Tour 1: Weird Guys

There we were. Suffering from the effects of extreme sleep deprivation with no regard for our own safety in an affluent region of "Gay Paris". 

The show we did before was average, mainly because the crowd wasn't huge and they couldn't make out quite what we were going on about. Plus, we were in charge of kicking off the live music portion of the night - which is almost always brass.

There were these guys. Weird guys. I couldn't understand them. They couldn't understand me. In what turned out to be a stupefyingly bad move - we ended up going to an after party with (quite frankly, the baddest motherfucker imaginable) Ben 9mm and the rest of the mans on tour at the yard of one of these weird guys. So there we were. Gay Paris...

GhostTown completely smashed up the party, literally being the beat conductor to (Part-time) DJ (Full-time Danny Dyer lookalike) Sammy B-Side. Maria got her vocal chords out. Me, Baxter and Dike spat some frees. A couple of French geezers jumped on the mic. They were pretty sick. All was bless.

Fast forward to dumb'o'clock. 9mm has conked. Everyone else is looking to do likewise but we're with these guys. These weird guys. The decor of the yard was minimalist - white walls, wood floors, a 3 foot black Mickey Mouse statue with a 9 inch cock next to a framed poster of the words "FUCK ME LIKE THE WHORE I AM"

When we didn't magically learn French in half an hour or take his mind altering substances the homeowner became agitated. We were already a touch uncomfortable and decided fucking off to the van was in order. But Ben wouldn't wake up. And they wouldn't let us wake him up. When we decided to leave and wait for him in the van, they followed us.

Orange Man was the most aggy. Shouting at us through the passenger's window. He looked like a Hare Krishna. I don't think he was one. According to him, the police were coming. Then Dubstep Guy, started telling us Ben was dead - he wasn't, he was just asleep. Dike drew for the 'Tour Shank', then decided against any use of the wielder. The Sound Engineer was sat in the drivers seat with keys.

Sammy B-Side (the B stands for bilingual), got his French involved. It turns out we were in the Parisian equivalent to Kensington and the weird guys didn't want us to get arrested for being in a van. Or something. The upshot was they were looking to take us to a place to park the van and where we could sleep. Short of a little more aggro with GhostTown and the Sound Engineer, everything was bless.

Except of course, for the fact that the safe place to park the van was a portion of a street that were having roadworks done on them. Personally, I didn't care that much as long as I could sleep. Tomorrow we had to drive 750km south to Montpellier.

And sleep deprivation is a bitch.

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