it's a recognised fact that time is linear, and against my wishes the tour with Franz and Frank was going to end, eventually, given the failure of the rapture to materialise and freeze us all in time and space, and so it is over, but i'd like to reflect on a few points.
POINT 1: i exist in an industry famed for inflated egos and twattish behaviour. to hang out for three weeks with two living, breathing professionals capable of conversation and devoid of alpha male attitudes was both a pleasure and a privilege.
POINT 2: tourbuses are great for sleeping on
sure enough, immediately after my return, my sleep habits that have been absent for the entire tour return as soon as i walk in the door. the first night i collect up all my unsorted post from the past few weeks and, in my sleep, file them inside various books that are dotted around my room in a bid to keep the tour bus tidy.
the night after that i awake around 5am to find that i have dressed myself in my sleep and that all of my m&ms are absent and i feel decidedly full of sweets.
life, then, is already returned to normal. after saying goodbye to Frank on Monday night where at least one person in the road outside the Railway Inn heard us howling 'Tiny Dancer' to a mostly empty room before heading back with an entirely sober Ben Morse, on Wednesday night I bid farewell to an actually-pretty-drunk Franz and accept a ride home from Jacqui despite the fact that Reading is still nowhere near her home of Maidstone.
Speaking of Frank, Franz and Ben Morse, you can find a selection of videos taped backstage at the Railway Inn on the final night of the Frank Turner tour, pre-Brixton:
Oh, another point
POINT 3: it was good to finally get out on tour with Frank and his crew. it's been such a long time coming and it was an appropriate-sized tour for a man such as I. he remains a fucking gentleman and someone i hope to a call a friend until one of us succumbs to gout aged 110.
it's sometimes easy to forget, spending five days a week most weeks behind a desk, that there's more to life than being paid on the 27th of the month and making sure your alarm is set each night before you go to bed, and this has been a pleasing reminder of why i brave the various nights per year playing a Wetherspoons in a town i don't live in to twenty to thirty people.
so thanks to anyone who came out to the shows, obtained free hugs from me, bought my record, or a seasonally-inappropriate beanie hat, sang along, didn't sing along, heckled incomprehensibly, took pictures, took the piss, took themselves home.
photos to follow. i'll see you soon.
b. x
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