EUROPE - ESSEN

Setting out this morning, an air vent in the middle of the van roof, where our (unused) A/C is housed, suddenly leaks streams of water right on to Mack. ‘I look like I’ve fuckin’ pissed myself.’ Not sure if it’s from the torrential rains of last few days or if this van is just a piece of shit (see: mystery tire shredding incident). As we turn onto roads, the water, wherever it has collected and built up in the interior of the roof, filters down thru the air vent, pouring down on to Mack and then Charlie, sitting in front of him. Charlie remarks that it’s just water and he ‘don’t give a fuck, mate’, and lights a fag.

There is some water, however, that Charlie takes umbrage with. Everywhere we go in Europe, every rest stop shop and live venue, there is fizzy water and Charlie and I keep mistakenly buying it. It happens again later today and by this point, he is aghast. ‘Why are they obsessed with it? It’s grotesque. You grab one that says “Naturalisch” and it’s fizzy. How is carbonated water natural? It’s grotesque.’

We hit the highway listening to AC/DC playing. Loved ‘em as a kid, haven’t listened to ‘em in awhile. Not sure I’ve actually heard them in a tour van with the open road ahead. Cracking. The simple, eternal pleasures of unadulterated rock ’n’ roll. No matter how much rain or A/C water leaks on you in life, bit of Acca Dacca and the endless highway go a long way to sustaining you. Probably easy for me to say tho, I’m sat nowhere near the leaking vent.

I love being in the van and listening to music, reading. As long as we’re moving I love it. Safe place. Sometimes I almost wish we didn’t have to get out when we arrive to the

 venue. The constant movement is comforting and sometimes you see cool stuff. I haven’t toured that much, I’m a weekend warrior compared to industry people whose full time job it is. But I’ve travelled and toured in some form or other my whole life. I like moving.

I feel good and I’m having fun. Had my big blow out nite at Taunus, gonna stay focussed on the job now. It’s not a holiday. Not sure why I was compelled to get so smashed. Whatever. It’s just another disaster miles behind us on the autobahn. Getting pretty horny, Sophie still hasn’t sent any nudes or sensitive content. I hope she misses me and my aching cock. I miss the smell of her hair and her voice, her warm round ass against me. The two of us being woken in the morning by the cats.

I don’t sleep much on the road. Too excited. Listening to all my favourite bands in my headphones and getting all amped up like, Yeah me too. I’m a musician too, not some guitar wanker at home. I feel vital. When I’m lying in my sleeping bag at nite I can’t calm down. I can’t read because we’re sharing rooms and everyone else is trying to sleep, especially the ones that drive. And no damn hash to ease me. In the sickly mornings I tell myself I’ll make up for lost sleep in the van, but I never do. Too excited. Even on the days off. Wish I had a little tablet or DVD player and some Ken Burns documentaries. Wish I had my fucking hash. Can’t believe we got into the continent so easy.

That said, I like the minimalism of this life. When you do have time to stop and do something nice like a sit down meal in a restaurant, it feels like a holiday. The less I deviate from the rider beers and catered food the better. Feel bad when the band get my meals out, like I’m some clichéd jobless, shiftless ragamuffin only here for a good time. They never make me feel that way, it’s just my anxiety is all. Fuck it. I use it, spurs me on to play better. Earn your keep, and all.

We learn of a review, posted on Instagram, of the cow town show. Some über nerd slating us. Literally awards us a ‘point’ for Simon ‘playing in a Kreator shirt’ and a ‘point’ deducted for Mack wearing an IN shirt. Our bad, didn’t realise you were keeping score, ya fucking nerd. He says something else about the head banging or stage commands being cringey, and then later complains that we don’t have ‘stage names’. Being in a band sometimes, man, I swear to god... Should send this prick Kevin Carnage’s way.

Got some reading in, brought too many books as usual but their presence comforts me. Read the odd bit of news too, and a feature on Chomsky where he says “We’re approaching the most dangerous point in human history... We are now facing the prospect of destruction of organised human life on Earth.” It grips and thrills and terrifies me but I don’t know what to do about any of it. Best part, when he talks about being 93 and still being out there, involved, via what he calls “the bicycle theory: if you keep going fast, you don’t fall off”.

There’s no sound tech for the gig tonite so a member of one of the support bands steps up and utilities his knowledge. After a quick run thru of a few songs, we leave the venue (basement of a cafe/bar) and head upstairs to the Mexican restaurant next door for a large dinner and strong drinks. I have a sour, halfassed margarita, Simon and Charlie strawberry daiquiris, and Chris a pint of mojito.

Fabian from Taskforce Toxicator is hanging with us. He’s a nurse and comes armed with a slew of horror stories, mainly of things he’s extracted from German mens’ anuses - ‘It’s always the men’. Their rookie mistake is using items which aren’t tapered or rimmed. Their greedy anuses gobble up the implements which inevitably get stuck. One guy is a repeat

visitor, last in after using a candle stick holder that was hollowed out in the centre. The hollow created a vacuum, sucking more air in and embedding itself further up the guy. Another dude put a phone charger up his urethra. And one guy had a giant wooden dildo so far up him it reached halfway up his back. He sat funny in the emergency room. Fabian says the hospital keeps a large box of the effects retrieved from human cavities. ‘That would make a great zine,’ Chris says, ‘the contents of the dildo box’.

Fully consumed by Mexican food and German anuses, we miss the support bands (though they can be heard through the walls of the restaurant’s toilets downstairs, whatever the customers must make of that). Our show tonite is good. Not my tightest, I’m in a farting food coma, but our energy and performance, where possible on the tiny stage, are good. The sound also very decent. Hope my mistakes aren’t too obvious or egregious. We win over the small, packed out club. The über fan from the Cow Town gig is also attending this show and, after we blaze thru a mad, sweaty thrashing set, he informs me that my mohawk is ‘falling like the British empire’. Wish my wife could see me kill it. The shows where I destroy always work out to be the ones she misses. When she catches me at my best she falls in love with me all over again.

Strong joint as we load out, to take the edge off a 3 hour nite drive to our Ibis in Bremen. Just stopping for a few hours so we can shave some time off tomorrow’s mammoth journey to Sweden. We listen to Sepultura’s nu metal era with Simon beeping the van horn in time to the ‘Roots' breakdown. Charlie and I are pleasantly stoned as the van flies down the dark highway in the rain, blasting Obituary.

By the time we move thru Bolt Thrower and into Entombed, I’ve finished off some heavily sugared vegan gummies and opened up my giant bag of crisps. Chris up front asks for some of the sweets, we’d been sharing them earlier. I panic and in my high, ashamed state I tell him, ‘I think I left the bag back at the venue, we’ll get some more tomorrow'. He seems fine but my anxiety is bad. What an asshole I am. This guy’s had my back the whole tour and I surreptitiously eat all the snacks and then lie about it out of shame.

We pull under a filthy concrete overpass in central Bremen at around 2am. Chris has booked the hotel so hops out the van to find the building. He returns some time later saying not only was he unable to get into the building but no one was answering the phone. We sit stoned and freezing in the dark van while Chris and Simon try calling and Googling alternative hotels. Street People of Bremen’s Freezing Nite arrive and knock on the window to ask us for shit.

After about a half hour, Simon decides he’s going to investigate the hotel entrance situation. He returns a couple minutes later saying there was a sign, in English, with instructions on how to get in, and he got in. He’s a bit huffy as we have to be up in 4 hours for the big drive. We gather our shit while the Weird Roaming Nite People of Bremen size us up from afar or come to ask us desperate questions in other languages.