When coming back from a festival…

If the festival was good, you performed in it and stayed the entire time and greeted the dawn every morning with eyes from the previous day, there seems to be a certain method to coming home and settling back into civilian mode.

Firstly you put all your things down in some space where your tent, sleeping bag and all luggage will remain until your head is somehow reinserted into your skull (with the help of a twelve hour sleep). After setting down your things, head to the toilet and just admire how it doesn’t smell and sit on it with the intention of excreting whether you need to or not. I prefer to go to the shower right after the toilet encounter.

OH HEAVENLY SHOWER! OH DIVINE TOILET!

After the shower with a mammoth’s size carbon footprint, it’s examination time: stand naked in front of a mirror and find and attend to the bruises, contusion, minor scrapes, burns and blisters . During this time you recall the night/morning earlier and have a bit of a giggle (if you haven’t lost your voice at this time). You also think about sleep, email and yummy food. I opt for the food option but settle for toast and a cup of tea, then sit on my couch fall asleep after watching a bit of TV while checking my email. Then slowly, throughout the next day you reinsert yourself into society and bask in what feels like the afterglow of summer camp and the head ache of someone who should know better.

Some things about festivals:

People don’t admit remembering the final nights revels

Showering is a luxury

Pot Noodles taste like Nobu

Plans are made to conquer the universe at 5am

You can get a whole room of people to do aerobics if you lead by example

I dress in animal costumes

Dusty Limits can be seen starting a footy match. The ball being made out of a blanket in a tent bag.

That’s me in the frog outfit. I entertained children by accident while I was drunk.

Back From Spain! LA BRUTA FEST!

How Spanish businesses function on an international level will befuddle me forever. Don’t get me wrong, I loved going there the two times I went and everyone was hospitable…. but the hours they keep!?! I’m still recovering from the weekend performing at La Bruta Fest celebrating the 10th anniversary of El Beasto Records, but I won’t blame it entirely on the celebrations. Those people ALL stay out until the butt crack of dawn!!!!

This is me on the train. The sad breakfast.

I left home around 5am to get the Stanstead Express to Stanstead, got absolutely butt fucked by Ryanair’s extortionist practice of charging for extra luggage weight (think around 200 sterling and picture my jaw drop and trying not to curse up a STORM) and flew into Santiago de Compestela. The lovely Silvia who runs El Beasto Records along with her partner Alberto, picked me up. Between her decent english and my shitty spanish skills our 40min car ride to a Coruna led us to the conclusion that Dead Moon is the best band ever. I also think she thinks I’m mad.

At the hotel I dropped off the face of the planet for a VERY long siesta interspersed with watching the French Open. I then went to the venue and sat alone looking at the lovely (and surprisingly chilly) town of A Coruna. I was stupidly thinking that a northern town on the coast would be warmer than it was and turned out to only have one boiler suit that suited the weather. I was stinky when I came home.

This was one nice walk to the venue.

Before the event commenced, Alberto, being the good host and promoter that he is, took whoever wanted to have dinner out to a place near the hotel. Members of the Morlocks and the Phantom Keys were there along with the Morlocks driver Kosak from Czechoslovakia. I mainly spoke to Nick and Johnny from the Morlocks. I completely got my American dude fix from them. There are certain personalities that I rarely get to interact with in London simply because of reference points and cultural familiarity and it’s great food for the heart when I a little homesick to talk to countrymen. I also found out Johnny had played with Butt Trumpet which pretty much made my day seeing that I had JUST played them for some workmates that week and hadn’t really thought of the band in …. a decade at least?

The gig was great! The Morlocks did their magic and then I went on and shook my shit, then the mighty

Fuzztones rocked the venue. Sometime during the day the sound guys lost his mind so the Fuzztones and I never got to return to stage which was disappointing.

I love the tiny divine mess of a burlesquer’s dressing area.

It was a VERY long time before I went to bed and the after party was fun.

The next day was much of the same; I think I slept in until well into the afternoon and then took a walk around the city and along the playa. Fucking gorgeous place. I got to know the Phantom Keys guys a lot better at dinner. I was sad to have missed their show the night before I arrived but it was cool hanging out with them. Marky and I shared a joke about Scandis being stoic.

There were fewer people the second night but the venue was still full and The Moving Sounds and The Flaming Sideburns were really fun to watch. I got to know Parsely from the Moving Sounds and found out he lives in London…… and his name is PARSLEY!!!!!!!!!

La Bruta!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you Antonio, Silvia and Alberto for looking after me.