An actual tour/What happens if I die in a plane crash…   Leave a comment

I know I was sending out emails announcing the Um European Winter Tour, but it wasn’t until the second Berlin date was added, and indeed a little bit of cognitive sedimentation time after that, that it dawned on me that I was actually going ON TOUR. You see, three dates in Europe isn’t a tour. Three dates is just a bit of unlikely random jammyness. Four dates, however, is undeniably and self-evidently a fucking TOUR, and I can’t quite believe it. Of course I have Felix Kubin and Simon Doling and my man Sascha (who I’ve never met) and my man Bernd (who I’ve never met) and Nathan Blunt and my lovely common-law wife Samantha to thank for all this, but nevertheless I’ve been at this wicked ART game for quite some time now and I’ve never been on no tour. For a fool on the hill (or in some physical relation to a hill, possibly over) such as myself, it is the very stuff of dreams!

So why am I having nightmares and kittens and cows and things about it then? Is it something to do with my legendary fear of aircraft travel? In a word, yes, plus I know that I’ll drink a hell of a lot of lager in Berlin with Nathan and Dallas Boner (see what a three-way obscurity orgy we’ll be smearing over each other – it beats the time I went to Spain with Vert and Animals On Wheels, and our common-law wives, of course) and my mind and my body will be fucked by the time I get to the Netherlands. I’ll feel weird, remote, lonely and I’ll want to go home, but not in a plane. Hey, maybe I won’t. Maybe it’ll be FUN. Maybe the plane won’t crash.

If it does though, here are some funeral arrangements that I’ve hurriedly thrashed out. The basic idea is that a lot of people come, and a lot of people cry, especially the girls. Obviously there’ll be a musical theme, so I’ll, or rather, you’ll need:

A pout of flautists (I don’t know how many a pout is, and I’m not even sure that it’s a real term, but I suspect flutes could be amusing at funerals)
Two hardcore drum and bass DJs to do minute interjections when the religious guy pauses.
Richard Brown to do “New England.”
Richard Rippin to do “Sugar Mountain.”
Alex Zero to DJ “Electric Disco” by Plump DJs.
Andrew Shires to do an awkward speech about my work.
Steve Adams to get up and tell everyone that I was a complete cunt.
Alexis to DJ an appropriate set.
I’d also like to see Bobby J do “Shut The Fuck Up Kid” or “Ready for Love” or “There’s A Coach Comin’ In”, but obviously I wouldn’t be able to, and he might not fancy it either. We had discussed mechanically reanimating my corpse so that just before the cremation it would rise up out of the coffin and mime to Boney M’s “Rasputin” (including the “Oh, those Russians…” outro) but I don’t think I want to be cremated and it might get a bit tricky technically.
I’d ask for Sam to do her amazing version of “Amazing Grace” but she’ll be in a right old state, obviously.

Christ, I’m making myself nervous. Gotta go.

Posted February 9, 2005 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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