Friday 14th November 2008, I arrived at a flat in Ayrs high street, around 10:20, ten minutes earlier than planned. I woke up the three fools staying there, Fergus (the drummer), Max (the sound guy) and Stu (the bass player). After hanging around a while, watching TV, we gathered all the makings and and packed the van. One more to pick up, some might say the most important part, well, he might say it, John (the guitar/vox) he greets us with a smoke in one hand and an excellent looking bacon roll in the other. After re-packing the van and a stop at Carlindas on Ayrs main street for her excellent hot dogs and stovies, we are off. First stop Sunderland, the venue is called the Independant, it turns out we have been there before. The trip down was lively, the chat ranging from cheeseburgers to bukakke, via double anal double vaginal fisting, and why not.
Lack of a sat nav means we must rely on Iphones, which gets us there eventually, but not without trouble. When we finally got there was when I realised we had been here before, most cities and towns end up looking like each other after a few tours, anyone who has been to The Independant in Sunderland will know that it's a fucking hellish load in/out, straight up stairs, it's in my top 3 worst places to load, along with the Louisiana in Bristol and upstairs at The Garage in London, where you have to load in through a hole in a wall. Badly thought out each and everyone of them. Despite the poor turn out at Sunderland the night went well, Sucioperro dominated the stage. The crowd, which seemed to be mainly made up of girls of questionable age in ridiculously small outfits, danced the night away. After a flawless load out, and a trip to Greggs, which we were pleased to find out was open until four in the morning, we were on the road en route to a Travelodge somewhere.
A sad thing happened to the country a few months ago when smoking was banned. Travelodge decided, in their infinate wisdom, to make all rooms non smoking, and our room was no where near the front door. Some action had to be taken. There is an old trick, sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't, but it is always worth a shot. All you need is a pair of socks and some electrical tape. You pull both socks over the smoke detector and fasten them to the ceiling with the tape, hey presto - a smoking room. It sounds illegal, and it most likely is, but when we checked in we were informed that there was a prowler on the loose flashing his cock at anyone who would be unfortunate enough to bump into him. If the choices are breaking the law by interfering with a smoke alarm and smoking in a non smoking building, or hanging around out in the cold fearing a flashing, there is no question. It may have been cold outside, but hell, I wanted to see this infamous cock. I jest, indoors always wins, but we were confronted by the fuzz when hanging out the window smoking, it was a close one, but I think they were more worried about meeting the flasher. That night finished with us watching quiz call and wondering how the hell they can get away with all the obscure answers.
The next morning started with a bang, everyone being woken up by the noise of a plastic water bottle being squeezed within an inch of it's life, emptying it's contents into the mouth of a very parched drummer. There was no point trying to get back to sleep at that time, well I got another hour, but it was pointless. After overpriced coffee from the services, we were packed, checked and on the road by one o'clock. The journey which followed was one of victory for this writer as he demolished the three other people who were awake, at the movie game. Someone names an actor, or actress and then you have to name the films they have starred in, which sounds easy, and it is, but it passes the time and I won, and thats all that counts. We made a quick pit stop for pissing, when we saw the first hitchhiker of the tour, his sign said south, just south. We saw him at the next services aswell, which was south of the last one, and I realised that this guy probably had nowhere in particular to go, just south. It's doubtful that he was heading to see his wife and kids in his fancy house, because he looked like he would have murdered them and burnt the house down if they existed, needless to say we did not offer him a lift. The next stop was Tunbridge Wells, home of the famous Max Dighton, AKA The Commodore, AKA Sucioperros sound guy. The venue there is called The Forum, and it is famous on the toilet tour due to it being a former public toilet, in certain corners it still smells like one. There were more people at this show than the last, and there was even an older lady, the mother of one the support acts, with her fingers placed firmly in her ears fr the duration of sucios set, which is a great advert for a rock band if ever I have seen one. After the show we headed back to Casa De Max, where what can only be described debauchery took place, ending in the early hours, with music ranging from Oceansize to Hall and Oats providing the entertainment, when it could be heard over the snoring beast in the next room, known as the Spider, I would have found it funny but I had to sleep next to the bastard. Sunday afternoon arrived to no applause, with The Dragon utterly regreting his decision to drink Jaegermeister and scotch until seven in the morning, demanding bacon and a coffin before scuttling back to the couch he chose to die on. Spider made up for the snoring by braving the elements and hiking to Ye Olde Sainsburys, and bringing forth a bounty of meats and produce to be fried and consumed by the ravenous knights around the rectangular table. Once fed and washed, we were once again on the move, heading for London's Kentish Town, The Bull and Gate, where you enter the venue through the gents. Not knowing this, I went in to scope the sitch when we arrived and the landlord told me where the entrance to the venue was, as if entering through the gents was so obvious, either that, or I misread his matter-of-fact attitude for pure hatred of me, and anyone who isn't coming into his pub to buy drink. Either way, there is a venue where you enter through the gents. The strangest thing happened at this show, I very rarely enjoy London shows, It's a tough City. This time was different, being a merch guy has it's advantages, the main advantage is getting to watch your favourite band play every night, and it gets better on a night like this because the crowd got their moneys worth with Sucioperro playing the best show so far on this tour, ripping London a new one, so to speak. It was a lesson in live music, and the 50 people lucky enough to be witness to it realised it was pretty special. So, for once I didn't want to leave London. Don't get me wrong, I still hate the place, but on this night I would be willing to stay. Unfortunately we had a long drive, a few hours north, tomorrow was Edinburgh, we drove half way and stopped at a travelodge. On the way we watched Raiders of the Lost Ark, then argued about the ranking of the other Indiana Jones movies, it got heated. We checked in, did the old sock on the smoke detector trick, settled in for the night and watched quiz call, still wondering how the hell they get a way with such obscure answers, until we all crashed out. Well, we didn't all crash out, certain lead singer/guitarists couldn't sleep, and didn't want everyone else to. Monday started with a scare, my alarm went off at the arranged time of 11am, however, somehow I had managed to set it to a volume level usually only found on an old persons TV set. This was the moment I came closest to shitting myself on this tour. I regained my composure and got myself together and went to the services for a coffee. I was joined by Stu and Max, the other two took another 100 hours to get out to the van, they eventually showed and we tooled up and took off, but not before I had to go and salvage a pillow stolen from the previous travelodge and accidentally left in this one. If I have learned anything while on tour it's that Travelodge staff don't give a fuck, it's what set them apart from the other places, they are really cool and don't mind if you party until 8 in the AM, unlike Holiday Inn, which is a company of dicks, the Adolf Hitler of the cheap hotel world. The next leg of the drive is a 5 hour slog, we passed some of the time with a few rounds of 'movie game', which I ruled at, again, pretty unbeatable, feel free to challenge me. We also nailed alot of brasseye, which is always good. Arrival in Edinburgh was a quiet affair, we were all happy to be back in Scotland, Irn Bru in every bar, and our money isn't denied in every shop. Set up took a while, there were some complications of sorts. Laid back people being the main complication. The night went great, a very sweaty affair, and before we knew it the night was over and we were piled into the van, dropping various friends at various places in Edinburgh and heading back to Ayr, chatting about the tour, drinking the last of the jaeger, doing the punishing final load out, a hell of a vibe at that time of day. Then we said our goodbyes, until we would see each other again, 12 hours later, but still, tradition is tradition, hug it out and get tae fuck. We will do it again some other time, no doubt. Come see the band, come say hello, I'll be the guy with the handsome face standing behind the merch table.
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