Why am I playing guitar? Who is this viking-looking guy? Is that a toad? Why would you try to light a van on fire? Why is the train going backwards?
My only job on March 28th was to get to London, and get to sleep. I know this, because I was going to go to Germany the next day, and had to leave early - so as not to get into another Grecian run situation. I actually still think that's probably my best title ever, by the way.
I woke up fairly hungover. That's not a surprise, because I had been up late having farewell beers with my workmates/roommates/assorted hangers-on. What was surprising is that I woke up at 6am to a banging on the door. I thought it was likely to be important, after a minute or so's deliberation, and so stumbled out to open the door.
Through my myopic haze I recognized the alcoholic ex-tenant of the house I lived in, who had left in December but had inexplicably showed up the night before. I let him in and steered him towards a couch while hearing the story of his blackout episode/attempt to use cardboard to light a van on fire. I'm guessing he didn't actually set a van ablaze, so I tell him to sleep on the couch and go back to my own blessed sleep.
After some stumbling around town paying final bills and saying final goodbyes, I got onto a train and immediately started to feel sick. I'd say it was 50% being a bit hungover, 50% garden variety motion sickness, and 100% shitty. The train I was on filled up quickly, and then did a weird stab into some side-town; this led the train to rocket backwards the entire way up to London, which led me to want to throw up on everybody nearby. I didn't do it in the end, but it was something I thought about.
After abortive attempts to get some fresh air at Victoria station (smokers everywhere) and to take the underground out to Brixton (platform closed, but not found out about under after I'd paid a fare..great..), I was onto a replacement bus service that did absolutely nothing to improve my nausea. I was very seriously considering jumping off the bus with all my bags to vomit into a potted plant when we started to near the station, and thus found the will to resist peristaltic action. I got off the wildly-swaying bus and sat down in a public square to call my friend, who was putting me up for the night.
There was a problem. Her husband organizes music nights for various local pubs, and they were an act short: that act was going to be me. For context, I have not played guitar in 3 months, haven't played a show of any kind in years upon years, and still wanted to turn my stomach inside out; I had about 2 hours to get ready. I got to their place as fast as I could and worked up the following set on an inexpensive acoustic guitar that had my fingertips aching after 5 minutes of practice:
Keep fishin' - Weezer
I wanna make it wit chu - Queens of the Stone age
Forget Texas - A punk/folk song I wrote years ago
Yoshimi battles the pink robots part I - The Flaming Lips
There there - Radiohead
Everlong - Foo Fighters
...along with various instrumental practice pieces that I would play between songs to break up the singing (mostly so I wouldn't 'fakie-eat' onto the mic).
As we walked to the pub (3 bells in Streatham hill, I think it was), I had a feeling of deep dread, perhaps heightened by seeing a strange omen: a giant brown toad on the sidewalk. I thought it was a toy, but no, it hopped along in the normal fashion. It was surreal, because I had about 6-7 hours' sleep in the last two nights combined; I couldn't tell if I was hallucinating. This feeling was heightened when I took the stage.
There were some issues with the set:
1. My hands were weak.
2. I was out of practice from the mechanical/playing perspective.
3. The audience was almost exclusively made up of drunk 60 year old men who wanted to hear 'Hey Jude'.
The final factor was a remarkable one, as I realized my alt-rock/pop-rock selections were going over rather like an erudite lump of granite that was trying out its wings for the first time. Consequently I started screwing with them by speaking Japanese to intro my songs...which definitely had the desired effect. I actually sang pretty well though, I thought..I'm pretty sure a guy from another pub offered me another show at a different pub sometime in the week. I'm also pretty sure I had to sleep like those drunks had to hear 'Always look on the bright side of life', and so I made my eventual way to the floor mattress at my friends' place.
I was, of course, immediately woken up by a knocking on the door, which I had to answer in my underwear (well, I didn't have to). It was yet another friend, who looked like an extra from the show 'Vikings', who informed me that he, too, would be sleeping in the living room. Past caring at this point, I shambled back to the foam mattress and got a much-needed 2-3 hours of sleep before my wakeup to internationally travel.
It was a long goddamn day. Thinking about it after a few nights of 9+ hours' sleep and good food/company has me shuddering with distaste. Thankfully I'll be able to shake that off... it's traditional huge beer and schnitzel night tonight! Huzzah Deutschland! Give me all the saturated fats!
