Evile European tour. Day 1.

The petrol station where we have just pulled in to for the night is playing Gloria Estefan; The rhythm is going to get you. Oh Belgium. Belgium, Belgium, Belgium. It’s the little things like this that make touring the stuff of dreams I tell you. One of the joys of Europe is that the radio stations are stuck a decade behind, so little gems you haven’t heard or thought to ever listen to again crop up all the time. It’s a guilty pleasure for all of us. There is no pisser though. Which could prove problematic.

So let me explain. I’m here in Belgium with U.K thrash metal band, Evile. They are supporting Amon Amarth and Entombed for the next couple of months on a European tour and at the last minute, asked me to come along and sell some merch for them. Oh go on then.

First stop is North Germany, Osnabruck. The Bastard Club. So far we have got over the channel on the ol’ ferry from Dover to Calais and driven up to this random motorway petrol station that we find ourselves parked at right now.

The guys picked me up from Canterbury West train station where I travelled down to from London the night before so that I could catch up with me mum. She was so nervous for me all of Monday that I nearly had to slap her about the face and tell her to snap out of it, bless her cotton socks. Not gonna lie, I was bricking it slightly too. Quite a bit really. This is the longest I will have been away for and my first tour round Europe. Two things are crossing my mind.

First up, after many months of tooth pain, I thought it wise to get the offending fucker ripped out before being stuck in some corner of Europe in agony. Out came a wisdom tooth less than a week before we set out and by Monday, pick up day, I am in fucking agony. Shit. The dentist does some concentrated fluoride jobby that “should last you a couple of months” and I am assured that all will be well in me mouth.

But, more importantly than that I am going to get to see a fuck lot of Europe. In no particular order we will be hitting: France, Belgium, Germany, Italy, Switzerland, Austria, Norway, Finland, Sweden, Denmark and Holland. Of course I will not see much of any of these places, such is the nature of touring but hey, it’s a damn sight better than never seeing them at all.

So. Mum has waved us off with sarnies and pop and soon we are on the ferry. Ol is trying not to puke, he doesn’t travel well it seems, sucks for him that all we will be doing is travelling for the next couple of months really eh! Ha! Still, although never finding his sea legs he does soldier through and the ‘vom’ count stays at nil.

Me, Ben the drummer and Lyall hit the duty free shop for booze and end up having to browse it for 20 minutes cause regulations won’t let you buy any plonk till your such and such and blah blah whatever type thing. Ben is musing over travel monopoly and I am musing over the fact of life that there is something about these types of shops that overpower your mind in to believing you need a fucking miniature bear on a key ring, or a piece of lavender and camomile soap. A fictional book on child abuse where the main character overcomes her/his past and is eventually capable of living a normal life. (Seriously, on the special offer books section by the till there were three of these types of books. What la fuck?)

These fucking shops are just filled with crap and I want to buy it all. I need perfume that is now €62 instead of €69. I need a travel gift pack of eau de toilettes. And I need cuddly fucking toys. Lots of them. Also I need country fudge and shortbread in fucking tins and tea towels with quirky images of bears and the Towers Of London on them. I need Polly pocket vets surgery and shopping malls and matchbox cars and a Harry Potter wand. No wait, I need some fucking liqueur, snap out of it girl, don’t fall for their whily selling techniques. They won in the end of course, I left with a ltre bottle of Malibu?!

Lyall, who is our driver and tour manager is an old touring buddy of mine in a sense. We worked together over the summer at a festival in East Germany. After checking on the band, we find the open deck where we sit on a bench chain smoking, me drinking Malibu out of the bottle as the lights of Dover move further and further in to the distance.

We catch up and talk about the months ahead and both admit to feeling quite melancholy, watching our homeland retreat in to the horizon, knowing that we won’t be seeing it for quite some time. Then we have another fag, I swig some more Malibu in a bid to numb my throbbing mouth pain and we forget all about England. I mean jeez, it’s still gonna fucking be there when we get back eh! Truth be told I can’t fucking wait to leave it.

I would say that I woke up Tuesday morning and then go on to tell the tale but I don’t think I ever properly went to sleep. The first of many firsts you see. Last night we had pitched up at a petrol station in Belgium and it was the first night sleeping in our trailer trash motor home. It’s fucking tiny. Five grown men and me. And I take up a lot of space.

Right, what we got? We have two single bunks at the back next to the ‘bathroom’. Then, in the middle is the kitchen area and opposite that is a table with seats that all needs to be dismantled and turned in to a double bed. Above the driving seat is another bunk that can be pulled out to make a double.

Ol and Matt, Evile’s guitarist and singer are getting the bunks at the back cause they always go to bed before everyone in the whole world probably. Lyall is above the driver’s seat and bizarrely, Mike the bassist is sleeping in the passenger seat. Apparently he sleeps sitting upright. There’s a lot of ‘Vietnam vet’ about Mike. Me and Ben top to tail in the middle bed, the one that used to be a table and chairs.

Lyall, Ben and me take ourselves off to a bench outside and drink for an hour or two and then call it a night. Between the absolute fucking throbbing agony that has now spread all up the left side of my face, the new surroundings and company and being paranoid that ill move around too much in my sleep, I barely get any sleep. You know the sort. Disjointed and unsatisfying where you’re not quite aware of if you did actually get any sleep or you were just trying to. Probably I was in and out every hour. The last couple of hours I’m literally just waiting for when it’s time to get up and have completely given up on sleep.

Finally we all get up and stagger off to use the restroom in the now open restaurant. Teeth are brushed, poo’s are had and coffee is bought and off we go. Next stop, Osnabruck, North Germany.

Evile video shoot. Infected Nations. Shepperton Studios. Warehouse 7.

Smoke. Lot’s of smoke. And a cube. A really big fucking cube. A big cube big enough to fit lots of smoke and a thrash metal band. Welcome to the Evile video shoot for their upcoming single Infected Nations off the new album by the same name.

An early meet at Waterloo station finds me running the length of it to make the 9.42 am train with Talita, Evile’s press officer, Julie, their manager and Tom roadie to the metal massive. I just make the train as it pulls out and by the time we hit Shepperton, the middle of nowhere I have pretty much woken up. I can’t complain though, Evile have been at the studio since 8.30 am. Ouch.

Studio F, where all the magic making is happening is basically a massive empty warehouse. In the middle, a 15 ft Perspex box has been erected, and inside that…Evile. There are 4 huge lamps beaming down from above the cube, with a camera mounted on a trolley, and one on a crane that swings about while Evile pretend to play, so as to catch different angles from all sides of the cube.

There are about a dozen people working behind these cameras, the director, the assistant, runners, grips and god knows. All studiously nit picking and pouring over every detail. Muttering amongst themselves whilst squinting into their lenses, pointing and agreeing and moving stuff, taping stuff and then squinting again.

When we arrive, Ben’s drum kit is being assembled inside the cube. He is busy gaffa taping the symbols to deaden and muffle their sound, and a studio hand is putting dead skins on his drums. The rest of the band, Ol, Matt and Mike are wandering around aimlessly plucking away on their guitars and bass, chatting and generally killing time till they are called for again.

We catch up briefly and then go sit at the side, out of the way and get ready to watch as the guys all walk into the box before another studio hand tapes up the opening behind them. Why? For the smoke! A smoke machine pumps in a blast of smoke and within seconds you cannot see the band at all. As the smoke clears, silhouettes appear, holding guitars, a bass and sitting behind an almighty drum kit. There are shadows of the guys all distorted from the lighting and the whole set up looks badass mother fucking ninja sex cool! Already I can’t wait to see the final cut and the thing hasn’t even been made yet.

There are many stops and starts, as goes with video shoots. The band start, the filming starts and then…cut. Something gets shuffled and it’s back to square one. Within an hour we all know the lyrics and riffs and beat. See, this still isn’t any hardship though, the song rocks, and as I said, the video is proper dark.

At noon we start getting calls from extra’s who are beginning to turn up to play the role of ghostly ghouls that will eventually end up hurling themselves in to the box at the end of the video after much zombie walking and banging around the shop.

Originally, Evile had asked their friends to do the extra work and initially had the full quota, but as it got closer and closer to the day people inevitably end up dropping out due to other commitments and so come the morning of the shoot we were in dire need of a handful more.

We ended up with the required fifteen which included a couple of U.K thrash band Mutant, the guitarist from Juggern0rt, a whole bunch of London based friends from facebook, Tom the roadie and me.

Our outfits for the day were massive black cloaks with huge hoods that had been borrowed from a Harry Potter film and black tights over our faces. Sweet! We soon all get in to it after some initial trepidation and could be found fucking about like monsters and zombies for about an hour, then we could be found sitting in the hallway outside the studio looking piss bored.

The extra’s were awesome, a few of them had books but for the most part they all just chilled out chatting with each other, about metal mainly and were total soldiers to the cause. No complaining or winging, fucking troopers the lot of them.

We had taken a break for lunch and hit the canteen, proper school dinner grub for all. So everyone is chatting away, shovelling food down their throats when it suddenly becomes apparent that a couple of the guy’s friends have managed to pick up a random stray on the way to the studios and have no idea who he is but are quite sure that he is not entirely compus mentus. So, off I go to investigate. Ha.

After some awkward silences instigated on my part, he leaves. Turns out he just tagged along, when I asked him what he was supposed to be doing that day he replied “drinking”. WTF. Care in the community at it’s finest. Freaks and food over, it’s back to the film set darlings.

More of the same really eh, that’s video shoots for you, lots of hanging around doing nothing, feeling a tad nervous for your upcoming ghoul debut but equally trying not to fall into a deep staring in to space coma. Eventually, it’s the turn of the ghouls. The Evile massive have been filmed from every angle and the video is in need of some ghostly figures creeping around with a menacing manner about them.

The director calls in two, then four and then all of us, she directs us to move slowly like zombies towards the box of Evile and then mock thump and bang on the Perspex walls but not too hard or the whole thing will collapse! We do this a couple of times, then get to shove our heads through cling film which is imitating the Perspex walls of the box. I got to head butt my bit of cling film but it took too long to break through and I’m pretty sure I got relegated to the bench. Ouch. Goddamn stage fright.

Suffocating slowly in our tights, reminiscent of all great failed bank robbing head gear, and sweltering under the heavy cloaks, every one is sweating heavily and agreeing we feel mildly chuffed that the poor Harry Potter cast will be having to don these at some later date.

I, at this point had to bid my farewells and leave the shelter of Shepperton studios back to the reality and grime of London and you will never guess what I fucking missed….they got to ram the Perspex in! They got to charge it, ram it and collapse it! On to the band! HA! Fuckin A. cannot wait to see this video. It is going to be the stuff of legends for fucking sure.

L.A. Part 5.

I wake up feeling worryingly spritely and bouncy and dare I say, breezy. You know when you do that after a heavy night drinking and only a few hours sleep, you just don’t trust yourself right? That hangover is somewhere lurking. I’m in L.A though and this is my last few hours here so I’m gonna brave it out with Talita and hit that sweet roof top pool one last time.

I can’t bloody swim of course cause my foot is freshly inked, I have to sit on the steps with my right leg hanging up on the side, still, better than a kick in the teeth.

We don’t hang about long up there, getting back to the hotel room asap to change and pack cause apparently we have a breakfast date with Chad and the lovely Miss Alicia at Mel’s diner on the Hollywood Blvd. Erik is dead, so we leave him so till we are done being girls, kick him awake and roll on out.

A taxi ride later and shocker, no Chad and Alicia. My money is they’re dying in bed. Ha! I too at this point am feeling slightly peaky, and a walk up Hollywood Blvd does nothing to help alleviate the waves of nausea and dizziness overcoming me. Here it is, the result of hard partying that I was dreading.

Erik’s mate plays Jason from Friday the 13^th on the Blvd, so we go and check him out, get some pictures and I reach breaking point. It’s hot, I am dying and this place is so crowded I don’t know if I’m going to chuck or faint. My companions take their sweet arse time in getting to a cab, although I was such a state it may not have been. We did seem to stop loads for one reason or another many times.

Finally in the taxi, I start getting anxious about the time, we planned on leaving the hotel at noon, to get to the airport for 1 pm, to ensure fire exit seats for all of us together. That taxi ride took forever. At the hotel I wait in the lobby while Talita and Erik go to get our bags down from the room and Nick turns up and fills me in on what he got up to that morning. 20 minutes later and gone noon, we are still waiting, I swear they have gone back up to the bloody pool.

On the up side, I meet Edgar. Edgar who has worked at the Hyatt for 35 years. Who, once trusting that I genuinely wanted to know the dirt, spilled the good stuff! Led Zeppelin burnt the 5^th floor down. They also had the most groupies. Robert Plant went back there 3 years ago and him and Edgar had a chuckle about the crazy old days. Slash used to rent a room 2,3 times a week just for the afternoon for him and his fiancé. Sometimes he was so drunk they had to walk him up there. The Who used to drive their motorbikes through the lobby. I nearly got kicked out! I am in heaven. Satisfied, the others finally reappear and we hug it out with Erik and drive off in to the sunset, back to good old grey London. Well, not so much in to the sunset as along it.

See what I did there? I don’t care, I miss L.A. The plane ride back was shit and my ankles turned in to cankles. And the plane was going away not towards L.A. It was shit. I heart L.A forever! And I got my right foot to prove it!

L.A. Part 4.

So my favourite keeps changing when it comes to White Wizzard. We got John, who I could chat with all day, I love listening to him tell stories and he has been an exceptionally gracious host.

Then there’s Erik, who is like your naughty little brother’s friend. Can be totally endearing and equally be a complete dick. But again, totally cool to hang with and definitely loves to drink. Erik will definitely love London.

Wyatt, the front man is legend. He is from Florida and has a full on Southern drawl thing going on. He called me maam. Ha! He served in the Army and fought the first time over in Iraq. When Nick asked him if he had ever killed a man he looked thoughtful and we all thought he was going to come out with something like ‘ I don’t want to talk about it’ or one or two but he answers ‘bout 30, it was them on me’. Legend. And, he looks the spit of young Dio. Cannot wait to see him perform.

Chad is a diamond. He is so much fun and a total pro, he couldn’t have been more hospitable and his girlfriend is the shit! British girl of course!

Last but not least is Jesse, the drummer. He was a slow burner, very quiet and then POW, put him in a bandana and he becomes Bruce Springsteen. Funny as fuck that dude. Proper interesting guy, lots to say, seen a lot and done a lot. He even knows Pamela Des Barres. WTF!

I’m so relieved they are not a bunch of dicks, and the fact that all of them are cool is such a rarity, I am definitely keeping my fingers crossed that I get to tour with them at some point. The feeling is mutual, Jesse, Erik and me were talking on the ride back from the photo shoot and they too were relieved that we weren’t dicks either!

Anyways…back to the story telling at hand…Chad’s!

Back at Chad’s gaff and he has a pretty full house going on. Bonded By Blood, me, Nick and the White Wizzard massive all in his front room drinking beer and shouting over each other. His girlfriend comes through the front door and bless her, looks totally shell shocked by the amount of people in front of her. She takes it well and retreats to their bedroom to get ready for the night of debauchery ahead of us. I, on the other hand start flagging. Oh shit, jetlag wave crashing my way. Fortunately, Chad and his girlfriend, Alicia are fucking sweet as a nut and let me kip on their bed, I ask them to wake me in half an hour.

I come to now and again to the sounds of laughing and shouting and music, I can recognise Alicia and Nick well in to it all and sleep chuffed that everyone is carrying on like they have known each other for years. At some point Alicia comes in with a beer and leaves it on the bedside table for me, and eventually a couple of the BBB boys and Alicia wake me with a shot. I sit up, knock it back and I’m up just in time for the taxi arriving to take us to The Rainbow. They let me sleep for an hour and a half. When I came out the bedroom they had on the Iron Maiden 666 DVD. Bless, bless and more bless!

John manages to get Bonded By Blood in, some of whom are not legal in the States yet by saying we are buying food, so buy food we did. Just a massive pizza between all of us though since we were all pretty much still stuffed from the Mexican. Everyone is mega excited and quite drunk by this point, bouncing about, taking photos and acting the fool is the general order of the day, we are all over the shop, those of us who smoke especially, popping out to the outside bar to do shots and chain smoke.

Suddenly the lights come up and the music has stopped. What the fucking fuck is going on? It’s closing is what the fucking fuck is going on. Yes that’s right people, The Rainbow shuts at 2 am. As does everywhere down the strip apparently. What sort of a rock n roll town is this? Seriously, I am shocked to the very core. All those legendary hell raisers went home at 2 am. Oooo out of control!

Fuck that, I finished my drink and banged on for a bit about ‘for the sake of all that is good in rock n roll, why are we getting told to leave at 2 am’ etc and then left. The ‘Riot’ Hyatt it is then!

Or not, as the case may be. We must have been in our hotel room mere minutes before the first knock at the door. We hide in the bathroom, behind the bed, under the desk and Talita opens the door. Reception have had a complaint from our neighbour about the noise. It’s the fucking ‘RIOT’ Hyatt hotel and it’s only gone 2 in the morning you pricks, why are you staying at the ‘RIOT’ if you want a good nights sleep? Jesus don’t you people have any respect? Yeah, yeah, we’ll keep it down blah blah blah.

Of course within half an hour the other bloody neighbour has complained. We are too drunk to remember to hide everyone and are informed we are only allowed 3 guests in our room. Ermm…excuse me but how the fuck is one supposed to have an orgy at the ‘RIOT’ if one so chooses to with no more than 3 people? Not that we were going to, eww, but still, hardly the point, WTF?

But get this, on the up side like. We are told by the ‘Riot’ Hyatt staff that if they have to come up again, we will be asked to leave the hotel! We would be turfed out for being too rock n roll! Fuckin A, how bad ass are we!

So we leave. We literally get all our booze, pour it in to the posh hotel glasses and waltz right on out of there. Fuck them, this party is going to the sidewalk and the GTO parked outside.

We must have pissed about out there for at least an hour and no cops came by! Still though, doesn’t mean we can’t prank call the Earache head office in Nottingham and tell them we have been right? What it’s about the time they are all in now? So John rings and informs them that the old band members had turned up at The Rainbow, started chucking some harsh words about and that I squared up to them all rowdy like. One thing led to another, Talita was trying to diffuse the situation but to no avail and I bottled one of them. We have both been arrested and need $5000 bail. John is in shock and doesn’t know what to do. At this point I am in howls of laughter and ruin the whole shebang, closely followed by everyone else. This had, sadly enough been in plans for the entire trip only this was the first night we could manage to stay up late enough to carry out, what with the time difference and all.

With this, Nick retires to bed, as do Chad and Alicia. We spot Nick up in his room pulling his blinds, wave and moon him and then push off to bed too. Erik is too fucked up to drive so kips with Talita and me, but doesn’t really. We kip, he gets up sporadically to drink more and talk to people who don’t exist. Don’t ask, no idea.

L.A. Part 3.

It is Saturday night, I am back in London town and have just finished work behind the bar at my shitty little metal pub. That and the jetlag has prevented me from regaling you with what happened over the last 48 – 72 hours of my time in L.A. Already it seems a lifetime away, fortunately I can just look at my right foot for the rest of my life if ever I want to remember it. Let me divulge dear reader…..

Wednesday morning finds us wide-awake at a ridiculous hour again but this time we are ready to use it to our favour. Talita takes us a short walk up the road to Mel’s Diner on the strip for breakfast American style, round 2.We are clearly tourists cause no one walks here, unless it's that stupid power walking thing. This place was in American Graffiti and is totally the epitome of fifties America.

We seat ourselves inside even though it is a beautiful morning so that we can enjoy the full experience, the décor, the staff etc, and boy do they not disappoint. Janet. I think Janet should be called Dolores, so will call her that for the rest of this. She was our waitress and blew my mind. Primarily because as Talita pointed out, she is quite probably me in 30 years time.

How to describe Dolores? Know now that I cannot possibly do her any justice. She is Patsy out of Absolutely Fabulous had Patsy been dragged up rather than brought up, moved to L.A as a teenager to become a ‘star’, got a job at several shitty diners like Denny’s while trying not to stray in to porn. She then would have fallen for a string of ‘wrong’ men, who promised her the world, gave her nothing but took everything. Probably she would have done some go go dancing and made a few infomercials.

Before old age crept in she landed her current job at Mel’s diner and is so enchanting she manages to keep getting loans out to feed her addiction to staying young and beautiful with cosmetic surgery then spends gruelling hours on her feet trying to earn the money to pay the loans off. Probably she has a few men in her life who throw money her way but I suspect she grafts for it. Probably she has grand children she never sees on the other side of the Country but sends them thoughtful cards and trinkets none the less and is thought of fondly if not patronisingly, similar to how I think of her.

What a woman. I am completely entranced one hundred percent. I can’t put an age on her. Her arms are young, mid 30’s say. Her hands, though accessorised with long acrylic talons in dusky pink look about 50. Her figure under her tight trashy uniform says 20’s. Her neck says 60. Her face is caked in make up, she has false eyelashes on, a massive injected pout and a forehead that hasn’t moved since 1992. Dolores is some kind of beautiful tragic. I want to take her home as a souvenir.

Somehow I manage to eat, hard when there is so much to take in. When we are settling up the bill there is a comments bit on the receipt. I get my eyeliner out and write ‘we love Janet’ and we leave. Hope she doesn’t think we were taking the piss, she is a goddess. I mean shit, I just wrote 5 paragraphs on the woman!

We schmooze on back to the hotel, i can feel the weight gain with every passing hour i stay here, and yet again I can’t believe I’m staying in the Riot. Gets me every time. I have been intending on finding some one who works there to fill me in on all the sordid history of the place and have a few names of staff to ask but keep bloody forgetting.Edgar is the man in the know apparently, 35 years under his belt, the man will for sure have some great tales to tell.

We still have a couple of hours until all the boys are turning up to hang out and so hit the roof top again and hang out in the blistering sun, fuck about in the pool, I wee’d in it, much to the horror of Talita who went scrambling out…jeez that’s what chlorine is for, anyway my pee is pretty much pure Jack D at this point! I dry off in the sun and go kick it in the hotel room and do some writing. I have had zero chance to get this done as of yet and this will probably be my only chance till London. I get a couple of hours work done over a 3 hour period, popping back up to the roof to smoke and splash about a couple of times and having posted my writing crash out on my bed, only to wake up when Talita and Erik, guitarist from Whitt Wizzard come bounding in to get cleaned up for the evening.

Worryingly Talita has not had a siesta after all, so jetlag city is bound to be getting her at some point tonight.

Tonight we will be joined by none other than my tour brothers, Bonded By Blood, fucking A. We are all going to eat at a Mexican restaurant on Melrose, I could take or leave Mexican food but this aint my show so tough shit. Erik takes Nick, Talita and myself off up Melrose in his Ford pick up truck and we do some window shopping, have a rake around some vintage shops trying random crap on but not really finding anything to purchase as souvenirs of my L.A adventure. Really we just spend an hour trying on the most hideous things we could find. Fun but a fail none the less. The stuff that I would have bought, like a slutty fur coat that would make me look like a Russian hooker were too expensive. Bugger.

Impulse buy I guess, though it was no shocker, I kind of knew this was coming, Talita too, I ended up getting me a little tattoo to commemorate my first and hopefully not only time in Los Angeles. Only half an hour’s worth cause we were low on time and money but a little tattoo on my right foot none the less. Of an eyeball with wings.

The tattooist I chose because it had a barbershop in it run by Richie the barber who had tatt’s on his face and a gelled gentleman’s moustache. He was dressed in Sweeny Todd type get up and was so fucking cool it hurt my eyes. There he was working away with a shiny blade, he loved my idea and I was sorely disappointed that he wouldn’t be the one doing it. My tattooist Looked like he had maybe had a tough night on K or his girlfriend had just walked out on him and had taken the cat with. Or maybe he was just stoned? Whatever, he did a good if quiet job and bish bosh bashed that bad boy out. I sat reasonably well although my fucking foot did start jumping 15 minutes in. Loser foot. I held it well though I think.

Cling filmed up, Chad had arrived mid tattoo and we all trundle off up Melrose to the Mexican place, and who should I spot across the street but a bunch of Mexicans. Bonded By Blood people!

I haven’t seen these guys since I toured with them and I’m well syked to see them, everyone’s hugging and shit and off we go on mass after introductions between the two bands. The restaurant gives us our own private room with a long table. It’s a very grand room with walls covered in pics of the govenor with different characters and the furniture is all this heavy wood. Mood lighting sets off the feeling that we might be sacrificing some one in here tonight, I think I watch too many movies.

We drink Margaritas and beer and shots of tequila. We eat too much and we take a ton of drunk photos. Then jetlag hits Talita. Bum. So she gets dropped at the hotel for a couple of hour’s sleep and the rest of us pile in to cars and drive to Chad’s place near Hollywood Blvd. Ahh sweet, a house party is always a must on the tick list of things to do in other people’s countries, to get a real sense of their culture right…….

L.A. Part 2.

I am a Moomin, hibernating deep inside a fluffy nest, all snuggled up with a slight breeze brushing past my forehead. Oh wait, no I’m fucking not. I’m curled up in a massive bed surrounded with sumptuous bed linen with the air con breezing about me. I’m in L.A!

I feel like I’ve been asleep for a million years and am pretty sure I have over slept. Talita has been softly padding about the room for a while now and I have my eyes tightly shut waiting for her to tell me to get up and be all go go go. This doesn’t happen. She is back in her bed, I reach over to my phone and holy shit it’s bloody 7 am? How the hell has that happened. This is unheard of, my mum and dad would literally not believe this. It can only be that sodding jetlag me thinks, working is crafty way about my body like some uninvited rash oblivious to the naked eye. Bugger.

At some point last night we all arranged a time for John to come and pick us up and take us somewhere for breakfast, but since being so mega drunk none of us can recall exactly what time that was. There is a potential 2-hour window that the meeting time falls in. Fail.

So at 11 am we wait, I’m pretty sure it was noon, nothing. Finally we realise that we can actually phone him and he’s 15 minutes away. I knew I was right.

My fake spray tan is working a treat so I brave getting the pins out and spend the next several hours going from paranoid to not giving a shit if L.A is sickened by my thread veins that look like a map of the greater London area. This is what L.A does to me, makes me all mellow and devil may care. Sweet. John is taking us to the Griddle, a pancake institution apparently. We park up, get ourselves seated and look around us. This place is fucking cool, the waiter is hot and the smells coming from the kitchen are to die for, what a result. I take Johns advice and get the ‘Yellow brick road’ pancake stack and share it with nick cause these blighters are huge. I get a side of scrambled eggs and bacon too cause this is the next step in American food exploration. Pancakes, sweet, with bacon?!

I’ve noticed that I get really antsy having to wait to be served, to get the food, to get the bill, to get out of there. London time is definitely quicker than L.A time. I try to chill out but once I’ve eaten I just want to get the fuck out of there and do something else. Maybe it’s just that we are here for such a short time and I want to fit in as much as possible cause it’s ace over here!

My breakfast was out of this world, although by the time I admitted defeat I felt like I was going to throw up! The experience did not let me down in any way and I can leave The Griddle safe in the knowledge I will probably never eat there again.

After we eventually get out of there, it’s back to the hotel to meet up with Neil, the photographer who will be doing the shoot with White Wizzard today. Yes we do actually get some work done during this trip you know. Granted it’s the best work ever so barely counts but work it is none the less.

While waiting for the band to turn up we all hit the roof top pool, feel free to go chuck up somewhere, I know how sickening this is trust! Frolicking in the pool with my girl Talita is the most fun. We have a cabana overlooking L.A and I work on the potential of skin cancer by sun bathing till I’m too hot, pissing about in the pool to cool off and then sun bathing again till I'm totally dry. I’m intrigued to see quite how red I’ll go. Before we know it the guys have all arrived and are chilling out on the sun lounges. We all introduce ourselves to each other and chew the cud for a while before sorting our shit out and hitting the road for the location shoot.

After a drive that takes us through L.A and then along the Pacific Highway coastline, we pull up on the side of the road amongst the most beautiful and intimidating rocky, craggy mountains climbing up from the road. The GTO gets positioned in front and the equipment set up. The guys all pose around the car and the shoot is underway. The photos, through the camera look amazing and I can’t wait to see them properly. A couple of hours later and it’s done and dusted. The guys loosened up throughout and by the end were really going for it Metal stylee, fucking winners!

Not knowing that I’d be out all day I didn’t bring tights or a jacket and it’s turned pretty chilly now, so I forego the GTO and shotgun Eric’s Ford pick up instead. unfortunately there is a big seat divider in the middle and no back seats, so poor Jesse the drummer has to perch on that, I feel guilty but not that guilty I guess or I would have gone in the other car. We hit the beach quickly before dinner and me and Talita have our shoes off quick smart wadding in and pissing about.

O.k so check this. The day we arrived in L.A there was an earthquake. A small unfortunately, so we didn’t get to feel how that is, but one strong enough that coastline had loads of ocean life washed up on the beach cause the tide had rushed in and then out again really quickly.

All along there were these bizarre looking things that looked like a cross between a jellyfish and a purple liver. Nick accidently trod on one and his shoe got covered in purple dye. It wasn’t until a bit later when were trying to dig a trench for one so that it would role back in to the ocean that we noticed they were sea slugs! Weird fucking things I tell you. Jesse showed me how to catch sand crabs, that’s not a euphemism, they were little crabs that dig down in the sand and leave little bubbles on the surface.

Anyways…drink time! The guys have been banging on about this German pub they all go to and so off we speed for food and booze and for Nick to get his Kerrang! Interview. Not such an exciting place I found, simply cause we have loads of these places back home. Of course I tell the guys this, ha! What an arsehole. We all chow down our dubious German grub and are joined by friends of the band and some girlfriends and have quite the corner party going on. These lot are definatly gonna love Europe. We are all mega excited and everyone’s chatting and shouting and laughing and generally having a ball. Karaoke tonight for sure!

Nick gets his interview started and then, and then me and Talita fall asleep. At the table. We fall asleep. What fucking parallel universe is this that I am keeping the same fucking hours as an OAP? Fucks sake. Seriously, the barmaid came over and told us we couldn’t sleep there! Ahahahahahaaaa, my how the tables have turned, it’s usually me doing that!. Needless to add to this but shock of shocks, Karaoke did not happen. We got in the GTO and sped back to the ‘Riot’, detouring down Hollywood blvd to look at all the freaks and went straight to bed. What a bunch of losers. Tomorrow we are having a siesta so that this does not ever happen again. Ever. I’m ashamed of myself. I know better.

L.A. Part 1.

If immigration and customs ask, ‘I’m here to visit a band’, the more I look like a stupid, dumb groupie, the more likely they will find it amusing and get all flustered and embarrassed because they will be assuming that I am a groupie and therefore sex fiend harlot and ergo, the quicker I will get through the whole ‘Are you here on business or pleasure?’ type questioning, which is some what difficult to answer because it’s work. Although it is quite pleasurable work?!

Oh I’m terribly sorry, how rude of me! I haven’t said where I’m off to……….

L motherfucking A motherfuckers!!!!!

Indeed, life seems to have taken a rather joyful turn and I’m spending the next couple of days on the Sunset Strip in L.A at none other than the “Riot” Hyatt hotel itself. I actually want to explode with excitement.

After 11 hours of plane malarkey we are landing at LAX. Through the little window I can see L.A surrounded by mountains and a thick layer of smog sitting in the air above it. The landscapes through that window have been for the most part, tremendous the whole way there. Apart from clouds I have seen ice caps, mountains and deserts, the most breath taking views of parts of the world I’m sure I’ll never see from ground level.

I drank 7 free Jim Beams free poured, ate 2 dubious and questionable meals, worked for 5 hours till my laptop died of juice, read for about one hour and watched a movie that made me very depressed. ‘He’s just not that in to you’ or something. Jeez, why bother was how I felt after watching that. I mean, why fucking bother.

And here I am. Customs are surprisingly cool it turns out. I got some Eastern European silver fox taking my piccy, fingerprints and asking what my intentions were. He was like “so Lucy….are you going to be getting up to any mischief while you are here?” Fuck man, dude saw right through me! Ah well.

Outside John, the only original member of Earaches latest gem, White Wizzard, greets us. He seems nice enough, till he walks us to our ride. Then he is King. It is the convertible GTO from the song ‘high speed gto’, the very same one in the video. Me and Talita are suddenly carrying on like little kids bouncing about the place with glee…oooh if the kids at school could see me now stylee!

We drive through L.A, which is an odd experience cause you feel like you have been there before just cause you’ve seen so much of it in the movies. I am silent taking it all in barr the occasional eye locks with Talita as we both silent scream at each other.

The Hyatt hotel. This to me is like a temple to a monk. Do you know how many orgies, drug overdoses and deaths have happened within these walls? A lot my friends! This place is so steeped in Rock n Roll history not even the refurbished décor can hide the debauch lifestyles carried out in there. It just oozes badness. It makes you want to have unprotected sex with a stranger, have the love child, name it Flower, even though it’s a boy and move to a commune where you spend your days on Opium and teaching Flower how to crack safes, all the time waiting for some film writer to discover you and write the whole shebang up in to a blockbuster movie followed by a tell all book. I would be played by Megan Fox. Obviously.

For the time being however, we check in, with our complimentary glasses of wine and go check out our rooms. We are on this trip not only to meet the band but also to accompany a journo’ from Kerrang! Magazine, Mr nick Ruskill. Nick’s room is on the penthouse floor and one wall is a glass window looking out over downtown L.A. the bastard! It’s fucking amazing. At this point we all wonder to ourselves if perhaps the Earache boss is on crack. If so, I think we will all happily help feed his habit if this is the outcome! What a touch, we are all totally loving Earache big time! It is decided that some one has got to have sex in that room before we leave. Once in our room, which overlooks a car park, we freshen up, I get out of my ‘please upgrade me’ outfit and in to my ‘sunset strip hooker outfit’ with Iron Maiden vans and we go out for dinner. At the Rainbow. The Rainbow. Fuck yeah!

Got to be done the ol’ Rainbow right. I always knew it wouldn’t blow my mind just cause again, I’ve heard so much about it. Everyone bangs on and on about it. Plus Lemmy is in the U.K so I knew he wouldn’t be propping the bar up. It was cool, we got a massive pizza and shared it, also very cool being my first of many American food musts on the list. No wonder these people have a massive obesity problem, the food is ridiculous.

It is my opinion that free pouring is the way forward and probably the answer to peace on earth. When I ask for a Jack and coke, I feel very happy and warm inside upon discovering that what I am given is a triple Jack and coke. Mainly cause I am automatically drunk. Blissful times at the Rainbow. More of the band join us, the singer Wyatt and guitarist Eric and we all move to the outside bar area to drink more and smoke before we hit the karaoke upstairs.

Karaoke never happened. I’ll tell you what did happen. Fucking jetlag happened. What the fuck? One minute I’m taking it all in, chatting with the band and bar staff and the next…. The next minute I’m floored. I tried a Jager bomb, I tried a coffee, and nothing was even denting the flood of exhaustion that had washed over me. How incredibly fucking gay.

Needless to say we hit the road back to the hotel where everyone can continue partying while my bullshit self sleeps. I am with Eric and John, who stop off at a convenience store so we can buy booze and fags, another exciting experience for my unashamedly tourist arse. Even that was fun.

I buy a $10 Jack and coke at the hotel bar and we all trundle on up to mine and Talita’s room, who has gone AWOL. Soon enough we find her, passed out cold on her bed. That bloody over priced drink didn’t even get finished before the boys all got shifted out to Nicks room and us girls fell deep in to la LA land. What a fucking great place to be!