Clog To The Face.

I’ve said this many times before, but I really am going to try and write something on this page every day from this day onwards. That means starting today. This is for many reasons, the main one being so they can make a book about me based on the ramblings found at this URL when I inevitably die in a few years when I finally bite off more than I can chew. That isn’t a metaphor, my vocation in life is chewing on things - one day i’m bound to choke on a big piece of rubber. The other reason is that it looks like i’m really deep and thoughtful when I write these ‘thought snapshots’ (a pretentious term for blog I just created), and it is a fact that man’s real goal in life is to be respected by his fellow man. Little do these fellow men know that when I look up longingly from my laptop, seemingly to divine a word from the sky that will perfectly fit the mood i’m trying to create, the word i’m most likely trying to imagine will be ‘boobs’. So from this day forth you can expect a lot more from me, starting with the first date of a short European tour we’ve just embarked upon. Are you excited!? NO!? Well get out then, the door is open. Oh, it’s locked? That’s right, i’ve locked you in. You can’t leave. Sit down and listen prisoner...

Armed with only a toothbrush and a months supply of bullets, I boarded the bus in Glasgow feeling extremely stupid as we were taking a bus to Europe for 4 gigs in tiny venues. We do have to keep up this aura of sellouts though, so were also wearing gold suits and had brought our pet leopards along for the trip too. Our thinking was that the human mortalities inflicted by these wild animals will be far outweighed by how cool we’ll look as we roam the streets with them on leashes, whilst we kick it in our 24k gold threads. The gold suits proved uncomfortable after 5 minutes on the road though so we took them off and put on our velour lounging tracksuits. Much better. We would be traveling for approximately 20 hours to get to the first show in Amsterdam so we stocked up on goods from a reputable supermarket chain and made use of the hi-tech microwave appliance on the bus. Unfortunately, the powerful microwave radiation couldn’t infuse my meal of Quorn Balls and Spaghetti with any sort of noticeable flavour. As a side note, Quorn Balls is a great name to give a vegetarian to make fun of them. Please don’t use it against me though, don’t bite the hand that feeds.

After an afternoon Siesta and an attempt to read all the magazines that i’d accumulated over the past 2 years (managed about half a magazine), we arrived at Dover and after a textbook crossing we found ourselves in Calais. When I think about the fact that I was in one place in the morning and now I was in another place it makes my head hurt so I watched 127 Hours to take my mind off it and vowed never to let a rock fall on my arm for as long as I live. Then I slept. When I awoke we were in Amsterdam and it was light. I imagine many people have experienced that last sentence. Myself, Barry, Sam and Sam ‘Pam Johnson’ Thomson went for a walk around and decided that Amsterdam is much less like a drug dealer’s wet dream during the day - it’s very nice. We got lost trying to find Anne Frank’s house, so we decided to turn back as we are rubbish at reading maps. If only the Gestapo had done that aswell...

We were playing a venue called The Sugar Factory which is directly across from The Melkweg where we’d supported bands a couple of times in the past. Seminal DC band Scream were playing there that night - I thought about asking them “Do youze know Dave Grohl?” but decided that they definitely would because he used to play drums for them. The Sugar Factory staff seemed to be made up predominantly of English people, which made me question if we were actually in Amsterdam. After some persuading I conceded that we were definitely in Holland when a man in clogs kicked me in the face. As usual, mainland Europe puts most other territories to shame in how they treat bands, even tiny bands like ours. Our dressing room had a rider that Prince would have deemed ‘excessive’, and there was enough alcohol to satisfy a freighter of Scottish youths. I focused on the little caramel waffle things though, that’s my poison. As far as I know, you can’t overdose on caramel. Following on the food theme, I had something called Boboti from catering which was lovely apart from the mental American chef who kept touching me and asking if I was enjoying it. The fact that I was enjoying it made her hug me more.

Anyhooooo, the gig itself was ok as first shows of the year go. Sam’s guitar didn’t work for the first song which wasn’t ideal, hopefully the crowd thought it was a sort of protest against Freedom of Speech or Anti-Piracy laws. It went smoother from then on in, only 3 audience members were mauled by our leopards and I only forgot to play drums on 6 six songs. MASSIVE SUCCESS. Afterwards I celebrated with another caramel waffle thing (what are they actually called?) then I got back on the bus and read another pointless magazine. I should just throw them all away as most of the information contained within them is now irrelevant - but I am determined to soak up their useless knowledge. I resisted the urge to take to Amsterdam’s streets before bus call to source one of their special cookies as last time I had one it made me stare at a wall for about 3 hours. I don’t believe that’s the desired effect.

click photos to enlarge....