EUROPE - LIÈGE, LA ZONE

Fell asleep in crummy Formula 1 (France’s answer to a question no one has ever asked - what if a hotel, but actually a squat?) across the border in Mulhouse, after Zurich show. Chris snoring next to me, Star Wars, in the French, on tv. Whoever voiced C3PO sounded like a fucking pervert. 

Wake up 10 mins before van call time. Not using the abhorrent showers anyway - piss up the walls. Really going deaf so I’m sure I didn’t hear the alarm. Chris assures me I woke up, turned it off, went back to sleep. The double bed we shared was more a 1.5, a lot of ass-to- ass, even a cuddle I’m told. Chris will have to thoroughly scrub, I’ll have to reiterate to my wife that the road can be a lonely place. Mack’s got sore-ball flu, I’m covered in guacamole from eating in the dark as the van hurtled thru galeforce wind/rain to Mulhouse. My sunglasses/jeans/boots flecked with guacamole-whiskey vomit (Zurich really was good).

It’s Friday nite in Liège. All coming up Mulhouse. Our 6-song sets becoming an issue no matter how we justify it (Chris’ ill health/ being gentlemanly to headliner/our hardcore roots). Ashley thinks we need to play longer. McArdle: ‘I got food poisoning in Czech Republic. I was gonna have diarrhoea. You guys started your set and I was like, ok I really don’t have a lot of time.’ Only I find this hilarious. 

Guess we can throw in couple more songs, but what do people expect, Dream Theater? Speaking of. Hasbeen death metal openers insist on using their own backline/in-ears/laptops/ cabs/ full drum rack/raiding the beer rider. That aside, it’s awesome to play La Zone, the history, and catering, amazing. Liège is a real punk town - 2 people shoot up by our vans, half the front row totally shitfaced by the end of the opener. It’s payday and people are drinking like it, an uneasy, violent energy in the air of the packed room.

The show is wild, great, apart from an obliterated bald cunt who repeatedly molests Ben and Chris. He looks like a big, bald alcoholic baby, has lunatic eyes, no eyebrows. He shouts and stumbles and climbs on stage, spilling beer on Ben’s pedals. This dance repeats itself until the finale where the babyman grabs Chris’ crotch. Chris is about to deck the guy but hesitates as he’s accompanied by an equally lairy friend who makes for us. The friend immediately falls into the stage, cracks his head, and lolls around, fully dazed. His limp body hanging off the stage, semiconcious. 

We give it our all, play 8 songs even. The crowd respond, hungry, plenty of movement. A lady cuts her head, blood pisses out, ambulance called. Come the morning, after a couple hours sleep, it is us who require the ambulance.