European prologue: curtains for guitar thieves

Posted by Rowan Coupland on Saturday, May 29, 2010
This being the first blog on here, I should say first that: I write in a state of fairly decent tiredness, I will likely write most of these entries in a similar state of tiredness, and that you can therefore not expect to get any consistent grammar or ideas from these postings. You may be able to get consistently abrasive grammar, and confused phrasing, so, enjoy.

I am beginning a 2+ month 'tour' of Europe and will be writing about it here, from time to time. If i take the travels from the moment I stepped out the door with a packed bag, then that could be Friday 28th May, leaving Bath. On the train, I was asked by a woman, looking straight into my eyes with all seriousness: "what is stopping you getting off?". I looked out at the land moving rapidly past and was unsure exactly what to reply. "because I need to get to Brighton?' was my eventual answer.

Brighton was the location of the tour's beginning, at my friends' Orange House near the Lewes Road. After finding a PA and everything else, the evening progressed to late tacos, offensively flavoured crisps (ketchup not cheeseburger), brautigan-esque stories, tiny pianos and lovesongs. The tacos were very popular, the crisps not, the stories and lovesongs much in demand. I rejoined my old singing partners, the Devil May Cares, to jingle change and make train noises and reminisce about the old times. The whole room danced.
The whole room was then made to purchase raffle tickets and watch as I tried to foist my unshiftable possessions on them (a found bag of herbs, european novels, unusable cd-rs, a feather from san francisco) whilst screaming into a microphone my songs of jazz and heaven. When the raffle prize of candles was awarded the atmosphere went up at least 3 notches to coincide with the relative decrease in quantity of light. We did not run up to heaven, and I left via the rear curtains (reversing Matthew's earlier, much more impressive entrance by them). I performed a magic disappearing act out of the window, at which point the incredibly lovely evening began to be marred by unpleasant events, that is to say one of the gatecrashers stealing sam's stratocaster (wood finish, leopard skin scratchplate, reward for information or the toes of the thief in a bag). we did not realise this until after the entirely nominal amount of sleep we all received. and onto the next day and soon to leave the town by the sea, populated by uncouth thieves, even if we 'are learning fast never to trust a policeman'.

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