Oulu

Pretty close to the Arctic circle here and it's still tee-shirt weather. A coke and a reindeer sandwich were fuel for today's load-in at a huge out-of-town venue that was once a sausage factory. Unlike the converted church in Gothenburg I'm not so sure that in this case it's a better use for a building, sausages being, in my opinion, one of mankind's greatest achievements. Another of those achievements is the automatic washing machine, an example of which I found tucked away in a small room in a far corner of the building, currently cleaning more than a week's worth of manky tour-togs. Bliss.

Leeds Damnation Festival

A short trip from Anathema HQ to the near-impossible to find students union of Leeds university for a load more metal. The set up was pretty good though the beer provided in the dressing room was un-refridgerated Carling - drink number 473 (of 474) on my list of preferred post-show beverages. Electric Wizard, on before us, where the loudest noise of any kind I've ever heard, making preparations for our slot a bit of a headache, though the pedal boards I made on the last tour finally proved their worth in a festival setting. The show went very well despite Vincent utterly destroying his guitar cable during a mid-song stamp. Later I enjoyed Nicholas Barker's band Lock Up who generously shared their stage with those wishing to dive off it, the largest and most menacing of their number looking more like a sweaty man gingerly belly flopping into a child's paddling pool than whatever it was he imagined himself to be. Another ignored etiquette altogether, randomly flinging himself onto an unsuspecting female audience member, almost knocking her out in the process. Idiot.

Hellfire festival in Birmingham next.

Bursa, continued...

Bursa was just one of those gigs. It took hours and hours to set up as we were beset with so many problems (courtesy of the shittiness of the venue's equipment) that Matt almost resorted to a strike ballot within his one-man union, so miffed was he. The in-house sound guy was so lackadaisical in everything he set his mind to (or didn't) we may as well have asked the luxuriously moustached tea/popcorn dude to sort out the stage for us. The chaps who turned up with the front-of-house mixing desk suggested new tone-meister Mark Ellis position himself behind a solid pillar, lest the precious board get damaged, meaning he would neither see nor hear the band. Then to cap it all the on-stage monitoring system conked out almost before a note had been played, which merely made Matt more miffed. I also ended up doing the light show (actually two lights - must ask for a lampy bonus), this being one more thing the useless venue staff couldn't have cared less about.

"Welcome to Turkey," as our helpful local roadie Mustafa so aptly put it.

Looks like a hung parliament back home. I expect much impassioned political discourse on the bus today.

Sleep

Why is it so difficult to sleep on this bus? It's a nice bus, kitted out like a narrow boat on wheels - you can't look anywhere without seeing polished wood of some description. The bunks are comfortable and spacious (with a full window this time) and all the facilities one would expect are present and correct - playstation, dvd, well-stocked fridge, etc. Ooh, and wifi! Maybe it's the schedule we've been keeping? Once we're loaded up and ready to go it's generally gone two in the morning and that often heralds the first chance we've had to get something decent to eat all day. Or maybe it's the bumpiness of the Turkish roads? It seems you can't go more than two hundred yards in this country without feeling you've driven over a badly designed cattle grid. Or some cattle. You're continually being jolted awake from your shallow slumber, all the while fearing that if the driver takes the next corner too speedily you might find yourself in a heap among the socks in the aisle. Then again it could be the heat. The bus has excellent air conditioning, though unfortunately it's being rationed like food in a Dickensian workhouse. When asked to turn it on the driver cheerily obliges, as he should as the band are paying for it, but then works under the assumption that this will be the only occasion, ever, that we will require cool air. Surely it should have clicked by now, after the quadrillionth time of being asked? If it's hot (which it is, every day) turn the damn thing on. I can hear Bill Hicks' father now as he responds to his son's request for the blessed relief of air-con as they drive through the baking heat of Arizona.

"No son, it eats gas."

One generally wakes feeling mildly roughed up, coupled with the disconcerting feeling that someone's been trying to smother you with hot, damp smelly towels. Not ideal at all.

Didn't see much of Istanbul and Ankara unfortunately, partly due to the Turkish plague of half-arsed venue staff doubling or trebling the time it takes us to set up with their incompetence and lethargy. Moan, moan, moan.

On a lighter note, it's a lovely morning and we're heading to Izmir by the sea for the last show of the tour, and it's open-air. Should be a good day.

Moscow

More post-gig drunken shenanigans at the Tochka Club last night after a well attended and entertaining show. Lord knows what time everyone got back to the hotel but it took a major feat of people-management (and white knuckle driving) to get everybody up and to the airport in time for the flight to Ekaterinburg, upon which was cheerlessly served the worst meal in the history of air travel, unless of course greasy pressed ham and horrible cake are your kind of thing. The stewardess burned me twice with her kettle, the dimwit, and this was while she was apologising to another passenger for spilling water over him. Don't fly Ural Airlines, even if they advertise on this page. Russia seems to be caught up in a bumpiest roads contest with Turkey, and I tell you, if I were a betting man I'd have trouble deciding who to put my well-earned fiver on right now. We're starting to wonder if we'll get back to the UK on schedule, what with that pesky volcano and the looming BA strike.

Leg 2

A week and a half off, feeling kind of refreshed, and off I pop again, this time covering southern and eastern Europe with a bit of Balkan action thrown in, not to mention the odd Alp here and there. I'm armed with a shiny new Macbook Pro so regular posts are to be expected, unless of course someone swipes the bugger. Woe betide anyone who so much as looks at it.

Here's how leg two looks:

02-11-2010 Teatro Tivoli, Lisbon, Portugal
03-11-2010 Hard Club, Porto, Portugal
04-11-2010 Penelope, Madrid, Spain
05-11-2010 Sala Q, Seville, Spain
06-11-2010 El Tren, Granada, Spain
07-11-2010 Salamamdra 1, Barcelona, Spain
09-11-2010 Rocking Chair, Vevey, Switzerland
10-11-2010 Z7, Pratteln, Switzerland
11-11-2010 Estragon, Bologna, Italy
12-11-2010 Alpheus, Rome, Italy
13-11-2010 New Age, Treviso, Italy
14-11-2010 Magazzini Generali, Milan, Italy
15-11-2010 Boogaloo Club, Zagreb, Croatia
16-11-2010 Listhalle, Graz, Austria
17-11-2010 Viper Room, Vienna, Austria
18-11-2010 Diesel Club, Budapest, Hungary
19-11-2010 Arenele Romane, Bucharest, Romania
20-11-2010 Blue Box Club, Sofia, Bulgaria
22-11-2010 Randall, Bratislava, Slovakia
23-11-2010 Exit Chmelnice, Prague, Czech Republic

Nottingham

The morning after the gig at the Rescue Rooms and we have a day off. Unsurprisingly the weather is purest gloom, though I doubt we'll be spending much time outside as there were murmurings last night regarding Sunday roast dinners and the match involving Lee and John's favourite football team being shown on the television.

In other news, a member of our entourage found himself much the worse off in an early morning disagreement with a Sheffield street tree and now sports an impressive lump on the forehead, one which will surely become more colourful as the days progress.

Nottingham 2

On our way to Leamington and the Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen-designed Assembly venue. I really don't know what to expect but it should be noted that roadies don't do fancy. I somehow managed to cram in two incredibly disappointing meals in Nottingham where we stayed for our day off. The first was a pitiful excuse for a roast chicken dinner served at the Yates's pub by the main square, not redeemed in any way by the "free" splat of crumble and custard masquerading as dessert. After Lee and John witnessed their beloved Everton getting thrashed by Bolton on a screen thirty feet wide a few of us ventured out to a curry house around the corner which (judging by the messages on their wall) comes highly recommended by much of the UK's celebrity elite, all of whom must have appeared at one time or another at the theatre across the road. Since the aforementioned meal I find myself urged to pen strongly-worded letters to, among others: Bob Carolgees, Little and Large, Christopher Biggins, David Essex, Lenny Henry, Dawn French, the bloke out of the "Confessions of..." films, and Whitesnake. I intend to ask why exactly they would recommend such bland, lukewarm and overpriced fare. Ah, thinking about it, I might have answered my own question there.

North Atlantic Oscillation Day 1

It's been a little over half a day since I set off on this particular trek and I already feel compelled to put finger to keyboard and wake this sleeping page. Somehow, and I don't know how, my hiatus from touring has numbed my faculties and allowed me to forget what a complete waking nightmare, prison-like hell an overnight ferry crossing can be - this time courtesy of DFDS and their boat (yes captain, boat) from North Shields to somewhere near Amsterdam. I don't know who it was who long ago came to the conclusion that "shit nightclub on the ocean" would be the best approach to keeping fare-paying inmates entertained during their crossing, but they really should take the time to point out to the lead singer of "NRG" that the well known and quite excellent Abba song "Dancing Queen" does not contain the line "feel the beat of the tambouroon." Even my spell checker knows that.