City of Broken Dreams

Corn-ball title, I know. But it's Valentine's Day and i can be as schmaltzy as i want. Fear not, this isn't a rant from a dateless wonder. Well, it is, but it's not about Love Day.
Im in Munich today, and we're in the Olympia Halle. I was impressed with the architecture as soon as I stumbled off the bus into the somewhat milder chill of the morning, but it didn't really sink in as to where I was for a while. Usually I see the same posters at every venue we play - we were one day ahead of Shakira for a while, Roger Whittaker is never far behind us, and so forth. But I noticed some different ones today- Wrestlemania, Meatloaf, Manowar, Beyonce, even Snoop and P Diddy. Or Grandmaster Chocopop or whatever he's calling himself this week. Then light dawned on Marble Head. Olympic Park. This is where it all 'went down' in 1972.

If you've seen One Day In September you can skip this paragraph.
Brief, probably highly inaccurate history lesson; Germany getting the '72 Olympics was a big deal. After the Jesse Owen thing, and all the bad press the Germans had, they were looking to make some much needed revenue to restabilise their economy and also to change their image as fascist bastards.
So they got into the Olympics in a big way. Using a man-made hill (rubble from Bomber Harris' visit in the war), they created a beautiful, ultra-modern Olympic Village. They kept security at a minimum to boost the friendly image they were hankering for.

Then of course, it all went tits when a Palestinian group calling themselves Black September invaded the village, killing two Israeli competitors and holding 11 others hostage. Thus began the world's first televised terrorist crisis, which unfolded as athletes just outside the Israeli buildings did push-ups and chatted up fans.

So unfolded a real-life drama with a bizarre character in a Panama hat at the centre, and one of the stupidest moves by Security Forces since Mussolini's bodyguard said"It's OK Duce, they seem a bit pissed off but Im sure if you go out there and talk to them in that arrogant style of yours, you'll win them over again"
They attempted an SAS-style embassy siege but forgot to tell the TV crews to switch off their cameras, and the Terror-types watched as they approached and duly repelled them. Then there was a bizarre race to the airport where German police shot each other in a crossfire. The hostages were bundled onto a helicopter which was promptly blown up. Some American Newscaster wrapped it up with "They're all gone"...He may then have said "drink Coca Cola for a happy Olympics."

Walking around the Olympic Park, as joggers and school-kids passed by, I had a real sense of sadness. It's still well-maintained and in use, but the majestic architecture and beautiful landscaping can't mask the ugliness of what happened here. The Germans had their dream hijacked for a political cause most of them probably had little idea about.

Now, I'm a cynical bastard. I'd be happier if England didn't qualify for the European or World Cup. I cringe every time they scrape a win against a side they should, by rights, walk all over. You won't catch me wearing a cut-out Wayne Rooney mask from the Scum or flying the "Im a casual racist" flag from my car window. It's not that I'm unpatriotic as such, but a pessimist is never disappointed. Even I get emotional when they trot out that slo-mo montage to a piece of classical music, or Embrace or fucking whatever. Only last time they didn't even have any highlights to show us. Just Owen falling over and Wayne-y looking all frustrated. Oh, and Lampard missing everything.

I've gotten off the point somewhat here, but I wasn't happy when 'we' got the Olympics either. It seems to me to be a huge waste of tax-payers' money, and the only sectors of the economy to benefit are global brands, chain-hotels and airline companies. At least there's no fervent patriotism involved though. If Great Britain get a medal it's a bonus, and maybe a rower can get a book-deal out of it. Big whoop. Is Seb Coe going to be knocking on doors explaining to people why they have to leave the home they've lived in for 40 years to make way for a bike-track?

Im straying off the point again. I haven't seen Munich. I watched Minority Report and thought, "oh-oh, Spielberg's going through his Jewish menopause and continuing to force it upon us. Nice cast but it's a thank-you, no.' Meanwhile everyone who saw Eric Bana in Hulk rushed to see it and came out going, "That was fucking pointless and depressing. Isn't the world an awful place." Which, I assume, was the point.

The point. How elusive. What was it, you're asking. I dunno anymore, but I wanted to write something down about being here. I can't help but wonder what lessons the powers that be will take regarding security at the London Olympics. But suffice to say it'll be a nightmare. I live nowhere near it and it's 5 years away. But I'm worrying already. I hope Seb Coe has a good supply of Grecian 2012.

A funny thing happened on the way to Oberhausen

Potentially fatal situations are always hirarious if no-one is seriously hurt. Right?
We just did 7 straight shows in a row. Our driver is a crotchety get at the best of times but my boss has just banned smoking on the bus, so this fucker is driving extra fast to make up for the time lost while he takes smoke-breaks or the dog stops to do his curly business. It's like trying to sleep in a rock-tumbler.
The hall in Munster was too small for our production so we were late getting out and the next show was a 6pm start so we had to get up extra early.
So i only skulled one beer instead of the usual 2 beers/2 toasties and went to bed, relishing my five hours of sleep. I passed out pretty much straight away but I was awoken by screaming.

When you're tired as hell on a pitch-black tourbus, on the top bunk, the fight-or-flight theory doesn't really come into play.
My immediate though was 'shit! gypsies!' but I was too tired to peep out of my curtains so I just turned up my i-pod and waited for the yelling to stop. If it was pre-ordained that I die at the hands of some Romanian skull-fucker who sold his sister to a Japanese businessman, then so be it.

Obviously though, I'm still here. Turns out one of the bunk-beds had inexplicably collapsed onto our security guy in the bunk below. Of the 8 passengers on the bus, 3 slept through it, including the girl in the offending bed. If it had been the other way around, and the guard had been above the wardrobe girl, this would be less a blog, more an epitaph.

Instead it's a barely amusing anecdote which stands out as memorable solely because the rest of the work is SO DULL.

Don't bother Davey, you know this story...

Ah, good old Davey, he's talked me up some so now I have to make an effort. Which involves me swiping one of my old posts to make my life look more interesting. You see not much happens on tour. We run out of things, we encounter problems, but first and foremost, people just moan because that's what people do. Especially where hotels are involved. So when my room phone woke me from a fitful slumber, I wasn’t surprised. Maybe someone’s yolk was too runny or they couldn’t switch on the TV or something.

But no, I was asked by the nervous German receptionist to come downstairs right away as the Polizei wanted to speak to me about a report made by members of the public…

10 blurry minutes later Im shaking hands with 2 leather-clad dykey Polizei, attempting to decipher what’s ‘gone down’.

Turns out one of our Canadian guys had checked in, stripped naked and treated 30 or so elderly ladies working in the call centre opposite his window to a rendition of ‘If I was a rich man’ on the pink oboe.

We all shared a bit of nervous laughter about it, but jacking off in front of a bunch of old ladies is not cool. We had to do some Pink Panther-style investigation, me in a knee-length coat and the dykes banging on the potential flasher’s door and shouting ‘Open ze door, Polizei!’ This of course brought several other semi-naked crew members and civilians into the corridor for a look-see.

It was then confirmed by the aforementioned old ladies, as I’d suspected, that we had the wrong room. I tripped over the suitcase, Clouseau style and we went to interrogate the real suspect.

Being a French-Canadian, this led to many comical misunderstandings and wild gesticulation. But he’d done enough of that already and he was carted away by the swine. They kept him at the station for about 6 hours then when he returned I handed him his tickets for Dortmund-Frankfurt, Frankfurt-Zurich and Zurich-Montreal. Then I went to wash my hands.

I thought I’d seen everything, but watching on as two German dykes stand over a terrified, topless Quebecan and ask ‘did you or did you not stroke your pennis (sic) to the window?” was a new one to me.

So, not every day is the same.

Up yours, myspice, you smell and I'm moving out

So begins a new chapter in history. Personal history of course. I tried to do this a couple of weeks ago but it was all in German and I'm limited to asking for new electrical tape in a loud voice.
I had a go at blogging on Myspace but no fucker reads it, presumably because it's not a questionnaire crafted by a social retard in Crested Butte, Ohio who wants to find out if you're into cornholing. Or potholing, I wasn't paying attention.
So hopefully vicariously Davey's intelligent new pals will read my forthcoming blogs and say (to themselves, obviously) "between the trite rants and the defeatist attitude, this guy's alright. I suppose." Plus maybe I can put pictures onto it. I really don't have the computer-smarts to make this sort of thing eye-catching.
hrumph. Still, I'm in Bremen today and the video-shop didn't lie to me; it's full of muppets.