I woke about nine, opened up my eyes, figured it’s time to rise, but I went back to sleep for an hour anyway. I don’t actually remember getting out of the Travelodge, but we must have, because soon enough we were cruising down the highway in Tim’s mighty Rapmobile, listening to mighty rap music and marveling at the Scottish skies’ incredible ability to produce rain despite being entirely blue. It was a beautiful day, and a beautiful drive. I felt great. The rain fell, from the blue sky. I knew that was a sign that today would be a good day.
Jack felt sick.
We stopped off at a McDonald’s so I could use the internets and we could eat something shitty. The Icelandic Ashcloud was still advancing on the north, and the wind was still displacing vehicles on the motorway. The door nearly came off when I opened it.
McDonald’s was rammed with Wind Refugees. Tim got talking to a family who had been camping, but whose tent had blown away. Now they were in a Travelodge. They seemed pretty cheerful, regardless.
Aberdeen is a beautiful city, and it near took my breath from me as we entered. I could hear angels sing. I knew it was going to be a good night.
Jack and I went to Primark to re-up on socks. Fresh socks are essential on tour. Without them everything is grim. With them, everything is wonderful. I now realized that the reason I was so bummed last night was not, in fact, merch related, but unfresh sock related. I am learning to much on this tour. Next time I am going to be so well prepared.
Aberdeen Primark is a flipping treasure trove. I spent £11, and I came away with the most incredible bag of swag I have seen since my birthday last year.
Ice Ice Baby T shirt – £2,
Dr Dre The Chronic T Shirt with Death Row label sewn in – £2.
Socks – £2.
Dope-ass sunglasses – £1
Run DMC Lounge pants – £3
That’s right brothers and sisters. You read correctly. RUN DMC LOUNGE PANTS.
You could not possibly have anything but a wonderful night garbed in RUN DMC lounge pants. The fact that they matched my Marvel Heroes zip up hoodie Ali got me last Christmas was the sort of added bonus most men get one of in a lifetime. The gig was half an hour of awesome. The magical lounge pants filled the hearts of all who witnessed them with joy and wonder. I felt fantastic.
Jack felt sick.
So sick, in fact, that he WAS sick. In a bag. During a song. Naturally I didn’t notice, as I was busy entertaining the good people of Aberdeen. I don’t know if they noticed it either, as Jack reckons he was sneaky with it, but still. Poor bugger. And poor whoever found the bag. Jack feels very guilty about it. He meant to remove it from the premises, but he forgot. Because he was sick.
We were blessed with another excellent soundman tonight. The mighty Badger. One of those rare cats that loves, and takes pride in his work. He did us proud, and I hope to blazes I get him next time I’m in that part of the world. Everyone sounded brilliant. Lars and Science were on peak form. We did White Kids Aren’t Hyphy and it rang off like a mighty bell. Science took the opportunity to inform the audience of how much he’d grown to love me over these past few weeks, whihc was a beautiful AAAAAAW moment. They also dedicated a song to Jack.
I danced around for the duration of everyone’s sets, met loads of safe people and sold loads of stuff. Even the barman bought a T-shirt! I felt great.
Jack felt sick.
Tim looked after him, cos Tim is a lovely man.
My legs felt like they were cracking. It dawned on me that I had jumped off of a speaker every night for a fortnight. What good legs they are to withstand such battery, I thought, patting them fondly.
Afterwards me and Jack were supposed to be DJing around the corner at Origin, courtesy of grade A G Tom Ambrose. Jack was by this point the colour of prison porridge, so it looked like I was going to go dolo. The place was great, a labyrinthine stone cavern with brilliant sound and equally awesome staff. I drank Jager Bombs and played records to the joyful Aberdeenians, who danced like they would never dance again.
Then Jack appeared, like the Ghost of Christmas past, and we traded records for the next hour and it was ace.
Exhibit C, Wanton Soup, All I Do Is Win, Hypest Hype, Sirens! We took requests, and did some awesome interactive versions of AIDS, Oh! and Werewolves. We played until they shut. Then we fell into the car and drove through the gods’ raging tantrum to our Travelodge, fleeing the sun that rose defiantly behind us.
Truly, it had been a good day.
Well, for me, anyway.