Day 40 (That's how long it took wrathful God to flood the earth and drown the sinners)
Phoenix Theatre, Exeter
It's the last day. The last day to roll dishevelled out of my bunk and greet my dishevelled colleagues, each one perfecting their thousand-acre stares in the upstairs lounge. The last day to stumble toxic-mouthed into a venue and cause awful suffering in the toilet; the last day to stridgil the gum out of my eyes beneath the micturation of a backstage shower which has never known love; to wrap my empinkened body in veteran venue towels of indeterminate (due to a lifetime of boilwashes) or indigestible (to deter would-be towel-thieves) colours; to rattle the tea cup against my teeth as I suck down the blessed hot tea, surrounded by mirrors surrounded by lights, seeing out of the corner of my eye an infinite number of parallel Bens sucking down blessed hot tea... It's also the last day of my unintended Lenten vow to abstain from all fresh vegetables, coherent conversation and toenail-clipping, so it's not all bad.
Exeter is the English Tilburg. There's nothing but cafes. The people must all go and work their shifts in cafes and then relax by going to the next door cafe for coffee and a muffin before going back to work in a cafe serving next doors' cafe staff coffee and muffins. Apart from that place where I bought a new bag. People have to have bags, after all.
The Phoenix is a nice little Arts Centre, Gallery (and Cafe). To get to it you have to cross a lake of fire. It has a very small stage and for some reason this means that we have to lay the stage out the opposite way round than normal, which is actually profoundly disconcerting once you get playing.
[TECHNICAL NOTE FOR ALL "ROCK" MUSICIANS PLAYING IN THEATRES THAT AREN'T NORMALLY GIGS: The auditorium you are performing in may be using an Induction Loop for the benefit of hearing-impaired patrons. Hearing impairment will not be an issue for such patrons tonight, as you have bought along a 20k rig to make you nice and loud, but the induction loop will be an issue for you because if it is left on, it will turn every loudspeaker in the room into a microphone. This causes not only feedback, but recursive feedback, which will transport you into a whole new dimension of misery. Bear this in mind before you start taking your amps apart.]
Here are some things I meant to say at various different points along the way, but forgot:
"Tonight I was going to try wearing my corduroy shirt with my corduroy trousers, but while I was sitting down before the gig I suffered "corduroy lockup" and my arms had to be pried from my legs with a crowbar."
"Matt has an interesting way of starting one line with a line from somewhere else in the song and then switching halfway through, to whit: "Just for a moment, my luuurld was full of pain", "I get throught the day, with you by my side" and "Is it wietter never to spove than to raise your veart having to stop"."
"As I stand by the stage listening to Matt's solo performance of Nowhere to close the show, I find myself unable to stop mentally changing the words as follows: Verse one, line one, "So, is it over?" becomes "Toad, is it over?" (this is what my small friend Tilly honestly believes the words to be) and verse two, line one, "Hands, let me hold you" becomes "Hans, let me hold you", which I think adds a little spice to to the whole affair."
Tonight there is champagne instead of tea. Matt lacks the necessary grip to spray it over the audience, so that honour falls to Matt VB. The audience seem fairly willing to indulge us as our glasses empty and our playing deteriorates, even though they are required to clap and wooo people they don't know and can't see during the "shout-outs to my crew" section. At least we don't present Matt with a bouquet of flowers and demand that he makes a speech like it's the last night of a school play. They are spared that.
Afterwards we share a collective sense of dismay, and then share some drinks with Grand Drive to thank them for their support (ho ho ho - they were the support band, see). Inevitably it is anticlimactic to end your 41 days and nights in the wilderness in a small arts theatre in Exeter (I don't know if you've ever been to www.auntieclimax.com. It's a blast). But endings are usually anticlimactic, aren't they?
This is the longest I've ever been away from home, the furthest I've ever travelled, and the most people I have ever played to. It's been excellent.
All that remains is for me to thank Roberto, Dom and Tony for their photos, and express my gratitude for the fine company, amusing exploits and inhuman tolerance of the band and crew. I only wish they had been slightly more entertaining, and then I wouldn't have been forced to talk so much shit. But, as Matt VB likes to say, "as my mum likes to say, "if you've got it, flaunt it"".
