Day Five

18th September 2007   Glasgow King Tuts

Or

Some people are just nice

The promised fry-up didn’t emerge. AGAIN. Simon didn’t get lucky, either. He arrived at the young goth girl’s flat, ate some food and fell asleep with – his words – his cock in her hand.

We loaded our equipment into the thankfully-not-graffiti’d van and took a trip to Morrisons to buy bread, cheese, salad and snacks before starting the journey to Glasgow. No service station shower joy this time – we just had to hope for the best when we got to the venue. As the journey was relatively brief, we were able to do touristy things on the way. We stopped at The First and Last Cafe in England (which is sadly far less mythological looking than it sounds) and took pictures on the Scots/English border before stopping to piss in some bushes somewhere near Peebles.

We were looking forward to playing King Tut’s. Every Britpop band I’d ever loved had played there, so it HAD to be good. We were also jolly about the fact we didn’t have to sleep in the van thanks to Sharon and Ivan, a couple that Sam and I met at a My Life Story gig at the London Astoria earlier in the year. They had travelled down from Glasgow and we got talking before the show, sang along to every song during the show, and they had joined us for a few post gig drinks after the show. We all stayed in contact after via MySpace. Ivan was a big, burly ex-punk rocker Scotsman, and Sharon was his wee redhead Clare Grogan-alike wife. When we started confirming dates for the tour, because Ivan had been in and around bands and knew what it was like to go on tour and be on a budget, he had kindly offered to let us stay at their house after the Glasgow show. However, as the van parked up and we unloaded into King Tut’s, Ivan texted with bad news. Due to some extended DIY they wouldn’t be able to put us up after all. Sam burst into tears.

Sam was possibly the least rock’n’roll member of the band. Not that I was/am exactly Lemmy, but whereas the rest of us were just getting on with it (I was loving every minute – even the ‘boring’ motorway times) she was finding it harder than the rest of us, and the previous night had been particularly hard for her. The combination of having to sleep in the van again with PMT meant she was inconsolable. She disappeared off in a grump and refused to talk to anyone.

After we unloaded the van, the jolly pleasant staff showed us our dressing room that, thankfully, came complete with a shower, an electrical supply AND wireless internet. We sound checked before returning to our room and getting cracking on the rider: more beer, and more crisps.

Sharon and Ivan texted to announce their arrival at around 8 o’clock and I wandered down to greet them. Sam was still hiding in the dressing room unable and unwilling to face anyone. They apologised profusely for not being able to put us up in their house, but they had good news; they had paid for a trio of hotel rooms WITH BREAKFAST for us. I grabbed them and hugged them both as hard as I possibly could. I couldn’t believe these people that – to be fair – we barely knew would do something so generous and kind. I ran upstairs excitedly to tell the others and Sam burst instantly into tears. Again.

 

The local support band were called Miss The Occupier and sounded a bit like Blondie according to my diary but for some reason I’m convinced they sounded like Sleeper. Simon, Grant and I thought their singer was quite pretty so we watched all of their set before taking to the stage for our own. Inexplicably, someone in the audience kept shouting “SHABBA!” in the style of Shabba Ranks’ Mr Loverman. It was weird, but Deborah shouted it back and it carried on all the way through SohoDolls set too. After the show the bulk of the band hung around the merchandise stall with Steve Weston and Maya from SohoDolls. Weston was bemused as he had been made a cupcake by two giggly young girls. He was popular with the girls, was Weston. Tall, with massive black Noel Fielding hair, what the boy doesn’t know about hairspray and back-combing probably isn’t worth knowing. He was the first member of the Dolls we bonded with as he had come to see us at a rubbish show in Portsmouth pre-tour, so he became the first member of SohoDolls we would feel comfortable pranking. Inspired by the cupcakes, plans began to formulate. Tomorrow, we would need to do some shopping…

While on the stand we met a massive Dolls fan called Peter*. He was taking time off work to follow them around the country for a number of dates on the tour. Big, blonde and European, Peter was openly not keen on us. We all thought he was weird, but as the tour wound on and he followed it along we actually started getting on like a house on fire. He even bought some of our CDs in the end. He had absolutely enormous breasts.

Eventually we cleared out of the venue. There was some confusion around our fee, but once that was sorted Sharon and Ivan led us in convoy to the hotel. Deb and I went in one room, Grant and Simon in the next and Sam in one on her own. She was most traumatised and just wanted to go to sleep, so we thought it only fair. Deb and I had a bunk bed, but the two beds were at right angles to each other. She reckoned I couldn’t touch the ceiling with my feet if I were to do a handstand from my bed, so I set out to prove her wrong. Drunk and in my pants, I used the other bed to drag my feet into the air and reached for the ceiling with my size 12s. After a couple of near misses my big toe finally touched the ceiling. I instantly lost balance and fell off the bed and on to the floor and my arse with an almighty crash. We put the TV on and fell asleep.

*Name changed to protect the innocent.

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