Kites Tour – Part 2

Exchanging Glances Over Glasses

With trepidation.

With anxiety.

With cowered effervescence, Kites embarked on the second phase of their tour.

Alarmingly, our mode of transportation was motorcar and I was to be the designated chauffeur.  I had not grasped a steering wheel for two and a half years and yet I was the only member of Kites to hold a valid driving license.  On the last occasion I had handled an automobile my long suffering Nissan Micra – Mauritius - had endured a head-on collision with an indomitable Audi A3.  I will not bother to elucidate upon which car escaped with a scratched number-plate and which car was towed to the nearest scrapheap, suffice to say that the prospect of my motorway hegemony put fear into the hearts of my other band members. 

In the event, it was nigh impossible to exceed speeds that a semi-motorised tortoise would find exhilarating.  The M1 was riddled with tailbacks and I spent more time with my foot on the brakes than I did cruising precariously down the outside lane.  We finally arrived in Nottingham both unremarkably intact and unpardonably late. 

I had never frequented Nottingham and I admit that I may have formed some fairly ignorant preconceptions of the Midlands capital.  However, upon entering ‘The Maze’, such preconceptions were immediately confirmed, albeit temporarily, when Rich was propositioned by a lady of the night.  I am not suggesting that there is anything particularly unseemly about this incident. I am not a prude!  I am merely passing comment on the thin passage of time between alighting from our vehicle and our introduction into the city’s carnal playground.  Alas, my fascination with our new surroundings was to end soon after this sensual curiosity.  As we ascended the stage it became hideously apparent that the venue was ill-equipped to engineer two guitarists, one keyboard player and a drummer. It is no embellishment to say that my monitor sounded like the feedback from Kevin Shield’s guitar amplifier.  Kites fumbled and clawed their way through a thirty minute set like four deaf, dumb and blind kids.  It will therefore come as no surprise when I declare that Nottingham was not exactly the renaissance we sought after Birmingham.

If we were hoping to take consolation in an early night we were much mistaken.  The most gruesome of vigils was thrust upon us when our hotel's fire alarm resounded at 3.30am.  The sleep that we so desperately craved before our recording session in Manchester the next day had been cruelly taken away. 

Little did we know that fortune was about to smile on us once again...