Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Cock-Eyed Dwarves and Rubbish Cunts: Part II

Day 5

They had tried to warn me about the children. They had told me to take the upstairs bedroom but somehow I didn't put the two together before I turned into John Wayne: "We'll...camp... here."
Oh my. At the crack of Christ, two little girls. Nelly and Nancy ran over me on the way to the telly and put on some show with a big chef and a little chef and loads of computery noises. I awoke with a start and sprang up, a surprise hobo in their midst. They screamed. I winced. Had seven or eight glasses of water and a cuppa tea and watched The Jungle Book and put Nelly in between two couch cushions and ate her like a sandwich while the adults congregated in the garden. Seaside walk in Whitley Bay with the whole family. The air tonic.
Packed up, abducted Daddy and headed for the last train to Edinburgh.
Sunday night.
On the menu that night: Two open stages followed by a 'proper' set at a place called Whistlebinkies at 'shit o' clock'. Of course it was fuckin' raining. Train ride even more hilarious with the double brother action. David confessing to having a recurring dream about a muscle bound dwarf with cocks for eyes. Worked on 'The Act' . Considered doing Billy Connelly stand up routine only without the accent.
Moses' cellist lives in Edinburgh but she was away at a wedding down south so we got her flat which was awesome. Without it, the night would have been unbearable. Made some tea, raided her cupboards and decided oat cakes weren't our cup of ... well, our thing.
Blue Blazer-open stage.
Just a pub with blokes sat around with guitars. The host was a long haired hippie who was prone to offering unsolicited comments after each 'act'. ("Yes David. I like your new medieval direction", "Robbie, you're finger picking's come a long way" etc) despite the fact that he was rubbish himself as my tourmates would say. I thought about my own open stage back home, for it was Sunday after all. I never comment unless I'm sober or my life is in danger because frankly where would you begin? ("Joey, I like the way you rock those two notes over and over again", "Stevie, maybe a little less drool on the mike next time!") When I finished my two songs, he said "Mmmm. Interesting lyrics". Then he asked me if I liked George Bush. Since he was Scottish I couldn't quite make out what he said. I think I said, "Why? Is he on next?"
Then off to another open stage with Ozzie Hannah. Talk about time travel. The place was the parallel universe version of The Old Bailey where I first started The Hootenanny! Right down to the protective fence around the tiny stage. Fun show. They had a piano and some people from the first open stage came with us. (Biology majors representing Canada, Texas and this beautiful girl who looked just like Lauren Bacall from Scotland.)
Walked miles uphill in the rain to next gig with our five fans in tow and it was alright but afterwards got my arm clamped by some shouty men who sprayed me with drool. I invented the Drunken Scottish Man Simulator. Ask me for a demo. Bring a towel.
Called The Maintenance Man from The Filthiest Phonebox in Scotland ("Welcome to Kismet. You are low on credit.") It was full of rubbish and smelled of cold damp piss. I brought a glass of wine and some smokes in with me to mask the odour.
Followed the progress/decline of a tossed order of take away chips as it diminished in the relentless rain (everything's a mirror) every time I 'nipped out for a fag'. Smoking ban. Since last March. Everyone thinks it's rubbish. Cute young bartender. Tall, gangly, long hair wearing a jack daniels shirt. Saw about seven Luther Wrights walking around. I suspect his people are from these parts.
Best line of the night:
He: I just feel like we've met before.
She: Yeah. I'm yer mum. Go to bed!
I love my tour companions, the two fookin' hilarious Geordie brothers. Light and dark. It's a million laughs like when Tolan and Rigby get on one of their rolls. Yvette's joined us as well so we've a built in audience. Any Hell's bearable if you're with kindred spirits. Boy I'd hate us if we wasn't us on the train.
The brothers are teaching me how to say stuff in The Northern Way so it's kind of like My Fair Lady in reverse. "Now repeat after me: Roobish Coont".
"Okay. Rubbish Cunt"
"No no no! Too posh. Have another go."
Somehow survived until the end of the night and they actually paid us and we made it back to the crash pad. "It's strange staying at other peoples' houses." said David.
"Oh. Is it?"

Day 6

Train back to Whitley Bay so David could get the car, hug the kids, have a row and exit stage left. Apparently we would be 'stopping at some nice lezzers' in Bradford. Janice and Alex. Very nice indeed. Lovely house. My own room! Paul had found us a last minute replacement venue as somehow the original place had double booked us with 'salsa night'.
McRory's. "Computer! Program English Pub." Exactly how you think it'd look. Had a great set. Have been noticing that mouthy unattended ladies speaking full sentences are kind of rare in these parts. I feel very modern. Like it's a side mission or something to show them that it's 2006. Who knows? They're probably just pretending to listen while they check out my 'milkers' which is no fur off my back as my old best friend Kerri used to say.
I think humour was invented here. You know the one about the Scotsman, the Irishman and the Englishman? Yeah well that was table two. World class hecklers. I didn't stand a chance. A golden round of banter went round the bar like smoke without me saying a word and I was the one with the microphone. Borrowed the P.A. off this really nice stoner woman in a tam who told me she practically books Glastonbury.
Feels like home. Talked some serious shit with the third Mosely, their sister Karen who is Paul in a wig. "We're like the Osmonds!" The band Moses is down to just the two brothers. They are so great.
A man walked up said, "I'm sorry" and put two pound coin in the old tip jar which kicks the ass of any subservience a Canadian could have come up with! These are our ancestors. We were invented here.
At the end of the Moses set I could hear men yelling "Get that fookin' woman back up there!"
Funny to have come all this way in an attempt to get drunk people to remember my name and by the end of the night it's "Get that Fooking Woman oop there again!"
If there is a theme or recurring motif to this tour it's that "You don't have to be famous to be good".
"That fookin' Canadese woman was quite good! Them blokes as well." They all seem so surprised. Party at The Lezzers after. David got into the spirits.

Day 7

It's the Moseley way! Hartlepool. Hometown of our heroes. Took the back way into town so got the local tour:
There's the nuclear power plants, oh there's the four ghost ships filled with asbestos in the harbour, there's the waste dump, that's a man selling onions on the roundabout, that's where they kicked us in.
As I looked around, I said "No wonder you guys are so funny."
David said, "Well look what's surrounding us! If we opened our eyes to reality, it's a wasteland!"
So humour was invented here because it's so shitty. Interesting.
Then there is the troubling legend of Napoleon's Monkey:
It seems that during the historical Napoleonic Wars a ship capsized and Napoleon's monkey washed up on shore where he was mistaken for a Frenchman, put on trial, and hung in the square. I thought the brothers were just having us on but I saw a commemorative plaque and some postcards to corroborate the story. "Hartlepool: Come for the nuclear power, stay for the monkey hangings!"
Stayed with (stopped at?) Ma and Pa Moseley's house to make ourselves a sandwich, do some laundry, watch the tube and use the phone. Mrs. Moseley took Paul down to the shops for new trousers. Fun show. Couldn't help saying filthy things in front of Paul and David's parents. I introduced Yvette from the stage as my Traveling Companion and then said,"Well we're not lezzers! Although I occasionally let her massage my uh, coont!"
Home after for late night snacks and Linda McCartney sun dried tomato fake sausages which are awesome. Although in retrospect they probably tasted so good because we were drunk and starving and Ma Moseley fried them up in lard.

Dear W,
London.
Holy Christ every time I order a glass of 'wadder' or black coffee I'm basically George Bush. Playing the role of The Foreigner on tonight's episode of 'That Foocking Woman!' is yours truly. "I'm George Bush and I've come for all your wadder!"
Been playing in The North (Think Hedwig meets No Surrender!) where jokes were invented and it's a million laughs and then back to London where nobody's actually from so they're all pretending they got here first like any big city so no one claps so you just think they hate you even though you are laying down Golden Material and Neko's sold out across town. Goodtimes and glamour my friend. Paul and I are writing a musical called "Cunt!Cunt!Cunt!" Can't you just see it on a marquee?
xo cm

Dear L,
Still in London town. A little recording sesh with my new best friend and primary care giver Paul. (We are Will and Grace on the Dole) and then lunch with Yvette and Potential U.K. Booking Agent. (He was nice which is troubling.) Internet cafe in Camden Town en route to tonight's engagement. Did some proper shows in the North where the people laughed and clapped but am now back to playing shit holes for free in the cold big city. Ended up as stage door johnnies last night at the Neko show. Like a mescaline Fellini dream. Only four more sleeps. Essex tomorrow. Gonna see Harmer play on my last night in town.
Yours til they find Bin Laden's brother,
xo cm

Dear J,
Last night I took a two hour train ride and then a 20 pound taxi to a barn in Essex to play for half an hour for free. Well they did give me a bottle of wine for the train after but I smashed it getting out of the second 20 pound cab ride of the night but it looks like I'm totally welcome back any time I want! It's a really beautiful barn.
xo cm

Day 11

I think I'm killing my host. He didn't know that I'm a vampire and was trying to keep up, bless him. Ah well it'll all be over by tomorrow night when I go back in time nine hours on the plane! I intend to use the time wisely of course (jerking off in the toilet, finally joining the half mile high club, etc.) and then into the arms of Baby Honey and Hubby Honey and Goose for a night and then home to The Last Resort and George Jones whom I'm apparently living with.

Dear J,
Only half a day more and then it's fucking Vancouver, nine hours back in time. Crazy. Made some mates over here so we can bet on horses knowing the outcome in advance. Yeah. Tofield, Alberta sounds like fun. It's on a farm. I may go alone to spend some time with myself so I can remember who I am. Yup. Pretty tired now. Cried at the Sarah Harmer concert last night cause she sings this song about a soft bed up in the sky when it's time to rest. But then went out with her after to her hotel bar until shit o'clock because I am a genius. See you this week??
xo cm

Fantasy Island. A couple of days later.
Now that I have had some rest and seen friends and sunshine and reclaimed the power of language, I'm not so convinced that everything's a mirror and life is shit but I'm pretty sure I saw an older woman in the actual mirror the other night and I'm almost certain she was saying, "Go to bed loser!"

Touring out to Alberta with ten people should be restful though...

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