DAY SEVEN – END OF THE ROAD -> GILLINGHAM -> WINCHESTER -> BIRMINGHAM -> ANSTRUTHER
My God, it’s f**king baltic in this tent. My teeth are actually chattering. Seriously. F**king chattering.
The tent door is flapping open – Roz has gone outside, either to be sick or to have a widdle. It’s freezing. Ughhh … now I need a piss. ARRGHH – CRAMP! SHOOTING UP MY LEG! AARRGH! Where’s my specs? Ugh.
I clamber out of the tent, pulling my jeans up, and attempt to put my shoes on without getting my bare feet muddy. This isn’t an easy job, since my trainers are caked in mud, and are now all wet following this mornings ice-cold dew. I think it’s about 6am. I can feel my feet squelch inside my trainers. Uggghhh. Can’t think about that now. Need a pee. I hobble over to the bogs. Festival toilets are THE WORST thing about any festival. This particular toilet is foul. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen worse – much worse … but this is still pretty foul. At least I don’t need to sit down or anything.
“Let’s hitch, let’s hitch!” squeals Roz, “We’re a boy and a girl – it’s the perfect combo!”
I pull the door latch open with my sleeve – not wanting my fingers to touch ANYTHING – jump out, and hobble back to the tent. Taking off my trainers is a messier job than putting them on. I have to wipe my feet on the freezing wet grass.
God, I’m cold. Roz is back in the tent, asleep. My jeans are all wet at the bottom of the leg from the grass, so I take ’em off, and roll into my sleeping bag – zipping it up all the way to my eyeballs. I’ve got one of those mummy-bags, with the head bit. I pull the toggles, so my nose is the only visible part of me, and shiver. Shiver like a b*stard.
When I wake up four or so hours later i’m baking hot. Surely this is a design flaw of tents. Freezing at night, unbearably hot in the morning. They should have some sort of solar powered air-con thing. I dunno. I try to ignore the heat, but it’s no use. The sun wants me out of my sleeping bag, and – today – the sun gets what it wants.
Packing up a tent is an arse. John’s tent came in a small blue bag. When we brought it with us, it seemed like an adequate size for the tent … but trying to fit it back in is like trying to squash a baby camel through a cat-flap. There’s always some sodding humps to hold you back.
Eventually it all goes in, and we make our way towards the festival site for some brekkers. The Thali Café has been my breakfast stop at almost every festival this year – and last year – and today is no different. The veggie sausage is a bit odd, but the tomato/oniony thing is worth it, and the eggs are good. I’ve been served by the same wifey every time I’ve been there, but she never recognises me.
We don’t have a plan for travelling to Winchester, as yet. We’ve been to the information desk to ask about the coach service … but apparently you have to book yourself a seat, and all the places have been filled. Balls. “Let’s hitch, let’s hitch!” squeals Roz, “We’re a boy and a girl – it’s the perfect combo!”
“Are you sure about this? We’ve got a lot of stuff – no one’s gonna want to take two people, with two guitars, and two MASSIVE rucksacks. And a tent bag.”
“Easy” she chirps …
We stand at the gates to the festival site for approximately 30 seconds before a single lady, in a large van, with plenty of room in the back, pulls over. Can you believe it?! She drives us all the way to Gillingham station, which is extremely handy indeed thankyouverymuch. It’s the first time I’ve ever hitched.
I’m totally parched, and there’s not a train arriving for another 40 minutes, so Roz heads off to the shops for some refreshments. There are some kids on the platform with some type of stereo – probably their phone, now I think about it – blasting a death-metal song with the opening line “WHAT THA F**K ARE YOU GONNA DO?”.
Rozi comes back with the drinks, and I guzzle mine immediately. Now I feel alive.
We get on the train, which takes us to Basingstoke, I think. As we get off, I notice that Stephen, Hannah and other members of The Accidental have been on the same train. They played at EOTR too.
“Hello Stephen, Hannah and other members of The Accidental”
“Hello Johnny, how are you today?” they all say, in harmonised unison. Everything involves harmonies with this lot.
“I am fine. Toodle-oo”
Our connecting train to Winchester is packed, so we have to stand with our bags – but it’s not a long journey, and Rozi’s dad (and her nephew) are there to meet us when we arrive at the station. Winchester looks very pleasant indeed. It’s a 2 minute car ride back to Roz’s folks place, where François – her boyfriend – is there to greet us, and help take bags in. He’s French, y’know. He comes up to me, to take my guitar.
I go up and do a half-hour show, giving it plenty of chat. People who have never heard of you like chat.
“Zo you stayed in a tent last night, uh?”
“Uh uh … yes, uh …”
“Uh huh?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Uh … nothing happened!” I blurt out. Why? God knows. I’m an idiot. Oh crapsticks.
“Uh huh” he smiles. He’s pulling my leg. He’s a funny guy.
I meet the rest of the fam – Rozi’s mum, her neice, and her sister. Everyone is dead smiley, which is nice. It actually feels like being home. Ahhhhh. We have some grub in the garden, a cuppa tea, and then I go up and have a shower … my first hot shower in four days. Suffice to say it was well needed.
My hair is huge now. Whenever my hair dries after being washed, it goes huge, and sits on my head all coiffered up, like a soufflé. I look like a middle-aged woman, with a beard. One of my mum’s friends, from her church group, looks a bit like that.
Soon it’s time to go to the venue where we are playing tonight. Roz has been organising this show, and she is a bit flustered … it’s a stressful thing, organising a gig. We get all our stuff on stage, and start soundchecking. The soundguy – whose name I can’t remember – is a nice chap, and is wearing a Ballboy t-shirt. I really like Ballboy, so i’m confident this guy is gonna do a good job – and he does. Braw!
We set out the tables and chairs, and soon folk start to come in to the venue. I sit with François, and we talk about music while he paints a picture of me. He likes painting, does François. He’s very talented at it, too. The picture of my face looks a little retarded, but then I look a little retarded. I need to get surgery. I’d start with my nose.
We can’t chat for too long, as François is playing tonight, and is the opening set. He scurries off to the gents – and returns to the stage 10 minutes later, wearing sunglasses. The lights go down, except on stage, and he opens with a folky-pop acoustic tune. After it’s done, he takes off his sun-specs to reveal two MASSIVE eyes – it’s really freaky! He’s painted over his eyelids with white face paint, with two dark blotches for pupils … it looks insane, especially under the lights. The eyes give him a crazed, psych-tripped look – kinda like the snake in the Jungle Book. He plays the rest of his set with his real eyes shut, showing only the painted lids – it’s an amazing performance, particularly when he starts playing two keyboards at once, while triggering a sample from a 4 track player. The songs are trance-inducing, yet light-hearted swirling pop tunes. Really amazing stuff.
I go up and do a half-hour show, giving it plenty of chat. People who have never heard of you like chat. I give some hairstyling tips, and finish on ‘You Covered The Earth With Your Thumb’, featuring François as human beat-box. It goes down well, and I take a bow. I’ve got only one CD left for sale, so I tell everyone that if they want to buy a CD they should write their name and address down, and I’ll post it out to them.
Roz closes the night, for this is her hometown show. And she’s great. It’s been really fun playing these shows with her – and it’s really cool to finish this leg of the tour surrounded by her friends and family. When she finishes, we sell our CD’s, take some address, and get the pints in.
There’s a girl who used to go to Rozi’s school who is absolutely wasted, and comes up to me every 2 minutes to tell me the same story about how she saw Rozi’s poster. Aww, bless. She’s with a chap who keeps taking the piss out of her, which is really funny. I have a few drinks, and then Roz, François and I head back to her folks for a midnight snack, and a cuppa. We chat for a bit, and then I go upstairs to bed. Roz says she’ll meet me downstairs in the morning. My train home is ridiculously early, leaving Winchester at 5.30am … so I have to get up at 4.45am. I tell her i’ll meet her downstairs at 5am.
Waking up at 4.45am isn’t as hard as you’d think. You don’t expect to be awake at that time, so your brain assumes there’s a problem happening, and you’re on hi-alert. It’s easier than getting up at 9am – your brain constantly resetting it’s inbuilt snooze button. I pack my rucksack. There’s a lot more room in there now I’ve sold a bunch of CD’s. It’s still a heavy b*stard.
I’ve had a cuppa tea, and it’s 5.10am now. No sign of Roz. I’m not sure what room she’s in either, and I don’t want to wake anyone else up, so I sneak out of the door, switch on GoogleMaps, and run up to the station. I get a panicked call on my mobile from Roz – she had woken up, but fell asleep. I reckon her brain thought it was 9.45am and so set the inbuilt snooze button. A 9 looks like a 4, y’see.
The train arrives, and I slouch into my seat. There’s a Metro sitting there, so I look at the Enigma (Bruce Forsyth) and the horoscope (you’re in for a long journey – no shit!). I change trains at Birmingham, and take the MegaTrain to Edinburgh. It’s well cheap – only £2 or something. About a half hour out of Birmingham I get a text from my friend John Amino, saying there’s a review of Secret Soundz in the Metro! Huh?! I look for another copy, and lo and behold, there is a review! And it’s a really good one! Get in! I leave the paper open on the table I’m sat at, and fall asleeeeeeeeeeep, the review smudging on to my cheek. In 8 hours I’ll be back home in Cellardyke, and eating junk food on the couch, watching Neighbours. In a few days time I’ve got the next Fence Club show to organise … but I’m not going to think about that now …
Leg One of the tour – DONE.
