Tale #1: Miss C and a tour.

09May07

There are some days I wish I was just a fan. Where I didn’t have to worry about the musicians I know when they get into trouble. Where I could listen to a song without remembering something about the artist. Where I could just be someone who buys a ticket, a CD, goes to a show and goes home again. But whenever I think that I could be that person, my skin starts to crawl and I feel slightly ill. It’s just like how I feel if it’s suggested I move out of London. It’s so deep in my blood, I just don’t know how to live any other way.

Anyway. Today I heard from Miss C. I’ve known Miss C for almost 4 years and she’s wonderful. We met through a mutual friend, Miss H, and instantly connected. She’s an international jet-setter. No, really. She sells expensive things to business men at airports and the job takes her everywhere and leaves her with time to kill. A band made a hit out of a song written about her and it still freaks her out when she hears it on the radio, but she doesn’t complain because it’s a flattering song and those same rockstars still hook her up whenever they’re in a town she’s in. The last time we had an adventure together was with those rockstars. She’d flown over here, judiciously arranging her work schedule to be here for their tour as all girls like us do.

 We hooked up with them at their hotel, grabbed a room for ourselves and set about making it home.  It’s really very easy to make a hotel room feel like home, especially if you’ve been doing it for so long like we have.  A few scarves over lamps, a couple pictures, organising your make up the way you would at home and, of course, clothes on the floor.  See?  Easy.

A late lunch and we’re off to the venue via tourbus. Normally, knowing the state of tourbuses, we’d make our own way there, but it’s a new tourbus and they haven’t had the chance to make it truly disgusting yet. It’s a small show to kick off with. Something special for fans who have won tickets. Miss C and I drink the free alcohol and skulk on the stairs watching the show from the back, giggling to ourselves. We never feel guilty about getting into shows like this, because we so often see people who are only there because of their name and to be seen. We’re there because we’re friends with the boys and we like the music, and really, what could be wrong about that? It’s a sweat-box of a show and the rockstars have put on something special.

Afterwards, we all go back to the hotel and Bassist Rockstar hosts a party in his room. Miss C, some other girls and I order alcohol on the rockstar dime and Guitarist Rockstar meets his connection for some cocaine. Neither Miss C or I participate in the powder, we’ve both been there, done that and got over it a long time ago. Still, rock & roll cliches are there for a reason and people seem to enjoy it, so we don’t judge. We just drink instead, figuring that if they can spend that much of their money on cocaine, we can spend exactly the same on alcohol.

After a while, the rockstars start hooking up with various girls and Miss C and I start discussing how we can rip the piss out of them for the rest of the tour. Miss C takes photos, they’ll never really be put anywhere, but they give us a giggle and we’ll get to shame the rockstars the next day with their indiscretions. Bassist Rockstar starts getting grumpy about not being able to fuck a girl with people still in his room, so I feed him a shot of Jager, which shuts him up long enough to get everyone into a different room. It’s like looking after children sometimes. Drunken, drugged, horny children, but children nonetheless.

People disperse pretty quickly after that. They go home, pass out on Drummer Rockstar’s floor or have hooked up with Bassist or Singer Rockstar. Miss C and I stumble back to our room, taking poseur photos of each other as we go. We take our make up off and collapse into our beds. The next thing we know my phone is ringing, it’s Guitarist Rockstar wondering where we are because it’s time to leave for the next city.

We pull ourseves together, knowing that there’s no way we’ll be the last ones down, and, sunglasses firmly attached to our faces, we go down and await the rest of the touring family.

Filed under: miss c, touring   |  Leave a Comment