Week and Some Days 5 or 6: The UK to the End

9/28/13 - House Show, South Hampton, GBR / Fill Your Neighbors Bowl (With Booze)

Wake up. Already driving. Four hours. English Channel. Inspection. One hour. Ferry. Armpit OJ heist. Underwhelming cliffs of Dover. One hour. England. Shitty traffic. Three and a half hours. Shitty day. House where show is. Redeem with immediate shots and showers. Beers. Delicious slop. Beers. Load in gear. Load in full five liter bottle of wine and half three euro bottle of 95% alcohol. People gather. Outside making strangers fancy pinky wine drink the child size wine. 95% alcohol shot face watching and fire breathing. Show begins. Good acoustic acts. Good band. We play. Demand of crowd bottle of wine and rest of alcohol must be gone by end of set. Gone by end of first few songs. So much dancing. So much sweat. Multiple people crowed surfing at once. Wall of death (split crowed – charges at another). Joe crowd surfs with guitar for last song. End. Sloppy conversations. Someone has nitrous. Swede named Anna. Something about Millencolin songs in Swedish. Something about football anagrams. Something about being sick and having to go home. Idiot bros who got kicked out of party across the way get kicked out of our party. A room all to myself! Pass out.

9/29/13 - Clwb for Bach, Cardiff, GBR / US - UK Chiplomatic Relations

Wake up. Great sleep. Real warm English/American breakfast for the first time of tour. Clean up. Depart. Arrive Cardiff, Wales. Castle one block from venue. Load in. Wraps and internets. Play. No dancing. No sweat. Blank sort of stairs. Load out. Chip shop (French fries). Dudes in yellow cardigans holler at me to come to them. They are angry I'm only paying attention to my chips (French fries). Few minutes later they call me back over and ask me what I think of the military. I tell them what I think of the military. They get pissed and rebuttal. They get more pissed about that I'm still not really paying attention to them and paying more attention to my chips (French fries). Turns out they are UK troops. I start to walk away uninterested in they're outstanding dedication to protecting and serving our countries. One dude is real pissed that I won't stick around to resolve any tension the US and UK have right there in that very chip shop. Stands up and starts blindly shouting to remind me about how he protects and serves our countries. The only other people in the shop are the non-native employees who just sort of stair. I take a picture of the seething troops. Depart. Arrive apartment where we are staying. Pass out.

9/30/13 – The Corner House, Cambridge, GBR

Wake up. Depart. Arrive Cambridge. Coffee, sandwiches, and a two liter bottle of cider. Load into public house (bar). Love of my life Sam Russo and his lovely girlfriend Clare arrive. Hangs. Play. No dancing. No sweat. No free food/drinks. No one really there. End. Load out. Very shitty pay. Sam and Claire depart. Promoters house. Hangs. Talk of punk scene (especially in the US and UK). Something about the lack of value in art/music. Something about people being upset spending $5-10 bucks for a show while the cost of a band between van rental, gear rental, driver, gas, booking, plane tickets, etc on a tour is often not covered. Something about those people then being upset that shows never happen in their town. Hm. Curl up on couch. Pass out.

10/1/13 – Blueberry, Norwich, GBR / Sing to me Alcohol Man

Wake up. Shitty sleep. Depart to wander downtown Cambridge. Meet back up with Sam and Clare. I don't eat fish. I eat fish and chips to say I did it. So fried it tastes like funnel cake. The mix of fish and the smell of cheap slave made clothes makes me almost vomit in a Primark. Go to van. Goodbye Sam. We steel Clare. Depart. Arrive Norwich. Public house (bar). Darts I lose. Pasta dinner in giant Tupperware with no plates. Or utensils. Fashion baguette and beer coaster mechanisms to deliver pasta to mouth. People arrive. Box of beers on outside patio. Walk to find more. Find shop. Ask dude for vodka. Dude takes a breath and casually looks up at us elbows heavy on counter and tells us from between his crooked shoulders “...you know that drinking is bad. It destroys families. It ruins relationships. It harms those you care about and yourself.” I say “Where are you from?” he says “I'm Kurdish.” I say “Have you ever been drunk?” He says “No.” I say “You should try it.” Muslim dude hands us bottle of vodka. Depart. Show. We drink. We play. Tons of dancing. Tons of sweat. Circle pit around a support beam. Nine person human pyramid. Twenty person row boat (???). Show ends. Round up people. Go to find Karaoke. No Karaoke. Bro fist fight. Rip shirts off to prove they have chests. One punch. One bro walks away crying. People peeling away. Find castle. Storm castle (we climbed some gates. I imagine it was easier than really storming a castle.) Depart castle. Go to girls place we are staying at. Pass out on couch.

(the exciting fight!)

10/2/13 – The Black Heart, London, GBR / Thanks Again for Breaking Ikea

Wake up. Try to shower. No power so it doesn't work (the UK uses an electric box tied to a rip chord that tangles from the ceiling to power their showers. Huh.) Girl dressed as bumble bee comes bouncing down the stairs to tell me they didn't pay their electric bills. Calls roommate who goes down to the shop to buy the magical electricity card. Brings magical electricity card home, disappears into a closet, the power starts working (Huh.) Peanut butter honey sandwiches. Depart. Arrive London. Big Ben is small. Cool curvy skyscrapers (later someone explained to me that the curvature of one created an ant-killing-magnified-glass effect and set a car or a shop or something on fire.) Arrive show. Load in one million stairs. Fucking awesome vegan buffet. Check into paid-for hotel. Random door next to pot-leaf-printed-on-stuff shop. Leopard print sheets. I break a bed. Show starts. No dancing. No sweat. A few stoked kids singing. Load off. Ask girl for bottle opener. Opens my beer with teeth. I'm terrified. We become friends with her friends. We all depart to bar. Something about rad mismatched clothes. Something about fashion and doing whatever the fuck you want so long as you rock it. Something about living in Greenland. End bar. Back to hotel. Pass out in leopard print sheets.

 (I get worse at remembering/taking pictures)

10/3/13 – Bold Street House, Liverpool, GBR / Between a Pug and a Horse Place

Wake up to giggling. Jared has taken a creepy picture of me sleeping in leopard sheets. Depart. Arrive Liverpool. Cute old town near Scotland. Can't understand anyone. Load into fancy bar we shouldn't be playing at. Walk to grocery store for Ploughman's Sandwich and two liters of cider. Talk to a gang of twelve year old kids in front of a pizza shop who asked me for a cigarette. I have to ask them three time to repeat themselves until I can understand what the fuck they're saying in English. One tells me he dreams of moving to New York. I ask why. He says because the sweets are better. Play show. No sweat. No dancing. Taxis to promoters house for sort-of-party. Beers. Weed. Girl is flirting with me. Plays guitar in kitchen to me. Dude who looks exactly like Joe McMahon comes into kitchen and plays guitar for her. They start making out almost immediately. Everyone in kitchen now having acoustic show. Living room hangs with Dan Andriano and an awesome Iranian named Fizzy. James is passed out on couch between a pug pillow and a horse head. Francis is wedged under a table. Tim is draped over a two seated couch. A room I shouldn't be in. Pass out.

10/4/13 – Kage Night Club, Dundee, GBR / Whuch Part of “YOU'RE CREEPING EVERYONE HERE OUT” Don't you Understand?

Wake up. Coffee and party wreckage clean up. Depart. Long drive through endless rolling sheep spotted hills (imagine the most stereotypical image you have of Scottish country side. Yup.) Arrive Dundee. Shopping. Load in. Delicious chili and bumble gum soda. Beers. Sip on delicious amazing incredible Scotch. Load up so many stairs. Show. Not much dancing. Not much sweat. Tame but good. Quick pack job to let punk rock after party begin. Punk rock after party begins. Skanking to Real Big Fish. Sing a long with the Menzingers. Creepy dude I have to have multiple chats with to stop being so creepy. Drink a few discarded beers. Drink a few questionably discarded beers. Depart to Dominos for free after hour pizza. Destroy pizzas. Pass out.

10/5/13 - Audio, Glasgow, GBR / March of the 5am Scotts

Wake up. Amazing English breakfast spread (eggs, fake meat, potato waffle things, beans). Depart. Sheep. Hills. Green. Rolling. Arrive Glasgow. Very city. Very venue. Set up. Internet at mall. Chili and a bottle of vodka. Play show. Not much sweat. Not much dancing. End. Abduct people. Go to punk rock club next door. Dancing. Moshing. Crowd surfing on only princess warrior. Three am. Failed McDonald's French fry scam. Clare and I miss cab. Sit on curb with promoter waiting for second taxi watching the parade of dudes marching in packs without shirts on with Celtic knot tattoos. Six inch platform heels with tits so pressed so high they seem to suffocate the girl. Rain. Cold. Five am. Taxi finally comes. Reach promoters house. Pass out instantly.

10/6/13 – Manchester, GBR / Day off / The Woods of Winehouse

Wake up. Get out. Head to Francis' of Leagues Apart's house. Word of illicit substance en route courtesy of the lovely Fizzy. Arrive Manchester. Put laundry in. Dinner. Nine pm. Consume said substance. Carl Sagan's The Cosmos. Twenty minutes. A little nauseous. Twenty more minutes. Delayed streaks on the TV. Bathroom toothbrush living moving bouquet. Remember laundry. Stair at wet laundry. No way. Head outside. Air is crisp. The buildings sparkle. Every point of light seems to consume the colors connected to it. Vivid. Van is Carl Sagan's space ship. Enter van. Exit reality. Slip into void. A vacuum of texture. Darkness with highlights resembling what was interior. Van moves around me. Navigation near impossible. Seem to get lost. But can't get lost with no relative point to to specify “where.” What is where? Weird thoughts. Weird thoughts quickly resolved with the fascination of texture. Friction. Arms and legs. Skin. Breath. Difficult to distinguish between me and what else. Impossible to distinguish between me and what else. All is simply one. All is dark. Tons of dancing. Tons of sweat. All is wet. Sound compensates for sight. Voice cuts through air. Seems to echo and reverberate. Breath is bass. Flexes the humid air like rolling thunder. No way to specify what where or who. Time is impossible to distinguish. Climactic implosion into deafening silence. Collapse. Find way to seat. Press against foggy glass. Streaks in window bend street light so bright it seems to be the sun. Rain dances across windscreen (windshield) and reveals the colorful spectrum. Watch like movie for some absurd amount of time. Attempt to put thoughts and experience into language. Just jumbled garbage. Paint pictures with finger into fog. Realize I need to get out. Distracted by patterns on carpet ceiling. Remember realization to get out. Distracted by the sensation of skin. Remember that I need to get out. Force myself to stand up. Talk through getting out. Near impossible to find belongings in tour van space ship rubble. Finally get shit together. Open door imagining it's going to be the vacuum of space. Brace myself. Slide open door with all my force. Quiet neighborhood awaits. Jump into neighborhood. Set out with Fizzy. Taste of cool air. Animals seem to follow and watch us with big sweet eyes. Cats. Dogs. A fox. A hedgehog. Sit and stair at a tree's rainbow foliage for a while. Bricks in wall seem to breath and almost fall out. Vines clung to walls don't seem different than the wall. Figure out that the only difference between things is what we call them. What we label them. How we define them. In fact all things are simply one thing. A cosmic blanket with different colors and shapes and textures impressed. Countries. Borders. Bread boxes. Words and names. Bullshit... Woah.

Anyway, this went on for several hours and ended in a 7am walk to the grocery store to buy a sandwich from a guy who's face scared the hell out of me. Pass out.

10/7/13 – Firebugbar, Leicaster, GBR / Fuck this Day

Wake up at 2pm. Feel like complete and utter dog shit. A sweet farewell to Fizzy and apologies all around for those who lived in the house who were not on drugs. Depart. Pounding juice and sandwiches. Don't want to be alive. Arrive Leicaster. Some bar. Doesn't matter. Don't want to play. Press a coffee against my face for a while. Check into paid for hotel room. Hang my wet laundry everywhere. Play show. We all play about half speed. No banter. No dancing. No sweat. No one was there anyway. What-the-fuck-ever. Pass out.

10/8/13 – Cafe Lokaal, Heemskerk, NED / Thanks Irene!!

Wake up way early. Depart six am. Drive forever. English Channel. France. Drive forever. Belgium. Drive forever. Netherlands. Drive forever. Arrive Heemskerk. Load into show. Delicious Dutch beers. Stress about what the hell I'm doing after the tour ends in one day because I have no anything tickets and no anything plans. Hangs with the lovely Irene. Play show. A bit of sweat. A bit of dancing. End. Drive to Amsterdam to stay at Irene's. Walk night city. Narrow streets lined with canals and bikes. Bluesy bar. Cheese things. Back to apartment. Pass out.

10/9/13 – Kamikaze Klub, Mechelen, BEL / Fin.

Wake up. Last day of tour. Delicious cheeses of breakfast. Head to the streets. Amsterdam seems to be sort of like a doll house. Doors, windows, sidewalks – everything is just a bit smaller. Streets garnished with plants and colorful handmade shop signs. Canals lined with house boats run in circles marking the city center like a bullseye. Girls winking at you in little retail windows to trying to get you to fuck them. Coffee shops full of weed. We wish thanks to our lovely tour guide Irene. Depart. Arrive Mechelen, Belgium. Warehouse venue with skate park behind it that's apparently completely funded by tax dollars (cool!). Pizza party. Celebration booze. Set up. I watch a bunch of feral children skate for a bit wondering if I'm staying in Belgium when everyone leaves to the airport or going with them to somewhere in Germany. Play show. Some dancing. Maybe some sweat. Weird show on after us that's terrible. Give a last prost to a financially crippling but entertainingly amazing tour full of delightful fat hearted folk who border drowning us in love and literally drowning us in beer. Overnight departure to Germany.

Thanks for reading my self-indulgent blog y'all. I would keep writing about the two weeks I've spent in Barcelona, but it's mostly just been eating, sleeping, going to the beach, and clubbing until 8am as the Spanish do. See you soon!