Yabbadabbadeen!!

After a busy, packed out tour, with most of the dates sold out, we were on a high that was unstoppable. From London to Leeds we'd seen a million faces (a few thousand anyway) and we'd rocked them all. Pretty soon Bon Jovi would be quoting me in his blogs. Last night before home and we're in Aberdeen, which is a hardcore party town.

We step out on stage and there is barely anyone there. We give it our all right til the end, but fail to get the crowd moving. Im proud of us all for not giving up and giving it everything we had but at the same time, there's a clear sense of deflation that's felt right through the camp. Everyone's gutted that not many people showed, that we failed to whip the people who did show into a wild frenzy, and *big gulp* that this was a glimpse into our future. It's the last night of the first leg of the tour and this isn't how it was supposed to end. We were meant to go out on the town as heroes and destroy Aberdeen with all the goodwill in the world. But like the inflatable boy, in the inflatable school, who walked through it holding 2 giant pins, we felt like we'd let the kids down, like we'd let the team down and worst of all, like we'd let ourselves down.

We sulked back to the hotel room and after much persuading (I was the most reluctant) some of us went out to a local bar called Drummonds. It was a proper rock n roll place, a friendly atmosphere from the few people that were there and dingy, painted walls. This old guy was on stage telling a story, I wasn't sure if he was meant to be there or not, he was compelling. The chatter of the punters and the clinking of the glasses silenced itself in my head, as if my brain was telling me to listen to something important. No one was paying any attention to this guy but he was telling stories as if he were on his deathbed. He picked up an old guitar- we later found out he'd been playing it for 32 years after he sang a love song to it- and played some mean blues licks. When he sang I could of sworn it was the sound of pain and hope and isolation all hugging out their differences. I was glued to the spot and after 3 tunes there may have been some tears lost by the team- not a good look for 5 out of towners in a small bar in Aberdeen. Not that we noticed, there was no one else there as far as we were concerned. This guy was brilliant, lyrically, musically, as a story teller, he was amazing. No one in there cared, and he didn't give a shit, he had a massive smile on his face, he just loved playing. The blues guy put it all into perspective, how could we feel down that not enough people had come to our show? We got to make music together, that was the only reward we needed. He poured his heart and soul out, shared his life with us, in this tiny places where no one cared and it was beautiful. 

When he finished, he walked past us, I saluted him and he winked at me, it was the coolest thing ever.