - don’t drink and drive.

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The truth about Swiss adapters.

A very early 7am leave from the hotel meant I slept in a peach and didn’t get my usual morning shower, vital to keep me alive as I am part mammal/part human. When I go on holiday if I lie in the sun too long I have to be hosed down at the beach like those whales you see on TV who can’t make it back to water. So I rolled about in the snow for 5 minutes as we got ready to leave, to absorb some of the snow particles. The drive to Basel was an awfully long one, 6 hours on the Tom Tom Satellite Navigation Device (RRP £something) but it took about 10 as trailer restrictions in Germany meant we had to stick to 50mph for the duration. We didn’t get stopped by the police for once though, which was weird.

We discovered that Basel is right on the border of Switzerland, as with 10 minutes to go we were still in Germany. But sure enough, we hit the border a couple of minutes later - and somehow got away without having to declare all our possessions, and therefor not having to hand some precious Euros over in Tax. And we really love having Euros. The venue looked like an old community centre that had been thrown into the middle of the business district, where powerful men brokered deals whilst driving in their Mercedes whilst in intimidating glass buildings other men smoking cuban cigars were planning takeover bids on their rivals across the street in other glass buildings. But it was hard to tell from street level, and through one way glass. But that’s how I imagine Switzerland in my mind, which i’m pretty sure is completely wrong.

The venue was called Sommer Casino and had the tagline ‘We Rock The City’ which is quite a smart tagline to give a venue when you think about it. Tagline’s that wouldn’t have worked so well could be ‘We Make The City Sad’ or ‘ We Try To Rock The City, But Fall Short’. So, a well picked name Mr. Sommer Casino Kingpin. Good job. Here’s something you should know about Switzerland - they use slightly different European adapters. Did you know that? I didn’t until today, but now I do so i’m passing it on. No need to thank me, i’m just an all round great guy. Also, in Switzerland I also learned that the country is made up of 80% attractive ladies, 199999999.999% men, and one guy with a severe mohawk. That’s it. No children or anything.

Something that we’ve only had once before on this tour is another support band, it’s usually just been us and Enter Shikari every night. Tonight was different though, and had a band called The Inter Sphere opening up proceedings. I’d forgotten how rewarding it is to watch a good band before you play, really gets you excited about playing. And these chaps were excellent, reminded me of Mute Math, but in medieval clothing. It was a tight squeeze on stage so I was right at the front again, and got to be Bon Jovi for one more night. It felt good, maybe i’ll start wearing leather trousers too. In fact, no I won’t. Show was great, the crowd were nuts and Sam managed to perform a stage dive with a guitar that didn’t end in someone getting their face burst open which was a result.

The show was much later than usual, so by the time Enter Shikari went on around midnight they were all slightly worse for wear, but it made for very enjoyable viewing. There was even a 3 minute conversation on stage about who likes popular teen movie Twilight more, and what character they wanted to be - memorable stuff. By the time they’d finished members of team Twin Atlantic were also looking quite ‘car parked’ and there was more beer being spilled than by a brewery worker who insists on wearing stilts to work. It was time to leave when someone fell backwards over a suitcase and spilled a beer all over their face. But at least we had our dignity. Oh wait....nope. that was gone too.

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Behold the giant Pretzel Man.

Dresden. Home of Dreads. And Dens. Very relevant in my life as I was a big fan of Edgar David’s hair (when he also wore those futuristic eye shades) and I tried to make a den in my back garden when I was 10, but didn’t get very far. I tried to dig a moat behind our shed and then realised all the water just soaked right through into the soil and gave up. So our garden for years had a big hole in in it. I then tried to use the hole as a gorge to run a train line across (a toy train line) but I didn’t have the structural engineering expertise to make supports. So the train line just fell into the abyss - killing over 100 plastic soldiers. That was a dark day in the Kneale garden.

So Dresden then, very German - like efficiency and trouser braces. Describe it in one word and I would say ‘Bavarian”. Which is a good word to say anyway. This assessment was going on the look of the one street as I saw on the way in as I slept for the last part of the journey, I think I was drugged by one of my rivals. I’m not sure why. The venue was called Beatpol - I don’t know what that means, in 1984 by George Orwell the Thinkpol were the Thought Police, who policed the public’s thoughts - so perhaps the Beat Police make sure the people of Dresden are beating people up correctly. That doesn’t explain why their would be a gig there - but i’m trying to write enough to make this entry worthwhile.

A lot of amazing bands had played there over the years - Mogwai, Trail Of Dead, Low, Godspeed! You Black Emperor and many more. And The Dildo Bros, the famous local classical composers. The weather had taken a turn for the freezing again so one minute outside felt like you’d rubbed up against a polar bear. Naked. We were quite late in getting there so we played pretty soon after arriving, which can sometimes be a good thing so you’ve not been sitting around for hours, or a bad thing because you haven’t given your frail body enough time to inform it that it has to move about. This was the former, the show went well and we had a much better reaction than in Munich. Good timezzzzzz.

We didn’t stick around for long after Shikari played as we had a bit of an epic jaunt to get to Basel for the show the next day, and fears about being stopped at the Swiss border to declare all of our possessions (I think they call it ‘Carny’, like Carnival People but worse) meant we wanted to be extra alert. After they called us pussies again for not coming out, we held our heads high and all declared unconvincingly “WE’RE PROUD TO BE PUSSIES” and then left.

The moral of this story is don’t take drugs.

Also, I didn’t take any pictures today because I slept for the most part and then forgot to later. So here’s a picture of a man holding a giant Pretzel. Look how big it is! WOW.

Are you the Bartender?

Munich. Home of Bayern Munich, maybe Oliver Kahn too. Because of their football team’s dominance when I was an impressionable youth growing up on the mean streets of Compton (pleasant suburbs of Bishopbriggs) I always assumed that Munich was the capital of Germany. When I learned it was Berlin I let out a gasp and fell down into the fetal position as my brain just couldn’t handle this bombshell. After many months of not speaking to anyone, I finally came to my senses and was able to view Munich as a fine city on it’s own - without having to also have the prestige of being the capital. Why do I bring up this harrowing tale of Munchen? Because we just played there you banana! And banana is an apt name to call you because I ate one just a minute ago.

FIrst we had to get there, and these average 4-5 hour drives a day are really starting to twist my apple man (apt because I also just ate an apple). We’re so used to nice 2 hour UK drives between cities. American drives are going to cause my head to pop off and cry down my neck. About half an hour after leaving Milan we were stopped by the Italian Polizia, who dress in what look like jockey uniforms. Except they were in a car. The language barrier proved a problem as the officer repeatedly asked Paul if he was ‘The Bartender’. Perhaps some sort of old Italian police trick to catch bad guys? “Bartender, bartender bartenduuu” until Paul looked like he might hit him. We discovered that this word may actually mean manager in Italian. But we’re not sure. Perhaps all the managers in Italy are also proficient in the art of drink pouring? After we were all full-cavity searched and all of our possessions confiscated we were back on the road again. The scenery on the way to Germany through Switzerland was even more beautiful than before, like nothing i’ve ever seen. Apart from in Gran Turismo, but that doesn’t count. But enough soppy stuff, they’re might be ‘radical dudes’ reading this and I want to keep my street ‘cred. Cred meaning CREDIBILITY. Dude.

The venue was called Backstage Werk which is in it’s own little compound just outside the city. We’ve actually played here before with The Subways at the end of 2008, the last date of the European tour we did with them so it was good to be back. After sampling some Arabian Lentil soup and a pretzel suffering from giganticism we sound checked, trying to remember our other songs before we go straight onto our headline shows in just over a week. It was a struggle, but they’re starting to sound a little like children covering our songs - hopefully we can get them up to the standard of the songs we’re playing in our support set.

The show was good again, we played really well but it was a bit of a dry reception. I know you shouldn’t expect anything when you’re the support, but some of the reaction’s we’ve received so far have been pretty great. Afterwards we found solace in some fine catering and YouTube videos. Videos that got more shocking as they went on - people falling on their faces, women punching other women in the face, men falling on elevators... all the classics. We left the venue with 4 or 5 crates of beer and assorted juices, which now encompass most of the van. We’ve opened up a Twin Atlantic shop to make some extra money on the road, the selection and price need to be seen to be believed. You can find us driving down motorways or parked outside venue’s at night if you want to sample our wares. The beer we have stocked is actually named Lagerbiere Hell, and that’s kind of what it feels like. Where the world has ended and only crates of alcohol survived.

And with the Twin Atlantic Brewery parked up outside the hotel, the day was pretty much at an end.

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Expert behaviour in Milan.

Does anyone else have this annoying feeling in their head that when it’s winter you can’t wait for summer and vice versa? I do. I wait six months for the weather to get cold and when it does I long for the sun. The minute Christmas is over i’m ready for sun cream and rubber rings. When it gets to summer i’m ready for roasting my chestnuts by the fire and sledging. All those things i’ve just mentioned i’ve never actually done - but when it’s in the heart of the opposite season, they sound really great. This crossed my mind when I got up in the ‘off its nut on Mediterranean vibe’ hotel in Milan, assumed it must be summer as the floor was tiled and there was a big fan in the room, put on shorts and a snorkel and ran outside only to have my tits frozen off after 2 seconds in the blistering cold. I had a word with the receptionist to device some sort of winter decorations for the rooms so people aren’t deceived when they wake up - perhaps some snowflakes on the wall or a snowman in the corner.

To add insult to my now frozen balls, the shower was a leaker. You know the kind, you get out and there’s water everywhere and you feel like you’ve committed some sort of horrific murder. I tried to lap it up but the towel just didn’t have enough suction. Apparently Ross’ room was worse though, the water travelled from the bathroom into the room and then under the beds. After this traumatizing morning we got in the van and sampled some of the erratic driving that Milan is famous for. We also saw some rogue parking maneuvers - cars parked in the middle of the road, cars double and triple parked, even cars parked on pedestrian crossings. We did find the venue (called Tunnel, because... it was beside a tunnel) without too much difficulty, and even found a regulation parking spot. We thought we might have to park upside down on the roof and rappel down. We took the time we had before soundcheck to try and explore the city, something we definitely hadn’t done enough so far.

We expertly traversed our way from the outskirts of the city to the underground system, and then we expertly found the right train to get to the center (although we did lose Ross, Steven and Gordon on the way) and then we expertly looked at places of interest like the cathedral and a nice shopping centre. We dodged the advances of men trying to offer us bird seed, possibly for the birds or perhaps some sort of weird Italian delicacy, and we looked at football tops like real Italian men might have ‘back in the day’. Then we expertly found our way back to the venue.

It was a tight squeeze on the stage so I was right at the edge of the stage, some poor Enter Shikari fan would surely have their head blown off by my ferocious bass drum after the first kick of the set? And the first four rows would be blown half way across the room? My assumptions were proven wrong when the crowd stayed exactly where they were - but it was a nice experience to be at the front for once. I can see why Jon Bon Jovi enjoys being a frontman so much. It was strange having to look behind me to see my rhythm brother Ross however, our powers remained strong together but it was hard work.

Afterwards we watched all of Shikari’s set before leaving promptly afterwards for another trip to the Chinese run Italian restaurant beside our hotel. Taaaaaassssstttttteeee to da Maxxxxxxiiiiiimmmmmmmmuuuuummmmm. Then we slept. Not in the restaurant, back in our rooms obviously.

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Salzburg to Milan in words.

Once upon a time we drove from Salzburg to Milan. No-one remembers why we did this - although i’m pretty certain that gigs were involved. Otherwise there would have been no valid reason for us all to be together for such a venture. Not much happened on the day but I do remember these points vividly.

1. I paid 50 cents to do a pee pee.
2. The next time we stopped (hours later I hasten to add, just so no one can question the strength of my bladder) I had no more change and the toilet attendant looked quite sad that I didn’t have the funds to pay him, but let me go ahead anyway.
3. There was lots of mountains. At one point it looked like we were going to drive over the mountains, and we all got scared. But then we didn’t.
4. The scenery was breathtaking, and I would have cried if I wasn’t so manly and hetrosexual. In fact, i’m so manly that the scenery made me angry as it wasn’t a run-down scrapyard.
5. We were stopped for the 50 billionth time this tour at the Italian border and weren’t stripped of all our clothes and money - even though we thought we would be. Result.
6. We started off the day in a Mexican restaurant ran by Austrians in Salzburg and ended the day in an Italian restaurant ran by Chinese in Milan. We truly are breaking down food barriers.
7. Our hotel in Milan reminded me of holidays when I was younger and tricked me into thinking it was summer outside.
8. Milan is misty at night.

Anything else that happened isn’t worth talking about, mainly because I can’t remember. CIAO.

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Linz: A brief history

A confession: Wasn’t really too sure where Linz was or if it was a real place or just the fluff you find in your belly button. This is just ignorance on my part, I know now that Linz is a area in Austria and has a venue in it called Posthof - like Post Office with the ‘ice’ taken off. Like a warm Post Office then. Except I don’t think it translates as Post Office, as it was a venue. My brain hurts. We didn’t see much else there, but I did see a mountain in the near distance - perhaps called Linz Peak. One day i’ll climb it and plant a tiny flag at the summit with a picture of me on it. Here are some other things I learned about Linz: They supply you with really weird looking meat that looks like a scab, the beer is called Kaiser (like the first name of the band, but a liquid) and some of the men have mullets. And one of them looked exactly like Karl Pilkington, but an Austrian version.

I get ahead of myself though, first we had to get there. Which turned out to be quite easy, we even got to have a full sleep as it was only an hour and a half drive. So, that’s me kind of caught up. There was a small incident of Ross accidentally donkey kicked some tomato sauce out of Barry’s hand and into his hair, but the less said about that the better. It was really hard not to laugh. Barry dealt with it well though, and soon his mane was clean again. There were also some nice wooden cabins on the way to Linz, where you’d imagine a friendly man with a shotgun to live - perhaps inviting you in when you were lost one night and offering you hot soup and a warm bed, And then you’d wake up during the night and he’d be standing watching you sleep, wearing only a bra.

The venue was excellent again, a super easy load in and a good sized room and stage. The dressing room was nice and white and well stocked with fine cheeses and apple juice, and there was around 30 coat hangers to hang ‘stuff’ off of. You can think of this part of the blog as kind of a Location, Location Location style review of the venue. The catering was also superb, situated in a little restaurant adjoined to the venue. Quality food, and good company in the form of little tiny dogs running around. And how was the actual show you ask? Very well, although I had what could be described as a ‘bass pedal disaster’ when the bolt that forms part of the mechanism that grips the pedal to the bass drum threaded during the set and meant the pedal went walkies for a couple of songs. All in all, it was a success - and the bass problem is being fixed as we speak by some highly trained Swedish doctor’s who I flew in using my own money. The preliminary tests look positive, they say he’ll be back on his feet (pedal) by Wednesday.

We have a day off tomorrow but we couldn’t hang around as we were back in Salzburg for a second night at the eTap with no holey shower. Ross raised a good point at the fact we’d left great faith in the hotel powers that be by leaving all our clothes so very far from where we were. I remember the first time we ever took our instruments and gear away with us we took EVERYTHING into our hotel room as we were sure that the van would be robbed if anything was left in it. Now we leave our pants 100’s of miles away, oh how we’ve grown.

And with that tale of clothes based courage, goodnight. Just so you know, all our clothes were still in the room where we’d left them, apart from all my trousers and underwear. So i’m currently walking about like some sort of half naked renegade, roaming the streets of mainland Europe like a mental Scottish tourist. That last bit was a joke mum, I still have all my trousers.

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Please leave me alone Mr. Policeman.

We awoke in the pretty uncomfortable Comfort Hotel in Prague to find that more white clouds had descended from the sky in the guise of ‘snow’ and lay on the ground like a big blanket. This would cause us much trouble when trying to leave the hotel, but first we had the issue of breakfast. I had a traditional Czech breakfast of cornflakes because everything else looked like it had been recovered from an explosion. The cornflakes tasted like a mixture of cardboard and salt, mmmmmmmmmmmm. Some positive news came in the form of warm boxer shorts, the radiators in our room doing a fine job of drying them after my aggressive cleaning techniques the previous night. I did wake up with carpet burns on my shoulder though, perhaps some sort of carpet based snake slid over me during the night. We traipsed outside and got the van stuck in all sorts of positions in the snow, causing Paul to let out a noise that can only be described as ‘Dinosaur-esque’. This scream caused all the snow to disintegrate because of the intensity of the sound, and we used this brief window to quickly turn the van and get out of there.

Like some sort of winter-based action movie, we weren’t out of the (snow-covered) woods yet, we had no Sat Nav and the roads were invisible and rubbish due to the weather. There were many scary moments involving renegade Czech drivers who used the icy conditions to drive even faster. Eventually we made it out using only a stick to guide us, and into Tom Tom friendly Germany before traveling down to Austria for the gig in Salzburg that night. Around the border we were stopped by the Polizia again, in what was becoming a daily occurrence - like brushing your teeth or being sick. They tried to trick us with their questions about having drugs on board, I think they might be in possession of some sort of mind control device that emanates from their identification badges, as you want to confess that you do even though you don’t. And they had guns, so we were willing to tell them in exchange for them not popping a cap in our assholes. In the end we were proven innocent, and they only stole my laptop, 3 iPods, Paul’s shoes and all our passports for the trouble. We left way behind schedule, but with our heads held high.

We eventually got to the venue about 30 minutes before doors, so we couldn’t have a soundcheck which is vital when dealing with a band as diva-ish as ours. The venue was called Rockhouse, and clearly came from the same school of naming as Music bar, Rock City or the Soundhaus. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll play the Instrument Shop or Guitar n’ Drum n’ Vocal Room. The venue was a peach though, you could tell it was purpose built for music as everything was so easy to get to and the room and stage were perfect. There was even a balcony at the side of stage for excellent ariel viewing, or for throwing peanuts as I was subjected to by a certain member of Enter Shikari during our set. I think it was all in good humour, although the peanuts did have tiny little bombs inside them. The show went really well, most of the shows on this tour have so far which is really worrying - it must mean that something terrible is about to happen. My bets are on one of us being raped in Milan by the police, or somebody falling off a mountain trying to catch a balloon in Switzerland. So i’ve called that - hopefully none of these things happen.

Greg from our label was over in Salzburg on business so he came to the show and afterwards we hung out with him and taught him the rules of snooker, which were lost on him because he is American. By the end of the night it was his new favourite sport, and he said his new goal in life was to make snooker big in the States. He had a flight in the morning so we left around 1am to head back to our hotel, which was much less luxurious than his. It was an eTap and didn’t even have the little hole in the shower door, which most would count as a bonus - but disappointed me for some reason. I was tired after being strip searched by the Police earlier so I went to sleep with Isis as my soundtrack. About 45 minutes later I realised that it’s impossible to use Isis in any attempt to get to sleep so switched it off.

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Thomas the Pedophile Magician + Third Degree Washing Burns

There was a man working in the Formule 1 in Berlin that looked quite sinister. For one, he wore a white turtle neck sweater - universally known as the knitwear of pedophiles. And over this I think he was wearing a waistcoat, so he may also be a magician. Perhaps that’s how he got himself in a position to interact with ‘da kids. Sam also informed me, although it was unverified by my eyes, that he had a belt buckle with the name Thomas on it. Which is a bit weird. He kept looking at us all with distaste every time we went through reception and then would laugh to the other receptionist. Perhaps he was saying “Look how great I look compared to those scruffy men” or “I would have probably fancied them when they were 5 years old”. I guess we’ll never know. I just wanted to get that off my chest as a sort of warning if you ever go there, look out for Thomas the Pedophile Magician.

The tour moved onto Prague, so after another escapade digging the van out of the snow again we were on our way. Then we discovered that Tom Tom needs an upgrade to cover the Czech Republic and we had to resort to road maps - can you imagine our horror? I mean, having to follow directions using a book? Unbelievable. Just another example of how technology has turned us all into brainless monkeys. So using only his wits and the hope of continuing to see signs for Praha, Barry guided us there. He also miraculously found the venue in the process using some sort of mystic Baz-sense, going down a side street and there it was in all it’s glory. Inside a shopping centre. The future of gigging surely, buy a handbag then watch a show. That’s an example for women obviously. Or Thomas from the Formule 1, as gigs are a good place to meet young people. And he looks like he might secretly use a handbag.

The venue was cool, it even had a circular stage that rose up from the floor like in a James Bond movie. It was back to unfamiliar currency, where 1 Euro was equal to 1,345,896 Czech Krone. So we all thought we were rich when we received our P.D.s - “Quick, lets all buy cars!” we thought - until we realised that 1 bazillion krone was only equal to 20 pence, which as everyone knows will only buy you 1 Ferrari in Prague. Oh well. The gig went well and they’d crammed a pretty unhealthy amount of ‘Prague-ians”(?) into the venue so it kind of sounded like we were the headliners. Until Shikari went on and it went completely fecking nuts. I’ve never seen anything like it, pints were spilled on the sound desk cutting out the P.A., a superhero known only as Shikari Man came on stage and cream pied Rou. People were diving into the crowd and plummeting to what looked like their deaths. This was confirmed after the show when there was a pile of 20 dead humans on the dance floor. They were brushed into a back room and put with the rubbish. Efficient.

It was Rou from Enter Shikari’s birthday but we couldn’t join in the festivities as we had a big drive the next day. So after being accosted by many men asking us to come to their bars, have a time with GoGo dancers or view a ‘banana’ show we headed back to our hotel - the welcoming sounding Comfort Hotel. The rooms were massive, they even had actual balconies, but it did have a faint air of the kind of place where a mass murder may have taken place. I used this time to wash my vitals (pants n’ socks) and gave myself burns on my hands, such was the vicious power I was putting in wringing them out.

That is the power of Kneale washing clothes, he injures himself to keep his white’s white.

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