It’s true. This is it. People have been whispering it behind their wishful-thinking swigging of gin & tonic cans in the park, and through their idle sunglasses worried expressions have been made: summer is over.
Summer is over.
At one point this summer, I played a show in Peterborough at which Tim Vantol was headlining. After the show, I went back to the promoter's house where Tim and a bunch of dudes I didn’t know too well (other than Kieran, the most enthusiastic guy about punk rock I know) were staying the night.
I don’t know when at which point the converse between me and Tim Vantol/Jugs (Jugs was driving Tim around the country and being the ‘leader’ body) happened, but they ended up inviting me a seat in the back of Jugs’ Vauxhall to do the rest of the 8 dates on the tour.
I was apprehensive at first. Going on tour with a bunch of dudes I didn’t know too well seemed a bit daunting. Did they do acid every night? Did I trust them? Would I even get along with them?
After pro-ing and con-ing, I remembered the line “let’s go ‘cause we’re not getting any younger, time doesn’t wait for me”.
I rang home and stated that I would be back in about a week’s time.
You can read James Hull’s highly entertaining, more detailed, non-ADHD written account of that week here, but in true tweeting character, I’ll say this: Tim Vantol and Jugs don’t do acid every night. I trust both of them. And I get along with them better than a lot of other people I know.
I ended up getting onto the bill for each one of the dates along with James, who writes love songs about everything I love doing, playing in a bunch of towns (plus up a wind turbine) and having a blast of a week.
Every night there was a mass-borage of drinking, a floor to sleep on and interesting people to talk to. I now make life-changing decisions based on the What Would Jugs Do philosophy. I hope to God I’m not around a tattoo gun anytime soon.
Talk to me/e-mail me if you’re interested in hearing any funny stories – gilesbidder [at] hotmail [dot] com. I think we have a winner, spammers.
Here are some more of my favourite photos from that week.
That last one was when Tim, James and Bill Boa played a song each up on a wind turbine's observation deck. This was one time when I broke my 'Say no to pay-to-play' rule.
Right now I’m listening to an ONSIND/Ghost Mice split 7” that I bought from a show in an anarchist book shop cafe-go-music club in Bradford (Bratfud) from that tour. Both second tracks on each side are my two favourite of those two bands.
The ONSIND one says everything that’s needed to be said about gender inequality in a patriarchal society, and The Ghost Mice one is about putting your foot down to everything I’m scared of other than dying – conforming to what all my teachers and school colleagues’ see as and compete for in a path of ‘growing up’. I read a sticker on a bmx the other day that read ‘this bike can take me more places than school ever could’. It made me think of that.
Anyway, if you get the chance, ask one of the ONSIND dudes what their name (One Night Stand In North Dakota) refers to. It’s what made me check out their records in the first place.
I’ve just finished my sixth mug of black tea since I got home at 6 this evening, but I’ve got a feeling that won’t be the last one of tonight.
A print-out of Orwell’s ‘Politics And The English Language’ is sitting on my bed waiting to be read, so in a bit.
“All you gotta do is start.”
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