After waking up in London, I went to Starbucks. I know, it sucks, but goddamit, it was an internet hotspot. So I traded support for globalization for a little internet time. Funny thing about Starbucks in England… they don’t have coffee prepared in the morning. We had to wait. That makes sense.
Onwards to Brighton, where I just about had a heart attack. Our amazing bus driver was stuck in some of the shittiest traffic I’d ever seen in my life. Tiny one way roads, with a two story bus and trailer. When he went down one blocked road and had to make a u-turn, I was freaked out. His normally calm demeanor turned into an angry German schweinnehund. Don’t make Germans angry. You won’t like them when they’re angry.
Then he turned down another bad road and tried to make another turn, and BAM! We lost one of the tires on the trailer. The wheel and everything. Luckily, the backup got us to the club, once he got proper directions to it, but the spare was already balding from overweight.
Once we got to the club, there was nowhere to park and loads of tourists from London as it was the first sunny day in Brighton in a while. We had to jam the gear out, change the tire and get him out of there. It’s funny when you run into a room and say “We gotta load out fast!” and watch who comes to help and who scatters. Bastards.
I was helping the driver change the tire when a cop came up to ask “What’s all this then?” We explained, and it was then I noticed he had a pentacle ring. So this cop was either satanic or wiccan. Either way, he was nice and let us be once we explained. Then I had to help the bus get out and block two lanes of super backed up traffic. At least when they cursed me, it seemed so polite and English.
Finally, my friends Sarah and Andy made their way down, and it was super cool to meet them in person. I’d bought some eye patches and found a scimitar and we firrrrrrred it up like some pirates. Yarrr!
I’d have had some more friends at the show, except the bastard was vacationing with my family in America instead of being in Brighton. What lousy timing.
The show went pretty well, despite us finding out that Jason had his fly open for the whole show. Afterwards, some English lot made their way into one of the backrooms, which weren’t really backrooms, but side rooms. Anyway, I was cool with it until some members from the other bands started giving the stink eye. I asked them to leave, and these foookin coonts wouldn’t leave. I guess that’s how the British got India and Hong Kong.
When we headed out, I had to go to bed immediately, so I wouldn’t feed off anymore stress. I have a habit of that, and we had a trailer with a low tire, a bald tire, no spare, and an eight hour drive ahead of us. I actually did go to sleep, had a wonderful dream about smashing in one of the tour party’s head, but was awoken by vomiting. Come to find out, Jason chundered the whole ferry ride back to France. It was just not his day.
The next day in France, Jason looked like hell. We got him some fizzy soda, and just hoped he could stand up to play. He did, just barely. Actually, same with the audience. They just barely stood while we played. There was some appreciable applause, but after us, they just went nuts for Vile, Deeds of Flesh, and Monstrosity. It was kind of a kick in the balls for us. A big, fat fucking kick. I guess some people had fun, but it kind of made me wonder, what the fuck are we bothering to tour Europe for? I could be doing a better service for humanity going home and watching porn for the rest of my life.
We switched buses. Which is great, because the “new” older bus outside is sitting there with a snapped belt. It will not move. I guess we’re waiting for new parts or something. Meanwhile, there’s some kids here at this rec center we are playing, and they appear to be of Arab decent, and none too happy with America. They like to let us know this by saying, “ha ha, you Bush! America go home!” This is shaping up to be an awesome day.