EUROPE - SOLINGEN, WALDMEISTER

Rotting in the van all day but at least the 10 hour drive means I can rest, sort of. Further details emerge from the previous nite/morning. Chris Drums had messaged with hostel address and other pertinent details, ‘You got this’. Really didn’t. Hostel staff (when Ben and I made it to the right one) were thrilled at me stumbling in at 5am, vomitdrool trailing, choosing to just give up, collapsing and dying on a couch at reception. They prodded me but I could not be roused. ‘He can’t stay here’ they warn Chris Vocals. 

Hangover was worth it, really gonna miss High Command. Final EU show in Solingen. Chris Drums ill, Chris Vocals exhausted from the huge drive, Mack back in U.K. so we’re down a guitar, didn’t soundcheck, and me with all my excuses, feeling like I’m entering an exam I should know but didn’t really prepare for. 

Not a busy one but generous crowd, friends in attendance. Lovely. Comedown descending upon me as I build the pack at the back of van. Find out as we set off that Geordie Walker of Killing Joke has died, compounding the comedown.

Get to Brussels’ Pentahotel (for trve satanists only) to break up the drive for a few hours. Reek of egg immediately pours out of the room as we open the door. Like they pre-farted it for us. Actually quite hard not to focus on. Sulphur and depression. Livin it up in the Eggsuite. Incredible shower after living in my and Copenhagen’s filth for 40 hours, plus the Solingen show’s excretions. The body’s cleansing and rehumanising communicates to the damaged part of my brain that it’s time for beer again. 

Back to English Hell now, couple day’s hibernation then onto run with Green Lung, and then finally rehab. Maybe. 

As the van boards the Eurostar for Folkestone, Chris Vocals asks ‘What should be the first thing we eat back in the U.K.?’ ‘Cyanide,’ Chris Drums says, without a second’s hesitation.