ON THE ROAD WITH AIRBOURNE February 3rd to February 18th 2008 UK TOUR by mark von sound This journal officially starts on December 19th 2007. I'm sat on a train home from celebrating some seasonal parties in the bleak North of England. I have a full day of travelling ahead of me before I arrive back in the picturesque rolling countryside of Dorset. Not long into my journey I receive a phone call asking me if I was interested in working with a band called Airbourne? They are an Australian rock group who are coming over for a two and a half week tour in February 2008. I said I was interested but wanted to check them out first. On arriving home, with a mug of chocolate orange cocoa I settled down find out about this band called Airbourne. I click on Youtube.com ... Then before me appeared on the screen the reincarnation of a band I love dearly, that band is AC-DC. Airbourne's debut album was to be released a week before the tour. None of the band had ever stepped foot in the UK before. As it stood, hardly anyone had heard of them over here, but undeterred I email the bands manager telling him I'd be delighted to have the chance of touring with them. I could definitely see the band had the potential of doing very well ... ... Over the subsequent few weeks ticket sales were slow ... DAY ONE ... Weymouth to London Sunday Bloody Sunday ... Up at the crack of dawn on a bloody Sunday ... balls ... Coffee, shower and more coffee. Everything packed, all good, what's the time? Shit, I'm late, best get weaving. I head out my door wearing my back-pack and rolling luggage in tow. As is normal with me in these situations the moment I get to the train, and as I sit down it pulls away. Some may say this is cutting it fine, but I chose to think its impeccable timing. It felt good to be back on the road, work had been less fruitful since my last journal and tour, back in October 2007. So what has an intrepid Bohemian bloke, like my good self, been doing for the last few months? Days after my last journal I fell foul to a lung infection. The doctor told me my right lung had stopped working and my left was running on empty. If I had trouble breathing then I should call an ambulance. The kind German doctor proscribed me a rainbow of oddly sized pills. I had a strict schedule of when to take which pill. However, no matter which pill I took I was rendered 'zombied'. If I tried to do anything more strenuous then pressing the buttons on a remote control then I have to lie on the floor motionless and wait for the waves of nausea to pass. It sucked not being able breathe, you do take it for granted. The upside was that these pills made my fingers, toes and the top of my head tingle in a very pleasant way. After a couple of weeks of toe tingling I was back on my feet ... I took advantage of a quiet December to go and have a few interesting day trips out and about ... one favourite was the day I rollerbladed the length of the Great Wall of China ... for charity ... Also I kite-boarded from Chile to Alaska ... this wasn't for charity, it was just for shits and giggles. In January I wrote a 100,000 word murder thriller. Here we are now at the beginning of February. Back out on the road, continuing with my adventures ... The train journey to London is starting to become very familiar to me now, so the lovely people at the rail company have decided to tear up a bit of track and send me a different way, not only that but they gave me another 42 minutes of scenery to look at before arriving at Waterloo Station ... how nice of them ... After eventually landing at Waterloo I embarked on the next leg of my journey. The London tube train system is wonderful, over the years it has taken me many miles in many different directions. London is so multi cultural with both residents and tourists, so I try and guess the nationality of where people are from by observing features and clothes. Every country has 'tell tail' signs. The woman sat opposite me, a very attractive blonde, with straight shoulder length hair, a slightly long and pointy nose. Her clothes were well fitting with neat and clean tennis shoes tied in perfect bows. I am thinking, probably not Scandinavian but more Switzerland or Austria or Germany ... as she bends down into her bag she gave the game away. From inside her t-shirt, an Iron Cross tumbled out before reaching the end of the chain resting on her heaving bosom. She quickly popped it away ... I think we have a positive ID that she was ... German ... If anyone takes offence of that being a social stereotype, then bollocks to you because it really happened. My tube train eventually arrives in Hendon Central. This is in North London. Any minute now I shall get a phone call from the driver telling me he's about to pick me up ... so all good ... I had just enough time to grab a coffee before standing in the freezing cold. Thirty minutes passed and no driver I call again, he tells me he's not far and shall be with me soon. Another thirty minutes passed, I call him and again he says not long. This happened again and again until at two and a half hours late he appears in front of me, by this time I am frozen solid. He throws me in the back of the trailer to thaw out before our first pick up later this afternoon from John Henrys musical equipment hire. The driver in question is none other than Dale Ferry, son of the Roxy Music star Bryan Ferry. He runs his own tribute band. They play Roxy Music songs but in an Anarcho-hardcore-blast beat-punk style ... they are call Poxy Spewsick. Dale is a good guy but sometimes his time keeping isn't the best. This may have something to do with him living in far Northern wastelands of Leeds where I do believe in the winter it's dark for weeks on end, then in the Summer day light for a month. I heard a story once that you could see the Northern Lights from Leeds city centre. With a trailer pretty damn full of gear we head out to our first hotel of the tour. It is a Travelodge, a noble beast in the domain of cheap traveller accommodation. If you book more than three weeks in advance you can get rooms for as little as £19. They are budget, they have no phones, no lifts, no mini bars or large screen televisions. But the rooms are clean and comfortable enough to get a good night's sleep. However they have no character whatsoever, when stood inside you feel like you've time travelled back to a 1980' Argos showroom. You can purchase use of wireless Internet for a month for £30 and use it in any Travelodge, that was an excellent unexpected perk. Connected to the Travelodge at Heston West M4 Service Station is a restaurant. Actually I rephrase that to a prison cafeteria . Dale Ferry and I head on inside, famished in need nourishment. Unfortunately all the food was disgusting, there were too veggie options, one was ravioli and the other risotto. We both chose the ravioli, but unfortunately they had only one. Dale Ferry hates rice so I do the right thing and go for the risotto. It comes with chips. In front of me I have a £10 plate of dinner, which can only be described as half rice / half chips, all rubbish! The cafeteria area is scattered with travel zombies who are all picking at some soggy fast food whilst staring without blinking at a small colour television in the corner. They are watching the 'beyond shit' Strictly Come Dancing reality programme. It's fascinating to observe this strange service station creature. They don't communicate with each other at all, in fact I don't know if they even realise others are there. They survive from sucking on the cathode ray nipple. We are miles from anywhere, so our options of what to do tonight are limited. After our dinner I look at my phone expecting it to be much later then 6:30pm. We will be stuck in this living hell for ages. After killing an hour and losing a few pounds on a quiz machine we retired to our room to watch the new Family Guy DVD called Blue Harvest ... a must watch ... Salvation was the Film 4 channel which showed us Gangs Of New York ... That was my day on February 3rd 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 1 DAY TWO ... London to Milton Keynes to High Wycombe to London Monday ... I wake up all bleary eyed and tired. Slowly I dragged myself to the bathroom. I fumble around for whatever contraption made the water spray out. Oh my god, the velocity of water was so strong I had to double check to see if I had pulled the emergency Niagara lever. I became pinned to the back wall, with all my strength I fought my way forward, with shower gel and karate chops, I beat the torrent and washed. The agenda for Dale Ferry and I, was to drive around in a big circle and pick up all the necessary ingredients we need to make a rock'n'roll pie! First up we negotiated the various winding lanes to a Narnia of industrial units ... (You can check online, the collective noun for an industrial unit is a Narnia) ... Off in the distance we could see the large concrete warehouse of goodies where we would collect all the bands guitars, that had been shipped over from Melbourne Australia. As we approached a creaky roller shutter started winding up. The gentleman who appeared was no more than five feet tall, with huge feet and a main of lion-like curly hair ... "Gday I'm Luke." Said the strange Umpa Lumpa of a fellow. My reply to him could've caused my death. I accused this poor 'Gday' saying man of being Australian when actually he was from New Zealand. I begged for forgiveness and offered some kind of gift to make peace. This was at the start of the tour so the van wasn't the treasure of confectionary and beverages that it would soon be. All I could do was offer the angry Kiwi one of Dales Marks&Spencers Rhubard&Custard boiled sweets. It is simply by far the best in its price range. We leave with eleven guitars collected, yes, eleven guitars! Pick up number two was more of military manoeuvre, as this time we needed to click the van in stealth mode, to then navigate the streets to Arnos Grove tube station which lies on the dark blue Piccadilly line. We timed our approach to perfection. Sergeant Major Danny Queen had just finished his sentry duty outside the station. With regulation British Army kitbag tossed in the back, the Sgt Major climbed aboard our personal carrier. Still in North London, pick up number three was to collect the boxes of t-shirts that Danny sells for the band each night. I had to phone in our Sat Nav coordinates to air support. 20 minutes later ... a twin bladed Boeing CH-47 Chinook appeared overhead ... a dozen merch-boxes float down to earth underneath mini parachutes. We have the t-shirts, we have the hoodies and we have the beanie woolly hats ... lets go ... Pick up number four involved driving up the M1 motorway to the 'dreary-dull-faceless-misery-pit' that goes by the name of Milton Keynes. Our mission objective was to get to the loan department at the famous Marshall amplifier factory ... alive ... If they like you a lot and you know who to speak to, then they lend you stuff for free, and for that I say, thank you. So more and more got loaded into the trailer and van. Pick up number five was another stealthy hunter-gatherer kind of a movement. We needed to pick up a box of stage lights from an industrial estate in High Wycombe, this is a small town North West of London, it lies on the road to Oxford (incidentally the birthplace of Jesus). Dale Ferry kept has foot revving away so our time in High Wycombe was kept to the bare minimum. Probably for the best as some of the locals looked ready to start hunting down man flesh. As we drove past the neon signed 'High Wykebabs' kebab shop, I felt much safer. We now have nearly all the ingredients for the aforementioned rock'n'roll pie. We have all the amplifiers, speaker cabinets, drums, lights and merchandise. Our next task was to find our base, we want to have the ramparts in order before bringing in the Australians. The fortress in question was the Hanger Lane Travelodge in a rather grotty part of West London. With gun emplacements secured we entered the next phase of our mission. We needed to take on board supplies, which in this instance meant we were off for curry at L'Orient Indian Cuisine. Also part of the task was to keep a look out for a pub for later on. All we found was a very odd bar indeed. Previously it had been a butchers shop. The guy who ran the place thought it would be funny to paint the whole place white. Then splatter red paint everywhere to recreate the splashes of butcher shop blood. The crowning glory (or should I say gory) and finishing touch was the barman wearing a blood soaked butchers apron. Makes such a lovely change from all the Irish and Australian theme pubs. Following a cheeky pint and a spicy curry we head out to achieve pick up number six. The final part before the encore was to capture the final ingredient we needed for the rock'n'roll pie. The band, of course. I waited by the door from where the arrivals emerge. Dale Ferry sat in the van. The Sgt Major chain smoked army issue cigarettes outside. After half an hour waiting, I spot the band but they didn't spot me. I continued in my SAS trained stealth mode, I crept up to them without detection, my capture of them was imminent. I moved alongside ... The first words I uttered to my Australian prisoners ... "Gday chaps, are you Airbourne? I'm you're new dad!" They rolled their rolling luggage to van. With van wheels spinning we were out of there, burn rubber in our wake. Half an hour later we were back at the hotel, after just a few more minutes we all met in the lobby. Time for the encore, so we walked to the Butcher's Shop bar round the corner. We sat, drank beer and talked crap for a couple of hours before heading back to our fortress, and for the Australians to sleep their first night ever on English soil ... That was my day on February 4th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 2 DAY THREE ... London to Oxford Tuesday ... After a long day yesterday I really wanted to have maximum use of my sleep, but no, a cleaning maid decided to ruin all that at 6:53am. "Towels please." She barks as she walks straight in. My eyes open with the same surprise when someone puts an ice cube down the back of your shirt. I remember this second lasting for ages. Sitting now bolt upright, I looked her in the eye, and shouted "Fix bayonets now!" She left pretty quickly but first made sure she'd swap our unused towels for other identical unused towels. At our 12noon lobby call I head outside to see the band walking back from the fuel station all with huge smiles. Each had in their hands a piping hot sausage roll covered in tomato sauce. Drummer Ryan was the first to say, "Sausage rolls mate, the best, you can't get these in America." Previous to the band landing last night they'd just done a week of interviews and photo-shoots in the States. They also they'd spent six months in Los Angeles when they recorded their album. They don't like the American food. This made me smile as every American band complains (wrongly) about the food over here in the UK. Our food is delicious ... I'd not been up long enough to contemplate the consumption of such a baked savoury treat. My chosen poison was coffee, not just coffee, but one from a Wild Bean CafÈ. The splendiferous home of the road-side-snack. When I marry I shall get the Wild Bean CafÈ to do the catering for the reception. I do believe it will be a winner and a day to remember. However there is every chance I shall never marry! We arrive in Oxford (birthplace of Jesus) for our load in time at 2pm. Unfortunately parking was a nightmare. Dale Ferry drove around the block a few times before settling in a bus stop up the road so we could unload. As the last items were taken from the back of the van a policeman on a bicycle rolls up. I have to say this wasn't a very intimidating show from the strong arm of the law. He took five solid minutes of lecturing me on how wrong it was for us to be in a bus stop and how it disrupts the community. I waited for him to end his speech before telling him we had finished and if he hadn't have spoken to us we would've been gone five minutes ago. With a disapproving "Hurrumph!" he pedalled off to solve crime. The venue does have parking right out the front, but the tour-bus from the show the next day was occupying it. Dale finally found somewhere across the road to park, all good I thought until I came outside twenty minutes later. Now driving our van was the tour-bus driver who goes by the entertaining nickname of Hotdog, he's reversing our van into a tight spot behind his tour-bus and trailer. Dale Ferry was in the road directing the busy traffic. Never before have I seen someone so successfully filter vehicles into a single lane with an umbrella and a table tennis bat. Whilst Hotdog manoeuvred our van and trailer, a bright red public bus sneaked right up his tail. Unfortunately Hotdog hadn't seen it so reversed straight into the front of the red bus. In slow motion the front of the bus seemed to flex resulting in us bouncing off it like huge Perspex trampoline. The forty foot long red bus had got itself stuck between traffic and parked vehicles in ever direction. He trusted fate and swung out to escape, the back corner of his bus hit the tour-bus trailer resulting in a huge chunk of bus remaining connected to the trailer. Oooops! The trailer suffered just minor damage, a few cuts and bruises. With our van parked, we are sorted. Today's load in was the first of many which involve a steep slope of stairs. The reason for the stairs today was because our show had been moved from the small room to the medium sized room in the Academy in Oxford. Once all was loaded in I took Dale Ferry for a falafel lunch in the nearby Shiraz restaurant. In my opinion this is the best in this country. Rumour has it that when Jesus grew up in Oxford he often ate falafel at Shiraz'. An hour later it was time for my first Airbourne sound check. Onstage they had eight Marshall speaker cabinets and four amplifiers. For those who care, there were three JCM800's and one JCM900. If none of this makes sense to you then, lets just say they are LOUD, VERY VERY LOUD. This is the bands first ever show in the UK, their debut album has been out for just a week so I really didn't know how the show was going to go. So often the first night of a tour sets the vibe for the rest of the shows. By the time the band hit the stage the room contained 400 rock thirsty people. And now the show ... F*cking Hell ... It's not often when you watch a band that are so good you get shivers down your spine and goose bumps on your arms, tonight in Oxford that happened. This is the best band I've seen in years. I felt privileged to have been at their first ever UK show. In decades to come, I'll always remember this night. You watch this space ... Airbourne ... destined for very great things ... Mid show, the lead singer and lead guitarist Joel walks out into the middle of the crowd. He has a wireless pack on his guitar so he can still play when he's walking through the throng of gig-goers. Bold as brass he walks over to bar and pours himself a pint, he holds it aloft like a trophy, then returns to the stage and share with his band mates. The crowd goes wild ... Following a hugely successful first UK show we loaded up our many cases into van and trailer then set forth to again seek our holy grail. Yes, the Sandman's beacon ... the Travelodge. One of the negative points of checking in as late as we have to, is that most of the rooms have been allocated. This means often the rooms aren't together, or, they are upstairs. To keep it cheap Travelodge's rarely have lifts. So carrying luggage up flights of stairs is an unavoidable unwanted chore at the end of a long day. This particular Travelodge was the worst for this. We had checked in, standing in the lobby I'd distributed all the keys. So lets all go and crash out ... but ... our adventure had only just begun. It was 'so' far to our rooms that the receptionist drew us a map on a piece of parchment with lion's blood. We walked North which took us through the first door, turn West, walk down corridor, turn East, through the double doors, then West again at the vending machine ... then a short jog before an exhilarating trek up a steep grassy knoll ... forward, then East at the Great Oak, chose the middle of the three caves ... what's this falling from above ... EEW it's spiders, run like f*ck ... into the passage ... now run much faster ... a huge boulder starts rolling down behind you, assuming you haven't been squashed, just before the end jump right into the waiting mining cart which under your body weight will start rolling off down a track ... from another track you'll get shot at ... they miss ... at the end the cart will stop dead ... then thrown forward into rapid water, on into a large chute ... you'll slide out of it landing on your feet into a corridor ... continue forward through another set of double doors, then on the right is room 282, my room. After such an expedition just to get to my room, once inside I kicked my shoes off and was ready to chill ... when ... I hear a commotion from across the hallway ... I go to the door to check it out ... In front of me was the bands singer, Joel with his luggage and a key. Already in the room was his brother Ryan (the drummer). The key didn't work so we assumed Ryan had put the dead lock on from inside the room ... After a couple of minutes of banging, Ryan appeared and I got Joel and luggage safely inside his room. I breathed a sigh of relief as I turned to go back to my room. The nanosecond that I look at my door, just inches away across the corridor ... it clicked shut ... shit ... knowing I didn't have the key on me I still checked in my pockets just in case I'd had a clairvoyant spasm and quickly grabbed it ... shit ... I hadn't ... I now needed to get back to reception to sort this catastrophe. Back down the corridor I hiked wearing just socks on my feet ... through the door with the 'Reception This Way' sign ... everything goes black ... so pitch black you see ... nothing ... it couldn't have been any blacker ... I'd say this was dark black ... Then completely out of the blue, you are scooped up in a chair or a giant hand ... then you fly ... woooosh through miles of darkness ... If you've been on the Black Hole ride at Alton Towers then this is very similar ... Before you know what's going on ... you are stood ... confused at the broken ice making machine close to the lobby. Next to you is a wheel chair ... is it for me? ... I don't think so. At reception I explain what happened with my key. She was very polite, she joked about it and rolled her eyes to the ceiling in jest. Again we followed the map written in lion's blood ... We walked North which took us through the first door, turn West, walk down corridor, turn East, through the double doors, then West again at the vending machine ... then a short jog before an exhilarating trek up a steep grassy knoll ... forward, then East at the Great Oak, chose the middle of the three caves ... what's this falling from above ... EEW it's spiders, run like f*ck ... into the passage ... now run much faster ... a huge boulder starts rolling down behind you, assuming you haven't been squashed, just before the end jump right into the waiting mining cart which under your body weight will start rolling off down a track ... from another track you'll get shot at ... they miss ... at the end the cart will stop dead ... then thrown forward into rapid water, on into a large chute ... you'll slide out of it landing on your feet into a corridor ... continue forward through another set of double doors, then on the right is room 282, my room. I thank her kindly before her journey back through the black void to reception. I am again alerted to a commotion between the two other rooms. It seems the bands stage manager Mick is moving out of Sgt Major Danny Queen's room, his destination is the floor between the two beds of the other two band members in the room opposite. He said the previous night he didn't sleep a wink due to being kept awake by Danny's large, annoying, deep, manly and penetrating ... ... snore ... Yes Danny does snore badly and this did worry me before the tour. I did wonder how long Mick would last? Just the one night it seems! How could I describe the sound of Danny's snore? Well imagine the sounds made by a large Brewery such as Guinness, to this add the engine of an oil super tanker, the growl of a sabre tooth tiger and the honk of a North Atlantic fog horn. Even then you only have a quarter the power that is the Sgt Majors snore ... In a nutshell it is reminiscent of the noise of the entire Industrial Revolution. When distributing keys I always make sure my room is furthest from his. But still, sometimes the walls just aren't thick enough ... That was my day on February 5th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 3 DAY FOUR ... Oxford to Birmingham Wednesday ... Today's destination is Birmingham, but first we had to take a detour East and go back to the Marshall factory to exchange one of the amplifiers. Yesterday we discovered it just didn't go loud enough. As we arrived, even before the van had stopped moving, the sliding door to the back were open and the band were out. This was heaven to the band's two guitarists. For years they had played through Marshall amplifiers and speaker cabinets and now they were stood in its home. This was a pilgrimage for them. After a few photographs with Jimi Hendrix's equipment, I packed the band back in the van before we continue to our original terminus of Birmingham. We got there bang on time as Joel and Ryan needed to be whisked away to the BBC for a radio interview. After a quick wonder around town we had an hour to kill before load in. So Roadsy and I decided the best use for our time was to visit Scruffy Murphys and sample the local black gold. In other words, we were off to the Irish pub for a pint of Guinness. Roadsy is the bands rhythm guitarist. He bares an uncanny resemblance to Hetfield in early Metallica photographs, except Roadsy hasn't the acne. His full name is David Roads, but as the Australian's like to do, they change his name to Roadsy. One thing that is already annoying him is when this is misunderstood to be Rosy, which to such a 'blokey-Aussi-sheep-shearer' isn't what he wants to hear. By the end of the tour he was introducing himself as David. This made me laugh so I called him Rosy anyway. I think this is a good time to properly introduce to the rest of the Aussi's ... There's Streety ... he plays bass, his actual name is Justin Street ... but again the Aussi's make this into the nickname of Streety. Next we have the brothers O'keeffe, Ryan who plays drums and Joel who sings, they started the band. And lastly we have Mick, a turbo worker, the pint sized stage manager is so small at one point of the tour he curled up in a ball and hid inside Ryan's 14inch snare drum ... true story. Today's venue is Birmingham's Bar Academy, I'm not a fan of this place. There is a low ceiling and low stage. If you are not in the first couple of rows then you don't see the show. Sucks ... Also the low ceiling is responsible for helping cause the continuous rain of sweat on everyone's heads during all sold out shows. Today's load in is up two large flights of concrete stairs ... oh happiness and joy ... Before Airbourne's show starts, I look round the room. I am amused by the abundance of blokes who thought they could still fit into those 1985 leather trousers. A few I think may have suffered permanent damage from wedging themselves into these garments. One gentleman in particular had chosen the lace up down the side of his legs variety. Not only this but he thought, f*ck it, it's Wednesday, I'm in Birmingham, lets go crazy ... so he went commando ... Down the outsides of each leg he had flesh escaping through the plethora of holes ... like mashed potato being squeezed through fishnets ... I'm still having nightmares now ... (changes subject) Again Joel ventures out during the set, again the crowd divided on his way to the bar. But when he tried to go round to the back of the bar to serve himself a drink the barman pushed him back ... in pantomime fashion the crowd, "Boooooed!" Joel returned to the stage without his beer trophy ... After the show I challenged the barman to explain his actions. He said to me, "What if the whole crowd had decided to riot and help themselves to drinks?" I then retorted, "You buffoon, don't be stupid, you silly little man." I walked off laughing to myself, as I imagine the 1985 leather trouser brigade attempting to riot ... Most were out of breath just climbing the stairs to get in the venue. Following the show we packed up as quickly as possible so we could get round to Scruffy Murphys for last orders and to meet up with old friend of the journal Dean Of Wednesbury. A wise man once told me at last orders always get two drinks. So we each got a couple of pints, which was enough to turn this into a social gathering. In time honoured tradition Dean used the hand of a band member to dislocate his own jaw, the lucky winner was Ryan. His floorshow is not complete without the cigarette right up the nose trick ... I think Mr. Dean of Wednesbury it's time to add a third trick to your stomach churning party piece ... Before too long we were the only people left in the pub and obviously time for us to go as the bar staff started to switch all the lights off around us. I said my farewells to Dean of Wednesbury before I climbed aboard our armoured personnel carrier and sped off at high speed to Walsall and to stay in a palace they call the Travelodge. With the bath a quarter full of cold water we drop in a case of beer bottles ... the party was at my room ... 171 ... With some tunes pumping or rather whimpering out of my laptop we drank beer and talked like blokes ... in the meantime I'd phoned through everyone's pizza order to a local takeaway. At1am a knock to my door, I opened it and in front of me stood a seven foot, ginger haired, pubescent monster! I looked up to the enormous head towering over me. Some of his white head spots were the size of a child's fist. Slightly scared and slightly in shock, I pay for the Italian savoury discs. With the addition of Cholula hot sauce, (available at all ASDA supermarkets for less than £1) the pizza transforms from bland mild cheddar on toast to an explosion of spices and a myriad of textures ... Boom! After a session of Jack Daniels and Rodney Rude we crash out at 4:30am ... That was my day on February 6th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 4 DAY FIVE ... Birmingham to Exeter Thursday ... After the good times and party of the previous night, I awake again with a slightly woolly head. I'm used to tour bus tours when you have a bunk then drive over night and wake up at the next show. This tour is the van and Travelodge tour, which has its plus point of a shower each morning. But it does mean having to get up early to drive each morning. We drive South to Exeter, always a good town to play. It's only a small venue we are doing but it's a good one and it's again sold out. On the way we stop for breakfast at one of our motorway 'servo's'. That's my new favourite Australian word, they like to shorten any word they can, I don't think it's lazy I just think they like the challenge of ruining my language, sometimes it works, and for me servo is good. For brunch I observe the usual choices, but for some stupid reason I thought going to Wimpy. For obvious reasons I only eat from a Wimpy once every couple of years, because when I do, I learn my lesson. For those people who are not familiar with Wimpy then I'd describe it as simply a crap Burger King. My food was soggy and tasteless and more than a disappointment. We got to Exeter bang on time for load in, and joy of joys we have more stairs. I've played this place before so knew what was in store for us. It's a great show with great people but a terrible load in and a dressing the size of a sparrow's nest. Pre show Dale Ferry got his 'all-singing-all-dancing' satellite navigation out of his pocket to find somewhere decent to eat, and what a result he discovered Herbie's veggie restaurant. What great food we had, especially after the Wimpy nightmare. Rather full, Dale Ferry rolled me back to the venue ready for the show. The guys played a blinder, another complete cross section of age groups here. I really don't see other bands achieve this. This wide fan base does contain all sorts of shapes and sizes and haircuts. Tonight I witnessed one of the greatest mullets on the planet. Fluffy and curly on top with a mane of frizz down his back. Dyed black so it looks blue through bright light. Impressed is an understatement this guy should be paraded on a truck in every town and city of this fair land then crowned king of the mullet and shall rule over all retrospective hair cuts in our great country of England. You know when a tour is going well when after such few shows you sell out of tour t-shirts, which happened to us tonight. After the show we loaded out back up those bloody stairs, and thought we trundle back to the hotel and have a quiet night. But fate had other ideas for us. Singer Joel likes to hang out with the people who have spent their hard earned cash on seeing the band. One of these people gave him a swig on their drink, Joel thought nothing of it until he got back in the van he started to get the shivers and giggle like a mad man. Some stupid disrespectful idiot had spiked him. We didn't know what it was, Joel hasn't taken drugs much before so didn't was freaked out at what was happening to him, so we decided it was best to take him to the local hospital's emergency ward to just get checked out. The waiting room was full of strange characters, including a boy with a saucepan stuck on his head. Sat next to him I assume was his brother with a marble stuck up each nostril. A lot more serious was a guy who'd chopped his hand off with a chainsaw, he was bleeding pretty badly, but he put a brave face on. All wasn't so bad as he had his hand in a cool box of ice, nestling between a couple of cans of cider. There were of course the regular hypochondriacs thinking the world was trying to kill them with its impurities. I felt bad for the guy who'd been mauled by a lion, he was a mess but was obviously made of stern stuff so didn't let on his was in much pain. Sat in the middle of this circus we found ourselves with pour Joel tripping his tits off not knowing exactly what was going on. The doctor checked him out and told us just to keep him hydrated and not on his own, so we gladly left the hospital to stay at our next Travelodge. Tonight we introduced our colonial brothers to the wonders of the salt'n'vinegar snack called Discos. As the bandy legged Tina Turner so proudly sang, "You're simply the best, better than all the rest." With no doubt in my mind these lyrics were inspirationally written about this savoury delight ... That was my day on February 7th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 5 DAY SIX ... Exeter to Manchester Friday ... With an early start today, I thought it wise to plan for a hearty breakfast in the servo to start the day right. We need to leave at 10:30am so I set my alarm for 9:30am. An hour is plenty of time for a shower and the necessary breakfast nourishment. What I didn't bank on was waking up just enough to turn my alarm off but not enough to open my eyes or engage what little brain I had working at such an ungodly hour to move my feet. In computer terms I needed to reboot but in actual fact I had a terminal syntax error which resulted in an immediate shut down. (shut up nerd ... I hear you say) For whatever reason at 10:29am I spring into life. I ran to the bathroom, to shower and brush teeth then get dressed and over to the van in 44 seconds flat, a new personal best. Thankfully Joel had fully recovered from his previous evenings unexpected psychedelic experience. The giggling mess was now in his usual slightly grumpy morning mood. He like most people in this business, do not agree with mornings in any way shape or form. We head North from the carrot crunching county of Devon. A place that is dear to me as I grew up in this neck of the woods. Arriving in Manchester we park in an alley next to the venue. As usual with the tour so far we have stair-ridden load in. Before us were countless stairs plunging deep into the heart of the planet. I counted 88 steps in total, thankfully the venue provided several oxygen tanks at equal points during the plunge down otherwise I don't think we could've done it. We soon discovered the venue had changed the stage and door times without telling us, this pissed me off as now instead of several hours to get our work done we had just 1 hour. With muscles pumping we employed a whistle stop load in and sound check. The latter was only slowed down from us picking up Manchester Airport traffic control through the guitar speakers. I wonder if they received Joel's guitar in return? "Air traffic control are we cleared to land?" (please now imagine the sound of a guitar, I've tried many combinations of letters and words but none suffice ... ) Another sold out, mega-uber-packed and sweaty show. The enthusiastic in-house sound guy thought he would start a conversation with me, his opening line was telling me what his favourite sound frequency was. This is without any shadow of a doubt the most boring attempt at conversation I could possibly imagine. I told him I had to go and feed a live rat to the snake that guards and protects our van. He looked strangely towards me and didn't speak to me again for the rest of the day. (I mop my brow and think ... phew.) After the show we got ourselves dragged down to a nearby pub called the Crown and Anchor by a friend of the bands manager. Waiting for us was a table filled with 50 pints of Guinness, a beautiful sight that required our immediate attention. 30 minutes later our thirst was quenched, actually it was drowned, but our hunger raged. To rectify this situation, when in Manchester you should head for the wonderfully titled 'Curry Mile'. For those who don't know about this spicy mile of deliciousness, then imagine the neon streets of Las Vegas, then swap the casinos for Indian restaurants. Our chosen curry house had previously been frequented by the one and only Mike Tyson. As you enter the door a large gilt frame contains photographic evidence of the occasion. Well, as my mother used to say to me, if it's good enough for Tyson then it's good enough for you son. We ate curry, we ate a lot of curry, we were so full they had to pop a window out wall to roll us back to the van. Not far from curry mile our Travelodge hotel is situated. For a change this one has a bar that opens late. None of the rooms here were twins so for a nice change we had a room each. All was going to plan until Streety comes running down the corridor shouting, "Faaaaaaaaack, they are in my bed and they are doing it." The receptionist apologized saying they have a problem in this hotel. When people check out of the rooms the cleaners leave the doors open, the young local couples who still live with their parents stealthily wander in and use the beds for sex before going home on completion. We watched the receptionist fill a red metal fire bucket with cold water, as he disappeared off towards the offending room he turned and said to us, "This is how I deal with this problem." A little puzzled Streety and I looked at each other, a mater of 2 minutes later a naked dripping wet couple come running past us holding what clothes they could pick up as they make their escape. I can still hear them shouting back, "He's a mentalist!" Once all sorted we hit the hotel bar. A drunken Polish chap was convinced we were all famous so asked us all to sign his white t-shirt with a black marker pen. I signed in large writing 'I am Bob Crumpet, I murder gingers' ... That was my day on February 8th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 6 DAY SEVEN ... Manchester to Glasgow Saturday ... Today is a much needed and much deserved day off. Well I say day off, we still have to drive all the way to Glasgow. With a midday lobby call after a much appreciated lie in we left North from Manchester. All the major UK servo's are corporately owned apart from one, and whenever strategically possible I go there. It's called Westmoorland Services, independently own and run, it's the nearest to home cooking the weary traveller can expect on the larger highways of this great country of ours. We ate heartily ... After a full afternoon of driving we arrive in Glasgow at 6pm. Before us is yet another Travelodge. We enter to be greeted by a middle-aged receptionist, now she was scary, real scary. Everyone hid behind me in single file. She, I say she as just a guess due to her name tag saying the word 'Gertrude'. Before me stood the living embodiment of darts legend Jockie Wilson. If you don't know who this man is then put a Google image search in. In addition to being the dart player's look-a-like, Gertrude had covered herself in some very tasteful tattoos. I shall never forget the ones across her knuckles, on her left hand 'K-I-L-L' and on the right 'F-I-T-E', oh yes, it said 'F-I-T-E'. Her right arm was a jigsaw of faded homemade prison tattoos, in a terrible attempt to cover these up, in a large old English typeface were the words 'drink to the death'. On the left arm was a plaster cast, was this from a fight? Or should I say FITE? What a babe! Hurriedly I got our keys, we dropped our luggage in our rooms before we head out for some much need dinner. Not far from the hotel was an excellent Italian restaurant, always a winner as everyone likes Italian food. Following our pasta intake we split up. Some back to the hotel, and other proceeded onto some bars. On returning to the hotel we are greeted by the corridors being filled with feathery burlesque ladies ready for a themed night out. Later Dale Ferry and Ryan return from their jaunt around the local drinking establishments. To my amusement they were all karaoke bars. In one of them Dale Ferry had gone off to the toilet, on completion when washing his hands, in walks the recipient of what is called a 'Glaswegian Kiss'. This is more commonly known as a head-butt. Dale Ferry asked if he was OK, the bleeding man replied, "Ah yes, it's no bother, happens all the time." Needless to say they moved onto the next bar, where Dale Ferry plucked up the courage to take part in the karaoke competition. His song of choice was 'Jealous Guy' by Bryan Ferry, which is no surprise as that's Dale's father. He was note perfect and won the competition. They were about to give him the £100 drinking token when they realised he was English. He new prize was 30 seconds to get out of the bar otherwise he too would receive a Glasgow Kiss. Soon after this, out of breath and looking over his shoulder he made it back to the hotel. To settle his nerves we cracked open a bottle of single malt Scottish whiskey, for medicinal purposes of course ... That was my day on February 9th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 7 DAY EIGHT ... Glasgow all day Glasgow ... Sunday Bloody Sunday ... As today we were playing in Glasgow and tonight we would be sleeping in the same hotel then we didn't 'have' to be active until 3pm. Some of the guys did laundry, some went for lunch, but I stayed in bed and watched shit mindless television until the latest possible moment. Mid afternoon we congregate in the hotel lobby ready for our drive across town to King Tuts Wah Wah Hut. As small venues go this is one of my favourites, everyone who works here is great, as are all the shows. It's tricky to park there as you must reverse down a thin alley. With a trailer on the back of the van this isn't the easiest task but Dale Ferry just about achieved it without burning the clutch out completely. Another sold out show, tickets were in such demand we had seen them going for as much as £130 on Ebay, how mad! I'd been to Scotland many times and have no problem whatsoever with the accent, but this was the band's first time here. It was hilarious, I repeat, hilarious, to see the look on their faces when people were talking to them. The expressions of utter blank confusion were a picture. They didn't have a clue what people were saying, simply replying with a just nod and saying, "Yeah." At this venue you always get hospitably looked after. Great food from the in-house chef and as I know the promoters well we got special treatment once I explained the bands appreciation of quality Scottish whiskey. Not long had we been in the dressing room when our promoter dready John presented us with a bottle of Isle of Jura, immediately Ryan and I cracked it open, just for a taster of course. Oh my lord, this golden liquid made me melt like an artic ice berg floating South in the first sunshine of spring, and Ryan said so too. I was rendered speechless, so had to have another in order to concur with myself, which I did. At show time a very lively and energetic Glasgow crowd chanted the bands name so loud I couldn't hear myself think, and then ... The band hit the stage for one of the best shows that venue had seen in many moon. Until ... Three songs from the end, the fire alarm went off. The building had to be evacuated. You are f*cking kidding me? As we stood outside, the blue flashing lights from the fire engines illuminated the whole area. We stood in the back alley with a handful of fans, most of them had left through the front. Twenty minutes later we got the all clear. It was a false alarm. The promoter asked us if we want to go back on? Hell yeah!! So with only about half the crowd still around the band finished a very memorable set. Once off stage whiskey bottle numero duo came out. This time we had a bottle of 12 year old Glengoyne. Again the tasting occurred and again this was followed by silent speechless melting, I had to put a coat hanger in my jacket just to regain enough shape to load the trailer from yet another mountainous load out. Once back at the hotel, we celebrated the bands debut visit to Scotland with the demolition of the bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt. With the taste of success we eventually we crash at about 5am ... That was my day on February 10th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 8 DAY NINE ... Glasgow to Nottingham Monday ... 8amI awake with a woolly head and a furry tongue, but a bloody marvellous cup of English tea soon rectifies the situation. We say our goodbyes to Scotland to head down the M74 to England. With the pedal to the floor we arrive in my adopted hometown of Nottingham at 3pm ready to load straight in. Today, no stairs , what a treat. It's always great to play the aptly named venue, Rock City. I have lost count the amount of show's I worked here over the years. It's also great to see so many old friends. After the sound check I dash round the corner to meet up with a few of them. They had heard some of the bands tunes online and were suitably impressed with it. I believe they thought I was a little over the top when I said, "This is the best band you'll see all year." This is a very bold claim to make, especially as I know these chaps go to a lot of shows, they looked back at my quizzically. Arrogantly I backed my claim up by saying, "You'll see!" The band played out their skins tonight, and thankfully my friends all agreed how mighty fine this band were. Now, I reckon this band are something quite special, but I know when I work for someone I do become very biased and loyal, to have this group of friends confirm my belief in Airbourne really tells me that they do have great things ahead of them. Not far from the venue is tonight's home, you guessed it, another Travelodge, this is where most people headed post show. Ryan and I thought better of such grown up behaviour and hit the bar round the corner to hook up with such characters of Peter the albino Mr T and my old pal the lovely Ames. Another band had played one of the other gig rooms Rock City had to offer, these were a bunch of fashion-core kids who all had regulation side parted fringe and regulation mesh-back baseball cap at the regulation angle. We stood away from the vanity and set about a session of Guinness and Glenfidich. Then before we knew it we were the last two people there, with the bar staff sweeping up around us. Not the first time this has happened and won't be the last! ... That was my day on February 11th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 9 DAY TEN ... Nottingham to Bristol Tuesday ... Today we have a 10:30am lobby call. At 10:15am, I'm not long out the shower, dried, dressed and readying myself to leave with my big red wheely bag. Then an ear-splitting noise is emanating from the white plastic hub cap in the middle of the ceiling. What? ... ahh no, bastard fire alarm ... again! My room was on the 27th floor, in a fire you of course do not use the lifts. So I had a dilemma, do I run down the stairs to the ground floor ensuring my safety in surviving another day ready for whatever adventures life has in store for me. Or, do I struggle with my big red wheely bag and ruck sack slowly down the million stairs risking life and limb just to save my dirty socks and tooth brush. I of course chose the second option. It was pretty much time for us to leave anyway so eventually I got to the ground floor as the fire brigade arrived. Amongst the many people outside was a chap with just a towel round him, as if he hadn't the time to throw on a couple of clothing items. The chav twat just wanted to have a pose. Unfortunately this action was not copied by any ladies. Ah well, as the all clear was hailed by the fireman, out van pulls up in a bus stop opposite the Travelodge. This wonderfully annoyed a procession of busses behind us, their bus drivers made me laugh, shaking their fists at us, I remembeed Blakey from On The Buses, "I'll get you Butler." Today was a good day, the sun was shining which meant the aviator shades were upon my nose and ears. We head South West towards Bristol or rather Brizzal as the locals seem to call it. On arriving in Brizzal we eventually found at our venue called Louisiana, it looked like it was straight out of the French Quarter. The balcony around the building was proper chillin' in today's delicious sunshine. What a surprise we had another staircase to load up! Another sold out show, this place was a real sweat box. At the end of the last song the amplifiers for the P.A overheated and stopped working. Thankfully they didn't play another encore. With everything loaded up we hit the road for 20 miles to achieve yet another Travelodge. The dÈjý vu is starting to freak me out. They are all the same but different, just little things like the shape of lamps. It's like I live in a Readers Digest spot the difference photo competition. My day was completed by going to the toilet, when I flushed it, the liquid had other ideas from going into the sewage system. It chose to stay with us and leak out all over the bathroom floor. After such a full on day I really didn't need such an unsavoury puddle on the floor. I mopped it all up with a towel, so all was good. Thing is, I share a room with Dale Ferry, so in the morning I must remember to tell him not to use the piss towel when showering. That's not the way to start the day, I much prefer a lovely cup of tea ... That was my day on February 12th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 10 DAY ELEVEN ... Bristol to London to London then back to London Wednesday ... Crappy early start today as we have to high-tail down the M4 to London. As I leave the hotel, I stop, I turn round to tell the receptionist, "Hey your bog, it leaks piss, here's your key, bye." He cheerfully thanked me as left, I walked and wondered to myself which towel Dale Ferry had used this morning. There's no gig today but there is a shed load of press for the chaps including a radio recording. First up we need to get Joel and Roadsy dropped off at the Hard Rock CafÈ not far from Buckingham Palace at 11:30am. As we drive off Ryan does a phone interview to one of the UK's biggest music magazines. I couldn't help but overhear him get asked what's his favourite thing about the UK? His reply was, "Sausage rolls." How thoroughly sophisticated of him and particularly rock'n'roll. Next we have to all meet up at the XFM radio studios in Leicester Square, central London. Always a nightmare to park but we manage it and get all the gear in. At 3pm we finally get clear, to use our time wisely we start heading off to today's Travelodge near Heathrow airport, just ten miles away. This is the perfect opportunity to save some time later by checking in and putting the luggage in the rooms. We need to be back at 7pm. So for our 20 mile round trip we have 4 hours ... easy ... you may think. We sit in grid lock traffic for ages, once clear the satellite navigation guides us out towards out destination, but for some reason we end up in a housing estate. Above us, jumbo jets are just feet away so we have to be near the airport. Then ... between some houses we can see the Travelodge sign. An oasis in a suburban desert, but how do we get there. Dale Ferry like a man possessed drives through gardens at ramming speed knocking down fences and sheds. Then ... we get to a river, a ten metre wide gushing aqua torrent. Were we beaten? No f*cking way. Dale Ferry reverses the van for 30 metres. He drives forward and straight like a grand prix driver, like Smokey and the Bandit, like Evil Knievel ... 5mph, 10mph, 15mph, 20mph 25mph, 30, 40, 50 ... we are about to take off ... But the Mercedes onboard flight computer automatically slams the anchors on ... the synthetic voice screaming "Abort, abort, abort." Shit! Instead we have to drive round and arrive the correct way in the other direction from the M4 motorway. As we approach the Travelodge the time is now 6:30pm. It's just too late to go there then back into XFM London so we carry on to pick them up. Our simple mission had ended with failure. Once on our way back, my phone rings, all is not lost, they need to take a bit longer on the recording so we turn round and eventually hours late arrive at out Travelodge destination. We have just enough time to throw the bags in rooms then speed back to the chaps and pick the gear up, then drop them back at the Hard Rock CafÈ so they can have a prearranged meet and greet with a bunch of competition winning stalker fans in neck braces. Once again we head back to the Travelodge. Enough time for a cup of tea and a sandwich before returning to the Hard Rock CafÈ to grab the guys. Today we had a new member for the touring Airbourne family, the man they call Donno, Gregg Donno joined us. His suitcase was so big we put the van and trailer inside it and wheeled that to our hotel before flying to Germany the next morning ... That was my day on February 13th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 11 DAY TWELVE ... London to Cologne Thursday ... 6am and it's dark outside, this is a shitty way to start the day. I need a bucket of coffee and I need it now! Thankfully we are not far from Heathrow airport so our journey is short. Our travelling party is seven people, which are the four band members, Mick, manager Gregg and I. Driver Dale Ferry and merchandise seller Sergeant Major Danny Queen were staying in England with the van and the majority of the equipment. With trolleys piled high with eleven guitars we were ready to check-in, unfortunately check-in was not ready for us, Cologne airport was foggy so the flight was delayed. Bastard sodding weather, I could've had a longer sleep! It took us a while to check in and Lufthansa were certainly thinking of their Christmas party fund when they slapped us up with a bill for £1620 excess overweight baggage. As I said check-in was delayed due to the German fog but it'd quickly lifted so our take off time was unchanged, we had to steal one of those articulated golf buggies to get to our gate. We weaved in and out of other passengers in a high-speed mechanical slalom. We made it with just seconds to spare. The Lufthansa lady was starting to pull the barrier across, but we can't be beaten ... Our flight lasted just 55 minutes, the in-flight meal reflected this. A cup of coffee and a Twix chocky bar, now this Twix was of the so-called 'fun-sized' variety, which means just one stick of the confectionary treat. I'm sorry but the name Twix suggests to me the number '2'. Therefore meaning I should get 2 bars. In a word, "Bastards". In two words, "Rip Off". In three words, "Bloody Rip Off Bastards." Before the plane had landed I had written a very stiff letter of complaint to the makers of Twix, I expressed how this substandard snack should be renamed 'Wix' ... bollocks I did ... The truth is I stole someone else's in order to recreate the desired twin bar snack. As we land the band divulge that this is the first time they've ever been to a non-English speaking country. How mad, I'm pretty terrible with foreign languages, I obviously know obscenities especially in Swedish, but having a conversation in any dialect that isn't lazy English and it's never going to happen for me. Over the years I have learnt to accept that in many countries people make noises and others understand them and answer with similar noises, how they live their lives this way is beyond me, surely speaking English is so much easier? We are met at the airport by a couple of guys from the record company Road Runner, as with the UK it's always good to see these people as they are a good bunch. First job we head to the hotel to drop our luggage and eat from the extensive Holiday Inn buffet lunch. Next we got to zoom down to the venue, for myself and Mick we have to start setting the show up, the band have a list of interviews longer than your arm from journalists from all over Europe. You see the whole point of coming to Germany for one show was completely a promotional exercise in order to spread the word that Aussi rock was back on the map. With such a long and hectic day today we were very relieved not to have a support band, we didn't have to hurry and we didn't have to shift gear between the bands. We deserved a bit of a break today. What a killer show it was, well worth the journey over. The crowd were ballistic, chanting the bands name for a solid hour before they played. We'd had a long day so hectic partying wasn't on the agenda, but straight to bed? No way ... Hotel bar? Yes way ... What we needed was a few cold beers and a quality whiskey. Our wishes were answered, good beer is always easy in Germany but whiskey? Tonight, oh yes ... we tried a few single malts, once we discovered the Oban we stayed with it until we drank the bar dry, eventually crashing at 4am ... good times ... No Travelodge tonight and happy Valentines Day to y'all ... what did you do? Romantic meal? Whatever I drank Oban single malt whiskey ... best ever ... That was my day on February 14th 2008 DAY THIRTEEN ... Cologne to Toddington Friday ... The band again had a stack of press today, I myself got a lie in and another Holiday Inn buffet lunch ... what an excellent way to start the day. Especially as the hotel restaurant was full of suit and tie guys looking at me like I was shit ... f*ck em ... I am more than happy to lower the tone to disapproving gown-ups! During the afternoon we all meet up at Road Runner's Cologne office, and check this out, they have a bar, with beer! Well I got offered some and it'd be rude to say no ... Early evening we are back at the airport, and ready for the painful news on how much we will be charged for our excess overweight baggage. Patiently we wait in line for our turn to check-in at the bright orange easyJet counter. As we walk forward the lady asks, "Are you guys a band?" Well my brain thinks, stupid question, look we have a pile guitars. However my mouth says, "Yes thanks, just a small band struggling to stay on the road." Unbelievably she let's us off the nearly £2000 cost. What a relief! On the flight back the pilot descended so much quicker than most do. The sudden drop in pressure killed my ears, I had to double check to make sure there wasn't someone either side of me hammering a chisel into each side of my head. I decided I was going to knock the pilot out. Later on we land at Gatwick airport, as I start to walk off the plane I see the pilot running off down the tunnel, I'm sure he got word I was baying for his blood, bastard! Eventually Dale Ferry and the Sergeant Major arrive to take us round London on the M25 outer ring road, then up the M1 to the very picturesque and sophisticated Toddington service station, and guess what? Oh yes, waiting for us was yet another Travelodge ... That was my day on February 15th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 12 DAY FOURTEEN ... Toddington to Sheffield to Worksop Saturday ... I wake up, Dale Ferry is already out, I look at the time and shit, I got get moving I'm late, not the way to start the day ... I must throw my clothes on and run to the van, I'll be greeted by deserved pisstake from everyone, you see I'm the tour manager and if anyone shouldn't be late it's me. As I approach the van things are strangely deserted and quiet. Where is everyone? A few seconds later my brain kicks into gear and I so stupidly realise I hadn't changed the time on my phone from Germany yesterday, I was waiting by the van an hour early. What an idiot, what a stupid f*cking idiot! I adjourned my wait and with my tail between my legs I head into the servo in order to inhale a bucket of coffee. I sit in the cafeteria and drink my latte, looking down I go into the menus on my phone to adjust the time to British GMT. When I look up I am flanked on either side but other thirsty folks having their first drink of the day. Just a few inches to my left and also a few inches to my right were two very large woman, both breast feeding two very large babies. By all means a very natural and beautiful occurrence, humanity at it purest ... but ... I wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared for this, especially when I look to my right to see this so close. My knee jerk reaction was to swing my head round to the left, AHHH oh my god another one, it was a superhuman act not to spray both with hot coffee in my shock. I briskly got to my feet and found solace in a cheese and pickle toasted breakfast sandwich. Still with brain elsewhere I took an almighty bite. The melted stringy cheese was delicious, but the recently heated pickle was much hotter than even the surface of the sun, it even scalded my teeth! At this moment I thought it was wise to wait by the van and not do anything else that could jeopardise my morning. Soon after, the Australians appeared completely oblivious to my already eventful morning. Once in the van we head North-bound to Sheffield. Tomorrow is rhythm guitarist David 'Roadsy' Roads' birthday. To celebrate this occasion, on arrival at the venue, I'm straight out to the local Sainsbury's supermarket to purchase a bottle of single malt Scottish whiskey. The tipple of choice is a 12 year old bottle of Glenlivet single malt. Not wanting to spoil the surprise I stash this in my bag in the van for much later. Back in the venue I busy myself sorting all details for today's show. In the dressing room coincidently an identical bottle of Glenlivet sat waiting to be opened, not wanting this to be a long we busy ourselves in consuming a cheeky afternoon taste. So many of the shows have sold out the small venues. We've not had the opportunity to move them up to larger rooms apart from Oxford at the start and today at the Corporation in Sheffield. Originally we were booked in the much smaller 200 capacity room, so with tickets flying out we have been moved into the much larger hall. By the end of the night we'd got our selves 681 paying customers through the door. A complete result for a band on their very first UK tour with only a couple of weeks since the release of their debut album. A fantastic show, our morale at an all time high until we return to the dressing room ready to sink the rest of the bottle of Glenlivet. But bad news, someone had got into our dressing room and already done this while the band were on stage. Thankfully nothing else was missing but the looks on everyone faces were of dejection. Little did they know of my merciful trip to get another bottle earlier in that day. Once we hit midnight birthday glee was soon achieved with the Scottish liquid flowing when I pulled the bottle from my bag, After a 30 minute drive south to Worksop to our hotel we carried on the party until the early hours ... That was my day on February 16th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 13 DAY FIFFTEEN ... Worksop to Stoke Sunday bloody Sunday ... I awake disorientated, in my dream the time is 11:49am. I was in a tent in the snowy wastes of Antarctica. Sergeant Major Danny Queen had just returned to tell me he'd been forced to eat the dogs. Dale Ferry had just had a penguin egg omelette and the kettle was on for tea. I have 11 minutes to get to the van, no again! But wait, the real time is 10am and no one has eaten any dogs ...ahhhh I can relax. We all congregate at around 11am in the lobby on the search for breakfast. Across the Travelodge car park sits a road-side cafÈ called the Little Chef. This is a bastion of dreadful disgusting over priced 1980's England. For many years acquiring the nickname of Little Thief! But recently I know the whole chain has been bought cheaply to save it from closing down. The food was good and cheap, a culinary revolution has happened, I may visit another during the next decade. Once back on the road the oil light starts flashing on the van's dashboard. We pull over to the next garage to rectify this, Dale Ferry feeds a large bottle of oil into the thirsty engine. All good and we are back on our way ... until ... the van fills with smoke. As we don't want to die of smoke inhalation, we pulled over to the side of the busy highway. Dale Ferry pops the hood to find the oil cap had come off, resulting in the whole engine becoming sprayed with oil that had started to burn. In the interest of safety we all climbed a nearby hill, a shaft of smoke that could be seen for miles billowed skywards from our poorly vehicle. Bravely in the face of oncoming traffic Dale Ferry cleaned the engine enough for us to continue our journey down to majestic and tropical town they call Stoke-On-Trent, and to a venue they call the Sugarmill. This is a great place and another one of my favourite 'smaller' shows on the circuit. With whatever band I work with we are always looked after. As this was Roadsy's birthday and as we'd sold out the show out, the pomoter got us a bottle of champagne and a chocolate cake. Both demolished with gusto following another stomping performance. Special guest tonight came from another bottle of Glenlivet single malt Scottish whiskey, he has quickly become our best friend. Another special guest tonight was a visit from Dean Of Wednesbury and his travelling entourage. They arrived and departed in his gold stretch limo, he'd won it in a game of Texas Holdum from US rap star 50 cent. Part of the deal was Miss Chloe, the gun toting, gold bikini clad chauffeur. All quite merry we leave the Sugarmill to drive to yet another f*cking Travelodge. We nearly didn't locate it due to a blanket of freezing fog covering the area, visibility was down to inches, we were driving through soup. Sergeant Major Danny Queen's army training was invaluable as he ran in front of the van to our destination ... That was my day on February 17th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 14 DAY SIXTEEN ... Stoke to London Monday ... Another early start as we got to get the band 170 miles back down to London (again) for another list of press interviews before today's show at a venue called the Borderline in Soho. Once the necessary band people were dropped again we return to the shitty dÈjý vu Travelodge near Heathrow. Checked-in and luggage dropped off we speed back into central London to the back alley behind the Borderline for load in. The venue is below ground, and wonderfully, especially as it's the last show of the tour there is a lift. Yet another very sold out show, with again tickets going for well over £150 on Ebay. During the show I looked around the room, it was a who's who of the London rock music business. The crowd was full of promoters, agents and journalists, it's so good to see this band getting this kind of attention. After the gig we head round to the nearby Crobar, this small drinking establishment is my favourite bar in London, good people and an exceptional drinks selection. Top beers and top whiskeys and top company, a great way to end a great tour ... eventually we crawl out to return back to our hotel ... That was my day on February 18th 2008 ... Travelodge counter = 15 DAY SEVENTEEN ... London, London, more London then home Tuesday ... At 10:30am we drop the band off at Heathrow airport. Easily enough time for them to get their 2:45pm flight to New Jersey with all their luggage and eleven guitars. We head off to drop all the amplifiers, speaker cabinets, drums, lights and t-shirts. Whilst on this round trip I get a phone call and discover there has been a final twist in the Airbourne tale ... In their terminal the baggage conveyor belts had broken down so only people with hand luggage could catch the flight. I'd imagine this flight was pretty empty, who goes from London to America with just hand luggage? Suffice to say our chaps didn't get their flight and were left behind. But fear not, the record company booked them on another flight from a different terminal. Instead of New Jersey they flew to JFK airport in New York. Their final destination is to be Salt Lake City. Once in JFK only 2 of their 25 checked-in items appeared. No one knew where the missing 23 items were, they didn't even know what continent they were in! They had 7 hours and 15 minutes until the next flight would take off and they had no guitars. This is approaching very quickly into being ... a crisis. Just minutes before the check-in for the next flight all there luggage was located stuck in a lift. Again with just seconds to spare they made their next flight, this time to Cincinnati before catching their final one to Salt Lake City landing a full 48 hours after I dropped them off at Heathrow ... Nightmare! It was all a lot more civilized for me, I caught my train back from Waterloo Station down to Weymouth ... I arrived home at 11pm, even thought it was dark, I still had the comforting sound of the waves lapping against the seashore as I walked back from the train station. No more Travelodge's ... That was my day on February 19th 2008