Please don't make me sing along.

The Lighthouse Theatre, Warrnambool.

Adrian and I were sharing an apartment in Adelaide. As I was getting ready for bed he said;

'You should listen to some Dr Karl, it'll help you sleep.'

'Nah, I'm alright.'

'No you should.'

'Really, I'm fine.'

'But you should.'

This went on for a while until he put Dr Karl on his iphone and played it to me as I brushed my teeth. And as I removed my make up. And as I closed my bedroom door in his face. And as I climbed in to bed and he remained outside my room with the phone pressed firmly against the door.

'Legie, have you noticed how the hollow door provides an echo, like the acoustics are even better to listen to Dr Karl to?'

'Yes, yes I've noticed.'

The following morning we listened to Dr Karl in the car. There's no denying Adrian's point. Dr Karl knows everything there is to know about everything. I don't like him.

After a while Keir put on a podcast for us about the Kama Sutra. We were all expecting an education in sex. What we got was a stiff (stop it) scholarly type explaining the difference between Kama and Karma.

'This is a bit dry,' Kate observed dryly.

I fell asleep and dreamed that Dr Karl was explaining the Kama Sutra in a peppy and upbeat way. He wears bright fun clothes to make learning cool. I don't like him.

Central Market, Adelaide.

I had a wander around the Central Market in Adelaide before we left. Hundreds of food stalls and cafes. At eight in the morning it was buzzing with activity. Families stood around laughing and chatting, drinking coffee. Amidst all the hustle and bustle I saw a very old man, sat on his own at a table in a knitted bobble hat eating ice cream for breakfast. I desperately wanted to get a picture of him and so made a pretence of needing directions to get talking to him. He found me confusing and didn't seem to know entirely where he was, what was going on or why the strange woman with the tattoos was talking at him. I felt bad for bothering him and before leaving pointed at his ice cream and said; 'Is that breakfast?' He grinned and shrugged innocently before picking up his spoon and tucking in with all the enthusiasm of a four year old. Why do we only appreciate the world in that way at the beginning and end of our lives? I suppose its the two periods in which we feel we have nothing to lose.

On the way to Mount Gambier we stopped in a small town called Keith for lunch. This caused me no end of amusement, which like the dick I am, I catalogued on Facebook:

“Don't cry Dahlink, we'll always have Keith.”

“We Need To Talk About Keith.”

The fact that I'm repeating it here does me no credit whatsoever but I'm still giggling.

Where are we?

We had a great lunch and I found a thin silver bracelet with three tiny four leaf clovers on it. Two of them had the word 'Courage' engraved on them and one had the word 'Bliss'. As one of my current favourite songs of Kate's is a new one called Bliss I thought it all very serendipitous and bought it. Two parts courage, one part bliss. Seems like a good ratio. Also, I got a 20% discount so everyone's a winner.

At the show last night there were a couple standing vigil outside the doors two hours before the performance was due to start. I set up the merchandise stand under their constant unwavering stares. When the doors were opened they came straight over and asked me if Kate would be signing that evening.

'Definitely, she always does,' I smiled.

The woman was in her early thirties and quite heavily pregnant.

'We lost a little one,' she said. 'We played Last Day On Earth at the funeral.'

This happens a lot. What can you say? I mostly say that I'm sorry and that Kate will of course sign anything they want. On one occasion I just grabbed a woman and hugged her for an inappropriate length of time. Her story was so heartbreaking and so recent. The easy answer would be; 'Kate write something a bit more fucking disco would ya?'

I don't see anyone coming up at the end of gigs saying; 'Thanks so much for “Can't Shake It”, I too am rhythmically challenged and that song got me through a really hard time in my life.'

Now that I've written that down I rahealllly want it to happen.

A great woman came to the gig in Adelaide. She's a roller Derby chick and her Derby name is 'Skate Chiller Heidke'. Excellent. She got Kate to autograph her arm and she had an appointment the following morning at 9.45 am to get it permanently inked. 

Not a wanker.

Keir is Kate's opening support at all the regional venues. He can't perform in the churches because, apparently, he's a bit 'blue'. His alter ego is called Franky Walnut and people often don't realise its the same person playing with Kate later on. He comes on stage in flip flops (or Thongs are they are so wrongly called here) and a hat and sings very funny songs. I love sitting in the foyer at the beginning of the show and listening to him sing a song called 'Please don't make me sing along.' I particularly love hearing the audience sing the chorus back at him with real gusto:

Please don't make me sing along
I don't like to sing

and I don't like this song

Please don't make me sing along

You're a wanker, you're a wanker, you're a wanker.

On our way out of town we stopped off to see the famous blue lake which was beautiful. And big. We have so little time between venues the tourist attractions are a bit of a hit and run affair which actually suits my nature very well. Get out. Admire. Take picture. Get in car. Find coffee. 'Tourist Attraction' has become synonymous with 'Ciggie Break'. All Kate has to say is “Apparently there's a beautiful -” and I've got my pouch of Dead Bryan tobacco out and poised.

 Whilst driving to Warrnambool Kate found a message on her public FB profile from a fan saying that he owned a fish and chip shop in Hayward (Haywood?) which was on our way and he'd be delighted if Kate came there and was his guest for lunch. She gets a few invites like this and its pretty much impossible to accommodate them. And also, you know, weird. But we ended passing directly by it and decided to stop off and say hello anyway. As we parked up I saw a man in his 50's behind the counter do a comical double take and run out the back. When we walked inside he was stood there grinning from ear to ear. His assistant said;

Ravens Nest Chip Shop.

'Thank you so much for coming, he's been beside himself all day. I said you probably wouldn't come. And here you are!'

He was lovely. He phoned his wife (“Ahm telling you Diane, she is REALLY here. She is stood right here. No ahm not makin' it up woman!”) who came over to say hello and made us a coffee. He also tried to teach Keir how to juggle. Kate had her picture taken with them and we carried on with our drive all a bit jollier for the experience. They're coming to the gig tonight too.

The accommodation here in Warrnambool is excellent. Last nights in Mount Gambier was surreal. Don't get me wrong, it was spacious, clean, it had everything we needed. But I'm pretty sure we were the only people staying there. And it wasn't small. When we returned from the gig the place was in darkness and there wasn't a soul in charge. The whole hotel was decorated fabulously back in 1972 and had since maintained that décor with an unwavering and mutinous determination. There was even a white mini grand in the reception area, right by the low sweeping staircase. Every time I walked down it I found myself swaggering and humming Saturday Night Fever. It boasted a free, instant and super fast wifi connection. The one concession to a treacherous world that had left flock wall paper and taupe behind. As I lay in my slightly porn like bed I received a text from Adrian next door saying:

“My download says its going to take 8 weeks & 6 days to complete on this internet connection.”

Chasing the ball.

On the way in to town we stopped to look at a beautiful view/have a smoke, and feel the grass beneath our feet/use it as an ashtray. Keir and Adrian were bouncing their tiny juggling balls as high as they could and then running to retrieve them. They looked like kids, all happy at play.

Watching Keir chase the ball.

Kate and I looked at the view and spotted a group of snoozing kangaroos on the hillside.

'I'm having such a great time Kate.'

'Really? I hope so. I always think you must get bored during the shows every night.'

'I'm having such a great time Kate.'

In other news, I had to explain to Adrian what Dogging is today. I'll leave that with you.

Ashtray

Nearly halfway.

We arrive in Adelaide and I decide to have a nap before we head out to meet a friend of Kate and Keir's for dinner. I'm sharing an apartment with Adrian.

'Listen Adrian, I'm going to have a kip. If I'm not up by 18.30 give me a shout ok? I want to have a shower before we head out.'

'No worries.'

At 18.30pm exactly Adrian is outside my door. He has been left on his own for two hours.

Imagine Tigger. Add amphetamines. Remove any internal dialogue.

'Hey Legie!'

I'm on the first rung of the heady ladder to becoming a 'Legend' in Adrian's eyes. Apparently there's a CEO and everything. I think Adrian currently holds the position of 'Legend Liaison'. Something like that. I was flattered initially until I noticed that complete strangers who make a decent coffee immediately attain the level of Legend in his book. Strange men outside service stops with crocodile teeth sewn in to the rims of their hats are legends too. A purveyor of good fries is a Legend without any question. And cats. But I'm still just a Legie. A rank amateur in the arena. I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Perhaps cataloguing his inexhaustible food issues in a public forum isn't helping my case. But legendary cats? Its hard not to take it personally.

'Legina. Legeena. Leg.' Pause. 'Legina. Legie. Legie. Legie. Leg. Leg. Legina.'

'I'm awake. Don't call me Legina. It sounds like vagina. I need a coffee and a cigarette.'

'Come on then!'

'How did I sleep so long?'

'Its your age. You start needing naps more frequently.'

'Adrian I'm 38. Can I go down in my PJ's?'

'I see it a lot in older people. Don't worry about it, its normal. When you're old. Napping.'

It's a nice hotel with a bar. I ask the young woman behind the counter if I can buy a coffee and she says of course. White, two sugars. Thanks. She asks Adrian what he wants and I settle in to watch his charm offensive. He's going to detail for her exactly how he likes his coffee, and why. He's halfway through his patter and I notice she has the dazed look of yet another service provider mesmerised by the strange magic he weaves around him. I wonder if I can fuck it up for him. I decide the key element is getting her to break eye contact with him, she looks like a rabbit under headlights. I start subtly waving at her from beside him as he talks about chocolate sprinkles and coffee to milk ratios. She finally notices and tears her eyes away. I've only got a second so mouth as distinctly as I can 'He's fucking mental!' I'm tapping my temple with my index finger and pointing sideways at him to illustrate. Her eyes widen suddenly and the glaze disappears. When she looks back at him she's frowning like she's just woken up.

'So, you basically want a flat white with chocolate sprinkles, yeah?'

She's being sarcastic! I'm absolutely delighted. I practically skip outside to light my cigarette.

Adrian follows me out looking confused and glancing back uneasily.

'Was she being sarcastic?'

'Yes, yes she was. I mouthed to her that you were a mental.' I have a shit eating grin on my face. I'm not proud of this (Yes I am). Its like kicking a puppy (I haven't yet had a cigarette or a coffee and the puppy has woken me up.)

'I knew something wasn't right. I lost her there towards the end.'

When the girl brings our coffees out she tells me that she made mine a little smaller especially because she knows I wanted it strong and the cup is too large. I thank her profusely and smile at Adrian. She practically throws his coffee down in front of him. Adrian tries to win her back but this battle is lost. Conceding defeat he tells her that he scores her coffee making at a meagre 9.5 out of 10. That's how lovely Adrian is. On the way back up to our room I have to stop him going back in to the bar to tell her that he didn't mean to be so harsh and its actually a solid 10 out of 10. I've told him to save it for tomorrow, she'll appreciate it more when she's had some time to think on it.

One of the most important lessons I have learned about being on tour is that good coffee and good food are paramount. I day can be made or ruined by breakfast. Kate frequently Twitters what town we're in and asks for breakfast recommendations. We've had some outstanding ones. And it is killing me. I'm not used to eating three meals a day and Kate and Keir work it all off by running every day. I have no such recourse. The notion of me running anywhere at all, even if Satan himself were on my heels, is laughable. In the UK I cycle everywhere and that makes a big difference. I also don't eat half as much. Kate is going to take me to the hotel gym tomorrow morning and show me how to use the Iron Maiden or whatever its called. I just thank the gods that there are no scales in hotel rooms or I'd have to stave my own head in with them.

We meet in the lobby at quarter to eight to walk over to the restaurant. Brasserie Dom, if you're ever in Adelaide. Perversely good. Kate is wearing a bright red poncho which makes her look like Little Red Riding Hood. She's always brightly dressed in lots of colour. I like to try and counterbalance her look by wearing black. Relentlessly.

The friend we were meeting, Mickey, knows the owner so we were sent a bottle of something sparkling and delicious as soon as we arrived. The menu was incredible and I looked over to see an air of resignation settle over Adrian. No pizza. No deep fried fish. No burger.

When we asked Keir what he fancied he read out the entire menu. Except for the House Boudin Noir. But only because we didn't know what it was. Turns out its Black Pudding. Keir has what he calls 'Trigger Foods'. If certain things are on the menu he has to have them. Scallops are one. Black pudding is up there. And I think liver parfait too. Whilst he attempted to whittle his selection down to something manageable Kate and I tried to figure out a way to get Adrian to order Lamb sweetmeats without telling him what they were.
We ordered a magnificent feast of Charcuteries, fish, lamb, cheeses, salted caramel and chocolate. Adrian had the fries.

In his defence he did order a cured salmon dish with Oyster cream. But he didn't like it. It came with charred peppers which he kind of liked. Kate tried to convince him they were like fries.

'What? Like fries but healthy?'

'Yes. Eat them.'

We all get giddy from the food, wine and conversation. Mickey tells us about the four different religions he's tried over the years and there are some arguments for and against the meaning and importance of spirituality. Keir quotes Jung and I think of my friend in the UK who loves Jung and wonder what he'd say. And I think about my family and how much I love them and how good it was to speak to them on skype the previous day. And I vaguely wonder if eating this food and talking about religion and Jung in a posh restaurant means I'm a grown up now. Because I don't feel like one.

I pop out for a cigarette between courses and when I return Kate tells me the remnant cigarette smell on me is delicious. She doesn't smoke at all anymore. She and Keir have both managed to completely knock it on the head. Mickey is a singer and a smoker. He says the guilt is awful. Apart from all the usual health risks you're horribly aware that you are wilfully damaging your voice and it feels very self destructive. Luckily my voice is only required for Karaoke and a smokers rasp is almost obligatory in that setting.
At the theatre in Renmark yesterday Kate was doing her vocal warm ups right next to me in the dressing room as I checked my email. She made a noise so high that one of my ears popped and I've been able to hear better ever since.

We're staying in this hotel two nights in a row which is a profound luxury. It means we can have a lie in tomorrow and we actually get to wash some clothes. We're almost halfway through the tour which seems impossible. We've covered a lot of ground in a short space of time. Long drives, flights, photos, podcasts, coffee stops, music, laughter and food. It's good.

Redrum.

I'd like to be one of those people who is cynically cool about touring with a band. You know the sort : 'Another nameless town, another faceless hotel. Sigh.'

But I'm not that person. I love arriving in a new town, all shiny and anonymous. I love staying in a different hotel every night. Kate checks us in at reception and I hare off to bounce on the bed, look in all the cupboards and drawers and use every single complimentary item simultaneously. If you were to knock on my door five minutes after my arrival you would find me slathering myself in Body Lotion whilst drinking a cup of tea with a shower cap on. I've never used a shower cap in my life but if I arrive at a hotel and can't locate one in the bathroom I am genuinely disappointed. Also, washing with miniature soaps and shampoo bottles is just more fun. You can pretend to be a giant in the shower.

This hotel is somewhat different though. All of the following observations could well be the result of sleep deprivation, but I'm going to share them anyway. If for no other reason than it will stop me checking inside the cupboard for the third time. I'm not checking for knife wielding psycho's by the way. I'm checking for monsters.

We got back from the gig around half eleven tonight. Adrian pottered off to his room to watch the latest episode of Game of Thrones, apparently something appalling happened to a bunch of fictional characters that no one is allowed to talk about. Keir had a Thai meal to eat and consequently regret at 2am, and Kate and I just wanted to have hot showers and get a good nights sleep. I noticed during the post show meet and greet that a lot of the lovely people having their CD's signed would say “Thank you for coming. Here.” There was an unmistakable full stop between 'coming' and 'here'. As though they were either apologising for being so far out of the way, or giving some coded message implying that they were being held here against their will. Which reminds me, before I continue with my own personal episode of The Shining, there was a little girl at the theatre tonight. She came up to the counter before the show started and was very intently examining every item on the table. Her mum, who was strikingly beautiful, asked what she wanted and after a full minute of weighing the options she requested A T-shirt, a bag, a CD and a poster. She then opened a small terribly glamorous clutch and removed a zip lock freezer bag absolutely stuffed with dollars from which she counted out the required amount.

'She's been saving for tonight,' her mum laughed, blushing slightly. 'Sweetie, why don't you pay for the CD and I'll treat you to the rest.'

The little girl shook her head once. 'No it's ok. I've got this.'

This kid was fascinating, really serious but adorable too.

'Hey, Kate's going to come out afterwards and sign stuff if you want to meet her,' I say. 'She'll have her picture taken with you too if you like.'

The girl gives me a polite smile but I notice her little hands are shaking as I hand over her purchases.

'Come on mum,' she says walking purposefully towards the auditorium.

The mum smiles at me apologetically. 'She's beside herself with excitement. Believe it or not. She loves Kate.'

Anyway, back to what I hope won't be my last blog with the addendum 'And she was never seen again'.

I come in the room, put my key on the bed and turn the shower on in the bathroom. I come back in to the bedroom and my key isn't on the bed. I check under all my crap and its not there. I eventually find it zipped inside my bag. Overtired, I think. I put the key back on the bed and go about unpacking my PJ's all the while glancing sideways at the key to make sure its still there. I think briefly of Adrian telling me the other day how he sometimes gets bad vibes from a room. I hate the word 'vibes' so broadly dismissed what he was saying. Now I'm beginning to get bad vibes. This is entirely the product of an overactive imagination but once you start down that road you're sort of fucked.

I get in the shower and am trying to enjoy being a giant with my tiny complimentary products when I suddenly remember the shower scene in The Grudge. I tentatively check the back of my head for an eyeball that shouldn't be there. Shower time is kind of ruined and I hurry through the last verse of FE FI FO FUM and scurry out.

Once I'm in my PJ's I decide I want a cigarette and head out to find the smoking area. The corridors are silent and empty and long. And they all look the same. I finally get to the reception area and there's no one there. The large room is low lit and a small television is showing a late night film, the screen flickering, completely in keeping with my now slightly elevated heart rate. It feels as though someone was just sat here watching and snuck off when they heard me coming. Its not out of the question. I used to work in a hotel and I'd frequently hide from guests. But in all fairness I was shit at my job. I say 'Hello?' and the word ricochets off the walls like a ball thrown in an empty gym.
I find an exit and stand in the drizzling rain of a darkened courtyard smoking my rollie. I toy with the idea of phoning Adrian and seeing if he wants to come down for a smoke but he will have fallen asleep listening to Dr Carl by now. When he first told me about Dr Carl I assumed it was one of those late night lonely heart lines. But no, apparently Dr Carl is just “some dude who knows, like, everything.” Like what? “Like people call in and ask why do radiators get a coat of black paint before they're painted another colour.” And what's the answer? “I don't know. As soon as Dr Carl starts explaining anything I fall asleep. It's awesome.” 'kay. Adrian met Dr Carl when he was younger and asked him about Aliens and other life forms out there. He was bright eyed and bushy tailed. Dr Carl gave him a level stare and replied: This is all there is.

I make my way back through the deserted reception area and get lost in the identical corridors. I come to a dead end and some ornately carved wooden doors. Above them in faded gold lettering: 'The Grand Ballroom'. I do a swift U-turn. There is no fucking way I'm going in there.
After a few more wrong turns I find a snack dispensing machine and put all my loose change in it. If these walls could speak they would probably scream GET OUT! But that's no reason to forego a Snickers Bar and a packet of cheese twists. It took another three or four wrong turns to find my way back and that only happened because I left a trail of cheese twists on the carpet behind me.
I'm back in my room now. And apart from opening my curtains to find a brick wall instead of a window nothing else untoward has happened. I'm sleeping with the lights on though.

We're leaving at ten tomorrow, after I have made full use of the inclusive breakfast. The next show is in a town called Renmark and then we're off to a baptist church in Adelaide. The gigs in churches are the best, a lot of them are very beautiful even though they do look brand new by english standards.

So yeah, on we go, another nameless town, another faceless hotel. Yay!
Sleep tight. One of us should.

Taste Sensation.

Adrian, the tour manager, doesn't like a lot of foods. He says he likes simple things. He says he's easily pleased. He is not easily pleased. Proof of this would be watching him try to get a toasted cheese sandwich in a traditional greek restaurant. Nothing sends him in to more of a panic than the words 'No Alterations' printed on a menu. I have started behaving like a mother; 'Do you just want some bread and olive oil? With a bit of balsamic? Have you had any vegetables today? No Adrian, chips are not a suitable vegetable.' Kate takes a more direct approach; 'Just try it. Try it. Try it. Just try it. Just one mouthful. Try it. Try it. Try it. Just have one bit. One. Try it. Just try it. Try it. Try it. Try it.'

He's about thirty five and in addition to being borderline phobic about food he's also lovely and nothing is too much trouble. We watch him charm his way across the country. Everyone is a 'Legend', everything is 'Living the Aussie dream'. He goes to collect our hire car in Adelaide and we stand outside waiting. Through the glass we see him, the view muted, as he tries to solve a mistake the company has made. The two women morph from stern and unobliging harpies in to blushing, giggling girls. You could set your watch by it. I hear him in one hotel, two minutes after we arrive, wandering down the corridor with the receptionist:

'So what are you guys doing in Mandurah?'
'We're on tour.'
'Awesome.'

'Do you want to come?'

'I'd love to!'

'Cool, I'll put you on the guest list. What's your name? That's a great name. So what do you do for fun in Mandur......'

Their voices fade in to the distance.

Its like a very mild super power. She's now following him on Instagram. Adrian had a look at the many pictures of her and her cat. A cat he reckons looks like 'a total legend.'

Keir told me a story today.

'I'm at this great Tool gig and they play their last song of the night and the lead singer says to the audience; “I want you to think about how you feel right now, that feeling you have. And I want you to remember it. And then I want you to take it with you, that feeling. Take it with you tonight, keep it tomorrow. And then keep it the following day, and the week after that and take it with you in to the next month. Look inside yourself and make that feeling positive.”' Keir pauses. 'Then the bloke next to me turns and says;

“I'm feeling positive. Positive I want another beer.”'

I start giggling and Keir has this look on his face. He has this look quite often. If I had to sum that look up in a sentence it might go: I try, I really try to be a spiritual person and to enjoy the little moments, but then life comes along and kicks those moments in the nuts.

He has funny bones. In my experience this is only true of people who find the world an entirely confounding place.

This evening I saw a new side to him. Kate ordered a desert that had been recommended to us earlier in the day by one of the Sommeliers at the vineyard. He tried it and it was so good it actually brought tears to his eyes. Then he had what he terms as a 'food high', momentarily but utterly suffused with joy. Adrian had a fancy Pizza with all of the fancy removed, and a portion of chips. He had the same for lunch. But at lunch they let him watch them cook it in the wood fired oven outside which made him very happy. The chef didn't know quite why he was letting Adrian watch him cook but, like everyone confronted with Adrian, he had been charmed.

After every show Kate comes out and signs albums, t-shirts, posters and on one occasion, a bald man's head. I love watching this. There are certain types at every signing. Here are just a few:

Normal – You were great, please sign my CD and make it out to (insert name), keep up the good work.
Nervous laughers – You were amazing sudden high pitched screaming laugh that ends as abruptly as it started Seriously though you were amazing Repeat.

Criers – You are such an inspiration to me brittle smile I just love you blinking furiously Can I just get a quick picture? Thanks. Is lead away weeping by embarrassed looking friend.

Pushy Mother's – Go and sit with Kate and get your picture taken. No mum I'm fine. Go and sit with Kate! You want your picture taken with her. You said you wanted your picture taken with her whilst we were queuing now go and have your picture taken! Cringing child with hunched shoulders makes the long long walk to the seat beside Kate.

On one excellent occasion a small boy was getting his cd signed and the mother said to Kate: Danny was saying to me earlier that when he grows up he wants you to be his girlfriend.

The boy looked like he wanted to scratch his own face off “Nooooo mummmm don't say that to her!!!” Danny will never share another thought with his mother as long as he lives.

Ambitious Teen – Ohmygodyou'reliketotallyamazingpleasesignmyalbumandmakeitouttoSarahspelledZARRIAHI'mactuallyasingermyselfandIjustsowanttodowhatyoudolikeforever!

The Slightly Intense Non Blinker – Hi. Please sign this. And this. And this. And this. And.......this. Thank you. See you at the next gig.

Sometimes there's The Bereaved too. People who have lost someone, usually recently, and have played one of Kate and Keir's songs at the funeral. They come and share their story and I can't make fun of them. Sometimes it's all I can do not to have a cry myself.

I want to tell you about Helen, the Security Guard at the last venue, but its late and we have to set off early tomorrow on the four hour drive to Mildura and the next show. We'll leave at ten and find a good coffee place. Keir and Kate and I will have a long black with milk, mine with one sugar. Adrian will have a flat white with the chocolate sprinkles. No, not a cappuccino, that would be a naïve interpretation of his needs, he doesn't like the froth you see. Its all about 'The Ratio's' apparently. Its okay though, he'll explain to the barista exactly why he wants a flat white with chocolate sprinkles as opposed to a traditional cappuccino and she will listen and she will be charmed and she will put her heart and soul in to that cup of coffee. That's just how it is.

Piece Of Morning Sun.

Dead Bryan stares up at me from my pouch of Australian rolling tobacco as I wait for Kate to pour my second coffee of the day. Its a testament to my addiction that I am willing to spend the equivalent of thirty quid for a bag of leaves wrapped in an unbranded nightmare of death portents and statistics. Not to mention Bryan's dead eyes staring up at me woefully as I roll. Poor 34 year old Bryan. What do you want to be when you grow up Bryan? Well Miss, I'd like my adult corpse to adorn every packet of cigarettes in Australia with a nice little pic of me healthy and mustachioed in the corner to serve as a reminder to smokers that they too will come to an untimely end if they follow my path. Not that anyone will see it, I mean 40 dollars a pack? You're having a fucking laugh aren't you?! That or I'd like to be a train driver.
Everyone here thinks the coffee is much better than in the UK. And they're right. I don't know how that's possible but, inexplicably, the coffee is just a great deal better. I'm up to six cups a day so its only a matter of time before Heart Attack Dave is staring up at me from my paper cup.
There's a lyric in one of Kate and Keir's new songs called Bliss: 'A piece of morning sun, swallowed with a grin'. I feel like that every day at the moment. Happiness is such a simple thing when you have it, so easily forgotten when you don't.  I found a book on K&K's shelf called 'Happiness'. I thought 'Whoa there! That is SO weird. I'm feeling happy and here I find a book all about that very subject. It must mean something. Evidently the universe wants me to read this book. I'm going to read it. I could learn a lot from this. And probably grow spiritually, like, as a person. I'll start it just as soon as I've stopped looking out of the window and marvelling at how beautiful the sky is at this time of day.
Serendipity. A happy co-incidence. But if I don't attach some deeper meaning to it and create some sort of cause and effect then I might have to consider the possibility that the universe is just glorious chaos and if that's true then anything could happen. That used to be a fearful thing for me. Now it seems quite exciting. A really recent example of this would be flying. I've been afraid of flying since I was about twenty. And I'd like to say that I underwent CBT or read a self help book or got hypnotised and consequently mastered my fear. But the truth is I just decided I wasn't going to be frightened of that anymore, and then I wasn't. To believe that the plane you are on, that specific plane, is going to fall out of the sky, implies that you think you're special in some way. They almost never fall out of the sky.  It's taken me a long time to realise that I'm insignificant, just like everyone else. Its very freeing. It makes you feel kind of special.
It still amazes me every time I hear Kate sing that a voice so vast could come out of a package so tiny. Seriously, I could fit her in my pocket, right next to Dead Bryan. She should by all rights just be a bobble head on an enormous pair of lungs.  The first time I heard her go at it full pelt in the UK I thought what a wonderful gift to have. How lucky. But living with her has been quite an education. That girl earns every penny she makes. The mornings start silently as she potters about eating more than should be humanly possible for one so small. There's a smell of vinegar sometimes. Some apple cider concoction that I assume aids the throat. No jump starting that engine. I always feel that I should be silent too, my voice sounds like rocks falling in the stillness. At some point she'll start speaking quietly and then its just a matter of time before the noises begin. Scales usually with the odd grunt interspersed. I'm sure its all very technical but to me its just hilarious. Like a small woodland creature waking up and making its presence known.
Its a nice household to be invited in to. I like musicians, their houses are always filled with instruments and songs are always playing, either on the stereo or live. Keir sits doodling on one of his seemingly endless guitars as I watch enviously. He sings sometimes and I'm stupidly surprised at how lovely his voice is. Kate and I sat drinking red wine yesterday, writing lyrics on the floor by the piano. We'd fuss and fiddle over a word and then she'd sing it to test the sound. I think this should be in my life every day for at least an hour. There's a little whiteboard in the corner of daily goals they set themselves and a box to tick the ones they achieve. The list includes: Listening to music, writing music, not smoking and doing exercise. But my favourite one is: Be a good friend.
We're flying to Perth today for the second leg of the tour. I still can't get my head around the fact that we'll be in the same country but it will take nearly six hours to fly there and we'll be in a different time zone. I'm taking Bryan with me. I don't know if he ever went to Perth. Either way he'll be seeing a lot of this country over the next three weeks or so. I should pack. And wash. And have another coffee. And count my blessings.

You Two Are Going To Make It.

Its 8am. I have had only the first of my three vital morning coffees when the woman approaches me.

'I believe you have a table reserved for me?' I instantly dislike her, she's combative and angry and about my age. I see she has a camera and behind her stand a couple in their late twenties. I know they are a couple because they're holding hands and wearing eerily similar outfits.

'I'm not aware of a reservation but the dining area is pretty much empty at the moment so please take your pick.' I smile from the teeth out.

'But we had a table put aside for us especially,' she insists.

It only takes a moment to gauge that she is the wedding photographer and these people will be getting married at the hotel in the near future. They often book in a morning to come and have 'anticipatory' pictures taken. She clearly wants to impress them and I'm not that much of an arsehole to ruin it for her.

'Of course,' I say. 'You must be the wedding photographer. This table has the best light.'

She nods curtly. She enjoys having permanently ruffled feathers.

'Would you like some tea or coffee before you order?'

'Coffee. Latte. Skimmed Milk.' Dismissed. Bite me.

Its quiet, and as I make her flat white with full fat milk I listen to their conversation.

The girl is a little shy, demure almost. She has nice hair and a nice face, nice clothes and nice jewellery on her nice small hands. He is generically attractive with a big smile and a can do attitude.

'Wow this breakfast looks amazing,' he grins.

'Enjoy it,' I smile.

'Doesn't it look amazing babes!'

'Yes, yes it looks great, thanks so much.'

We all smile.

I make my second coffee and stand folding napkins whilst they chat.

'So how did you guys meet?' Jenny, the photographer asks as she snaps away. The bride to be is terrified of putting anything in her mouth mid flash.

The groom gives Jenny his best 'being natural' smile.

'Well, actually, we went to school together didn't we babes?'

'Yes,' babes mumbles through a mouthful of hastily shovelled egg.

'Yeah, we actually went out for a bit when we were thirteen. Then we broke up and never really spoke to each other again. You know how it is at that age.'

Jenny looks confused, her head tilted to one side like a dog waiting for a ball to be thrown.

'But then, and this is the great bit, we reconnected through Facebook. I Facebook stalked you didn't I Babes?'

Ha. Ha. Ha.

'Wow,' Jenny smiles for the first time. 'That is SO weird. I reconnected with my first love on Facebook two weeks ago!'

'No!' Groom is really very surprised.

'Yes!' Jenny squeals.

Babes eats her eggs.

'Yeah,' Jenny continues. 'We met up last week and I was so nervous, like it was a first date or something, but then as soon as we sat down in the pub it was like no time had passed at all y'know? Like, we had so much shared history and so much to catch up on and so many memories and it was just like so easy. Y'know?'

'Totally!' Groom is really delighted. I'm wondering whether these two shouldn't marry. They could raise cheerleaders together.

Its early and I am vile, and this isn't going to get any better.

'So you were like childhood sweethearts?' Jenny coos.

'Yeah I guess we were,' Groom looks fondly at Babes.

'Well,' Babes finally finds her voice. 'We only went out for a month or so.'

'But still....' Jenny insists thinking entirely of her own possible happy ending.

'Its funny,' Groom says thoughtfully. Probably not, I think.

'I reckon if I were to go to a school reunion now I would still like all the same people I liked then.'

They all think about this for a minute. I myself am trying to find his point.

'I mean,' he barrels on. 'We don't change much do we. I think I'd like the same people for the same reasons and find the same people irritating or whatever for the same reasons. Does that make sense?'

Not really.

Jenny nods enthusiastically. 'Yeah, its like when I met up with Simon – last week - '

'Your first love?'

'Uhuh. I remember thinking, he hasn't changed really. Not in twenty years. And it was nice. I'm seeing him again next week.'

She's making their wedding about her and I find it both hilarious and fascinating.

Babes smiles shyly. 'Maybe you'll marry him'

Jenny laughs. Loudly, and for far too long. She already has the dress picked out and the kids named.

'If I could get you both to sit a bit closer together.'

Babes blushes and I feel for her. Its all so fake.

'So tell me how you proposed. And look at each other whilst you're telling me.'

Groom is a natural. He's looking deeply in to her eyes as he speaks for both of them.

The camera clicks continually throughout.

'It was on valentines day. I booked us a nice restaurant. You weren't expecting it were you?'

I look up to see her reaction and they are smiling at each other. Really smiling, and I see they're very in love. Very excited and very happy.

'I was completely shocked,' she whispers. 'I mean we'd only been dating for four months.'

Oh shit, I think.

'But when you know, you know. Y'know?' Groom looks to Jenny for confirmation.

Jenny nods and smiles and snaps away.

'Did you get down on one knee?'

'No I didn't as it goes. I'd planned to, but in the moment, well I forgot. I got the kitchen to hide the ring in her chocolate fondant.'

How fucking original, I think. And then I catch myself in the reflection of the coffee machine. Come on, don't be such a bitch. Worse, don't be such a snob.

'Can you scootch a bit closer?'

They do so and now their foreheads are actually touching.

'We have the same values,' Groom says apropos of nothing.

'That's nice,' Jenny says.

'We believe in the same things. That's important.' He says, for once not smiling like a catalogue model.

'It is,' his bride to be says. 'We want to have a family, make a home. A nice life.'

'That's right babes,' Groom says and squeezes her hand.

'You two are going to make it,' Jenny smiles. 'I do a lot of weddings and I can tell. You've got what it takes.'

'Do you want to go halves on a croissant with me babes?' Groom asks as he reaches across the table.

There's a small pause.

'I don't actually like croissants,' the bride to be says and laughs nervously. 'I guess you didn't know that about me.'

'Huh,' Groom says. 'Well I do now!'

They all laugh.  

Breeding

Today we hosted a Wake at the hotel. A week previous to this the daughter of the deceased woman had come to discuss the menu. She is a Countess. For starters she requested the Salmon Terrine. And for main course the Guinea Fowl.

“And what would you like for the vegetarians madam?”

An icily raised eyebrow and a meaningful pause later;

“The Guinea fowl.”

I was keen to get a glimpse of her.

The room had been prepared beautifully except for one curious anomaly. Amongst the linen and the silver and the tasteful but eye wateringly expensive flowers were a profusion of cushions. Silk with prints upon them of the deceased mothers face throughout the years. Myself and Casper, the Polish waiter looked on curiously.

'People will be sitting on her face,' he said.

'Perhaps its what she would have wanted,' I responded.

During breakfast I watched as funeral attendees arrived. The Wake was set for 45 people. By 10am it had risen to 57 and the chef was none too quietly having an aneurism in the kitchen.

'How many fucking people am I feeding?'

By 11am the figure was possibly 60, but maybe only 35. We tiptoed around the service area with fear in our hearts as the chef paced and swore and played Candy crush on his iphone.

When the Countess arrived it was impossible to ignore her. She wore black fur from her neck to the ground, huge Chanel sunglasses and a net and feather headdress. She looked like a star of the silver screen and when she removed her shades to dab at the tears she revealed a face that was ethereally beautiful. Icy, but divine.

'She looks like a young Meryl Streep,' I muttered to Casper whilst clearing away another round of dirty breakfast plates.

'She looks cold, like her tears might freeze on her face,' he whispered.

He had a point.

They headed off to the church and I carried a tray of champagne flutes to the lounge area to prepare for their return. I found the manager fiddling with a projector. As I lined up the glasses a 35mm film burst in to life and the image of a middle aged and terribly elegant woman appeared on my shirt. She was driving an open top sporty car through the countryside. A moment later the sound of a husky but oddly girlish laugh filled the room. I shuddered.

'Am I listening to the laugh of a dead woman?'

The manager nodded. 'I can't watch it the whole way through. I'm an emotional young man.'

'Less of the “young”,' I said and smirked as he automatically reached nervously to pat his bald spot.

At noon the bereaved began to file back in to the hotel. They were ushered to the lounge and served champagne and the tiniest, most delicate canapes created by the now apoplectic chef.

'What do you mean there are 50 of them but you have no idea how many are staying?! I'm up to my tits in Guinea Fowl here! Are you having a fucking giraffe?'

I wanted to top up the champagne glasses or hand out the canapes so I could watch the film and their reactions but because of my tattoos I was relegated to the kitchen polishing cutlery.

Within twenty minutes the chef was creaming 'Service!' and the starters were rushed out in the hands of three elegant waiters and one disgruntled French sommelier.

Within moments ten of the starters were returned to the kitchen by three somewhat less elegant and slightly more frazzled waiters and one stony faced sommelier.

'What?' The chef asked in a quiet threatening voice.

'Some are outside smoking. Some are just gone. We have no idea how many people we are serving. And they keep changing seats.'

'Fuck it,' the chef muttered and stalked outside for a fag.

As the main course was carried out, Casper, through a mouthful of Salmon Terrine, observed that the Countess was drunk and hugging everyone.

The manager ran in to the kitchen calling my name.

'Can you take some more champagne through? Everyone is busy. Make sure your sleeves are rolled down to cover your tattoos. You don't have your nose ring in do you?'

'No,' I smiled. Fuck you, I thought.

As I circled the room I observed the guests. The Countess was indeed somewhat drunk and hugging everyone she spoke to. Occasionally she'd point to one of the hideous silk cushions;

'Its my art,' she slurred.

'Lovely,' a bemused elderly gentleman murmured, painfully aware that he was sat on the deceased's face.

In the distance a wrinkled and liver spotted arm held an empty champagne flute aloft. I weaved my way over and recoiled. The face attached to the arm made no sense whatsoever. The woman had endured so much plastic surgery that she looked like a startled cat. Her eyes mere slits in her overly stretched face. Her lips pouting sexually in a profoundly disturbing way for the aged.

I think she was crying. It was impossible to be sure.

Amongst the well heeled and, I don't say this lightly, inbred guests, I noticed three people who stood out dramatically. A Thai woman about my age and her two teenage daughters. Whilst everyone else wore expensive suits or silk and little fur wraps, these three wore inexpensive coats which they had yet to remove. They looked painfully uncomfortable and smiled shyly as I offered to top up their glasses. At the next table I heard a distinguished man in his 70's say to his neighbour;

'Oh yes, she was her housekeeper. More her carer towards the end. Very good, very hard working girl. I believe she's left her something in the will.'

I watched as various people wandered over to the thai women and engaged in short and awkward conversation before drifting off again.

The Countess was now hugging a woman who bore a slight resemblance to her but none of her glamour. She seemed uncomfortable in her skirt, her hair frizzy and unmanageable. Her tears fell warm and unrestrained.

'My poor sister,' the countess slurred, stroking her hair. 'Mummy loved you very much didn't she.' An edge there.

As the coffees were served the countess had run out of guests to embrace and had moved on to the waiting staff.

'You're doing such a marvellous job. Really. Just marvellous. I love you all.'

She grabs me by the arm.

'Be a darling and get me a green tea would you? I'm awfully pissed and I don't need caffeine on top of it.'

When I returned with the tea she was sat again, this time with two horsey looking women and one elderly retainer who clearly came from old money and had a sharp bright look about her.

The countess was mid flow.

'He had such long and elegant limbs. Tall, terribly handsome and so very charming. There was no question of his breeding. None at all.'

The elderly retainer turned to her.

'Whom are you talking about Alex?' She asked lightly.

'Mummy's friend. Henry, you remember him don't you?'

'Your father is sat at the next table child and you are drunk. Hush your mouth.'

'But -' The countess protested.

'Enough.' The woman snapped.

Silence descended.

Mid afternoon the guests began to file out, some held aloft by the less inebriated.

As I cleared away the dirty cups and their chanel stained rims the Countess raised her voice.

'Oh for christ's sake Lizzie, if you want the flowers take the bloody flowers!'

'I just want one bouquet to dry,' the sister whispered, embarrassed by the sudden attention. 'Something to remember the -'

'Yes, yes, just take them! Stop being such a pill. Anyone would think you were the only one who'd lost a mother.'

The sister ran from the room and in to the garden followed closely by her father, the distinguished looking gent I'd seen earlier.

The Countess continued to address no one in particular.

'Honestly, did you see the scene she made? Take the damn flowers! I paid for them but by all means help yourself. Did you see the scene? Did you?'

It only took an hour or so to clear away the remnants of the Wake. Apparently the deceased mother had worn vintage Chanel her whole life. Nothing else. Only Chanel.