We set off early from Emmen. Alarms were set for 8am. Plan was to leave at 9am. Storms are predicted. So far we’re on schedule. The traffic out of Emmen was non existent. It’s a lowly populated place out on the east side of The Netherlands. We head on a long straight road for 90 miles. Will is driving. We instruct Dave to sleep more in the back as he will be needed to drive later once we hit Dover. I’m riding up front writing the previous blog. I’m also DJ. I start by playing some Neu. Later I switch to Matthew Logan Vasquez. We all agree on the quality of the album. I tell the guys that I saw him in Dublin earlier in the year supporting Nathanial Rateliffe and the Nightsweats. Logan Vazquez was the better act. I bought the LP and I can’t stop playing it. The van rocks as the wind blasts into the side of it. We struggle to hit 40mph. I’m reading news reports of the storms hitting Britain last night. A ship had to be rescued in the English Channel. This is going to be a tough ride. Things are not helped much when we pull over for some diesel and we can’t restart the van. The indicator doesn’t show it but it appears we somehow have a flat battery. We all scratch our heads. We decide to give it a push though there isn’t much room to get it started. I’m relieved when I hear the engine kick in. Every stop along the way is treated with trepidation. To lighten the mood and worry I start to test everyone’s punk rock knowledge by playing a random playlist of punk songs. Vince, Dave, and Will actively join in naming the bands. I think we declared Vince the winner. Aside from the weather the journey is pretty smooth. It feels like we make it to Belgium in no time. We attempt to buy booze in Oostende but everywhere appears to be closed.
The next leg is a little bit more anxious. I’m saddened as we drive past the migrants trying to hitch a ride to the UK. I would personally let them all in. I fucking hate borders. As we approach the ferry terminal in Dunkirk some of us talk about our border experiences. I recount my story of pissing in a plant pot in a security guards office in Manchester Airport, and also my encounter with the British Border Force when I was heavily questioned because my previous travel history appeared suspicious. Dave talks about the time the time the French Police searched him. We expect to be targeted this time around. Six lads on tour in a camper van. We we’re right. The first guard wants to talk to us. Dave questions if we should get out of the van. Me and Will retort with “Fuck that, let them come to us”, Dave then asks to put a light on, “Nah fuck it, don’t make it easy for them”. After all we had nothing to worry about. We’re good lads. We’re questioned as to how we know each other and where we had been. We dismissively answer the questions and we’re allowed to pass. At the next barrier we are pulled over again. This time it’s an armed military guard. They get on the bus with their guns and want to look inside all of our equipment. He questions us in French. We have a French national, and a French speaking Englishman on board. Everyone plays dumb. Let the bastards earn their wage. Eventually we’re allowed to pass. Me and Will agree that we hate situations like that. We all knew 100% that we’ve done nothing wrong yet we’re treat like criminals because we dare to re-enter our homeland.
We line up in our dedicated space and go into the ferry port building for the toilet. I’m disappointed when I’m sat on the toilet and there’s an announcement that I subsequently misunderstand. The announcement advised all passengers to return to their vehicles for immediate evacuation. I took this as a security announcement. I cut short my visit, hastily wipe my arse, and pull up my trousers. I’m not satisfied.
We get on the ferry and find a spot. We show each other tour footage from our phones. Whilst crossing the channel I start to feel groggy and I sneeze a few times. Here comes the cold/flu. We dock at Dover. I feel depressed and exhausted. I get in the back of the van and sleep most of the way back to Leeds. I barely say a word. I give everyone a signed copy of my album thanking the guys for the tour. Joel gets the guys to sign his broken cymbal. He gives that to me.
I arrive home at 2am. I instantly feel alone. It’s been an intense few days that will take me a day or two to absorb. It’s nice to see my cat and to get into my own bed.
