Friday, 29 July 2011

The Trials and Tribulations of a Bandwife (Pt I)

While The Man was playing in front of 5,000 people in Portugal last August, I was at home unpacking from a week-long holiday we'd just had in Whitby. When he was going vodka shot for vodka shot with the Russian mafia, I was at home drinking tea.

When he was called at the very last minute to join a tour in Ireland with some bloke out of Guns and Roses, I was at home with a hole in the dining room floor because he was in the middle of replacing a radiator when the call came.

And I have been at home for all the Glastonburys, for Saudi Arabia, the Ukraine, Germany, Holland, Belgium, Czechslovakia, Hungary, Chechnya and Scotland.

But as life on the road mostly involves sleeping in vans and the inside of airports or sharing hotel rooms with other musicians, all of whom appear to have either hygiene problems or mental health issues, I'm not that bothered to be honest.

Bands on tour get drunk together and stay drunk, they argue, fall out and make up again six times every hour. It's like dealing with four kids stuffed to the gills with e-numbers and sleep deprived for a week. I can do that at home AND have a hot shower every night.

Tonight is our wedding anniversary and like several other wedding anniversaries, family birthdays, special events and every New Year's Eve since we've been together, I am at home. The Man is in Filey with four people he's never played with before and a failed X Factor contestant on vocals.

I know where I'd rather be. *Pops cork*

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