12 November 2008


Night eight!

Feeling a little better. Travelodges all look exactly the same. I've decided that this is my new bedroom, so I get to sleep in my own bed every night. I do. Shut up. If only I could just control this... nevermind. Favours For Sailors join our tour for a few nights and are really amazing. Slack indie-rock of the highest order. The audience of our Portsmouth show is probably the best of the entire tour so far. They let us move them around into various positions, we do the 'Tunnel Of Love' and 'The Wall Of Cuddles' and, to top things off, they laugh at our increasingly worrying stage conversation like the nice bums they are. If only they knew that when we go off on insane rants about starting Jamiroquiauiu (sic) cover bands, it's actually not funny because it's the 'brain rot' talking and we really should be going off to hospital and not performing for people. Yes, bands tour way more than us and cope fine. But, whatever it is, it wont wash off. We though we were tough - made of tougher material. Even Duncan broke down. I caught a glimpse of him weeping by a canal. Last night, the broken white motorway road paint was so hypnotic, I began to lose myself in a dream and believed I was a frog on a motorbike. Laura has begun talking to a little stuffed animal named Francis Bacon, that she won from a vending machine at a service station. John's went straight. It's not looking good... what is this rash? We TELL MY MUM I LOVE HER are keeping positivie. ositiosve. Positiviie. Pisitove. 

1 comment:

TULTA said...