European Tour, Day 3   Leave a comment

OK, Day 3…are we here already?

So we all gradually awaken, each musician slightly more obscure and hungover than the last, and tuck heartily into thee breakfast. Probably Patrick roams about 16% wider over the bill of fare and with about 47% more good grace.

Then we listen to Fannypack, which I get interested in, and William Shatner, which I don’t.

Then we go out and do the tourist thing all over again, only this time with Patrick, who is very interesting and witty, although perhaps a little cold, as he has traveled to Berlin dressed as you might if you were going to The British Library on a warm Spring day. He remains cheerful throughout, but has to keep jumping up and down to keep his circulation going, and talking a hell of a lot. He is especially amusing expounding on the following subjects:

· How he was cured of sadness (his girlfriend threw him a party and his friends came, thereby ridding him of the notion that he was alone in a universe that didn’t care).
· How he is the originator of various, if not all, musical ideas and styles, including the SINGING-OVER-TAPES method and the BAD LOOPS method.

I am always slightly in awe of people like Patrick, but thankfully he breaks the ice by coughing up snot on me. What happens is this:

Patrick coughs chestily, and exclaims something like: “Jesus! Ugh! Where did that go? I think I just coughed up something horrible onto myself.” He starts examining his front for unwanted phlegm. “It probably landed on me,” I quip, as I am positioned slightly in front and to his left. Immediately I am proved hideously correct, as my first glance at my coat reveals a vile chunk of gack from Pat’s lungs, or one of them. It is surprisingly solid in nature, large, and of various hues. Our friendship has got off to a flying start, I observe.

Then we go back to the DOUBT building (see UM’S EUROPEAN TOUR DAY TWO) and make a funny film, although I haven’t seen it because my camera is fucked. We try and make a funny film of me doing a showbiz descent down the steps of the museum too, but I fail horribly in my role because I feel shy and embarrassed in front of all the Spanish tourists pretending to be Nicholas Parsons. Not the tourists, you idiots.

Eventually we end up in the pub, possibly at my suggestion. I am getting text messages from Felix Kubin, who is coming to the gig tonight, and I am starting to worry about having something to prove, which one should never do when one has something to prove. The barmaid in the place, Turkish possibly, attractive in an unremarkable way, has a pink scarf tied over her tight black jumper, either over or under her breasts (I don’t recall which, but I remember there were breasts involved). She uses halting English shyly, and I get a lonely kind of horn. Perhaps there’s something inherently sexy in the phrase: “Would you like another beer?” Unfortunately I have a gig in about 9 hours time and I need to be the right side of ratarsed to be truly professional, so we shuffle off back to Nathan’s. It’s just a flying visit for Patrick, so he has to get ready to go to the airport, and I need to change into my suit for the gig and so on.

Next entry: the gig.

Posted May 20, 2005 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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