I apologise for not writing this a while back. Some weeks have passed since we finished europa touring, so I’ll recall what I recall.
After leaving Copenhagen we were saddened to find ourselves stranded (again) on the autobahn, this time near Bremen. Eventually, after a ten-hour drive that felt more like a ten year one, we hit Groningen in the Netherlands. We were all a bit exhausted, so after playing our gig (promoted by the lovely ex Shai Hulud vocalist Gert Van der Velde) I crashed out in our ticketed (bastards) van and watched Curb Your Enthusiasm. As some people might say, ‘I was beat.’
The following morning we rose early, ate black bread and fruit, drank coffee and went to see the oxen. Correct, oxen, near a petting zoo in Groningen, which we also visited. There’s something massively therapeutic about spending your time with cows, goats, pigs, ducks, the elderly, young children and a peacock. Uplifted, we drove to Lüdenscheid.
Our tour’s last dates, in Lüdenscheid and Trier, were amongst the best of the lot. In one we were handed a menu listing different pizzas with names like ‘The Metallica’ or ‘The Beach Boy,’ and the other had an indoor football pitch (it was raining outside). It’s the little details you remember about gigs I always think. Of course, in looking back over the gigs we’ve played, ‘good gig’ ‘bad gig’ can override most factors, but superb lasagne, Duomo, Mont Blanc, rubbing an owl for luck, the alps, fizzy pop in Chatelet, a broken Mercedes badge and a room full of comfy mattresses – these are what makes a tour a tour, and consist the things I remember most.
I shall spare you the tale of woe that was our journey back to Britain. It is impossible to say anything that is able to give a true idea of it to those who did not see it, other than this, that it was indeed very, very, very dreadful, and such as no tongue can express. OK, it wasn’t that bad. That’s what Defoe said about the plague (despite having been four at the time) of 1665. In actual fact, I personally described it as ‘a right fucking chew on,’ and I think that’ll have to do. Will on the other hand went somewhat insane.
A few weeks later we all left our respective homes and occupations in Middlesbrough, Sheffield, Oxford and London to head out for a weekend’s gigging. In Kingston I bought new clothes because most of mine had nearly worn down to being see-through. In Sheffield I went to bed at 5am. In Leeds I watched Skylarkin, Slow Club and Brontide. In Oxford we played football on my college lawns and I played a gig closer to my bed than ever before, the Jericho Tavern being about 3 minutes walk from my front door. I enjoyed all the gigs also, as since returning from Europe I had found myself drumming on my desk more than ever before.
Here are five photographs taken at random from the meager collection I shot on this tour.
A million thank yous and thirty-minute back rubs to every single person who helped us hobble along on this tour. I hope you don’t think it rude me not listing you here, but I don’t think there’s any need, because we’re polite boys, so I know we said thank you at the time.
Until next time, keep away from fire. Adieu.
Phil und DARTZ.
