Tour Diary: Mo's Diary - The End

October 2002 - 'The end'

So. How to sum up that time on the other side of the world with Jacky Tar?

Ummmmm.

I think we drove 20 000 miles (The van we drove was a Renault, and I don't trust French Speedometers).

We were 'nice' to the PA's (we didn't fry any in-house system).

We did, however, lunch the van gearbox, which eventually went 'game over' in a Welsh town. A very Welsh town. I asked a guy the name of the town, and he thought I was asking his age.

We lost a whack of dosh due to an Italian promoter being arrested. Luckily, I thought, two weeks out from the Italian leg of the tour. Had it been a week in, we might have now been eating stale pasta in an Italian jail (guilt by association).

Instead we spent ten days relaxing in Rotterdam (cafes), being relaxed, and having a very relaxing time.

Anyway, here's some things I didn't do.

I didn't go to Christiania, Denmark, and buy any Thai stick. Someone else bought me the three t-shirts I'm wearing.

I didn't drink too much. It's just that it was hot all the time (the best Swedish summer for 70 years), and, as Andy said to me on stage one night ; "Fluid replacement is important. You must keep drinking"

I didn't upset my exercise program. The extra stomach I noticed while sitting in the back of the van was just a rapid six week transition to middle age.

Personally, I went into the tour determined to eat well (I did), drink very little (Ummm), and exercise (what?).

My attitude had to be ; "My body is a temple"

A guy in Stockholm maintained ; "My body is a playground"

A month later someone in Gothenburg (apparently in Swedish it's pronounced yooterburr) told me ; "My body is a laboratory"

In the last week of the tour I realised that my body was indeed a temple. It just happened to be a temple of doom.

I saved a wee bag of money (an amazing feat of self discipline and immoral fortitude).

Then I had to change my ticket to drop the drum kit off in Scotland, and spend some time in Dublin.

So . .I arrived back in NZ with the grand sum of $100.

However, I've convinced myself on tour that I've always been in it for the experience.

I manayed to deweeloop aa gourd simulacra oov aa Swaydish aacseend.

Also I decided I like the way Swedish women look and dress. I swapped my 80's looking, black, studded, gothy belt for a 70's looking, white, studded, Abba

styled belt. Hopefully no-one at home will think it looks gay.

But fuck it.

After three and a half months in the Swedish summer I need to join a monastary anyway.

In plain and simple terms ; I had a fucking good time.

Now comes the damage control . . .

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