Are we a bus? - the inside story of life on the road, #1

There’s a high flyin’ bird, flying way up in the sky,

And I wonder if she looks down as she goes on by?

Well, she’s flying so freely in the sky.

– Jefferson Airplane

Airports always make me nervous. It’s not that I mind flying itself — taking off and landing doesn’t bother me — it’s just that I know there are going to be queues, there’ll probably be some asshole trying to push in front of me and the unnervingly cheerful check-in girl is likely to allocate me a seat next to an inordinately obese guy with halitosis. So, it’s no wonder when my alarm wakes me from my wine-induced sleep at 6:00AM in my friend’s London flat, I promptly press for nine minutes of snooze time. I need to be out of there at 7:00AM, so after I press snooze twice more, I finally drag myself out of what seems like the comfiest bed I’ve ever slept in, and into the bathroom. The hard tiles feel cold against my feet and as I lean over the sink to splash my face with water, I start to come ‘round.

I always feel more humane after cleaning my teeth and it seems to be doing the trick this morning, too. It’s too late to shower now so instead of putting on the fresh set of clothes that I drunkenly (yet conscientiously) prepared last night, I just pull on yesterday’s t-shirt and jeans over my underwear. I’ve learnt it’s not the biggest crime in the universe to wear your socks twice but I’m sinking to a new low here. It wouldn’t be so bad if I was flying first class and had loads of room to myself but one, possibly two poor sods are going have to sit next to me in close proximity for hours.

Fuck ‘em. Other people don’t worry about it so much, so today I’m joining the inconsiderate and not feeling too guilty. I’m far too hung-over to care, anyway. My car arrives five minutes later and before I know it, I’m buying my ticket for the Heathrow Express.

Something odd happens today. As I’m walking to the train, an attendant asks me which terminal I’m going to and upon my reply, directs me to first class. I have absolutely no idea why she does this but make a mental note to never shower again on a travel day, just in case — these could be my lucky (dirty) pants. I have a nice comfy seat, in a largely empty carriage. Still, fifteen minutes later as I’m getting off at the airport, I find myself wondering if my impromptu upgrade has done little more for me than put a smile on my face. I immediately decide that a smile is good enough for me and I’m suddenly feeling quite excited and jovial.

Today I’m flying to Germany to meet a band that I’ve never worked for before. I’d never heard of them, either. After I was offered the gig, I Google’d them, naturally. Four guys in the band, and from what I can gather they play heavy metal and definitely have a penchant for the gothic. Suits me fine; sounds like they could be fun. There’s nothing worse than touring with a band who just doesn’t know how to have a crack because – well — basically I’m a bit of a party animal, and the only thing that keeps me sane is meeting new and surrogate buddies until I can get back home to the faithful friends I miss so much.

I suppose I should introduce myself. It’d be rude not to, as they say. My name is Bee and well, I tour with various bands around different countries and I do anything from assisting the tour managers to selling the merchandise and all manner of things in between. I can find myself pushing flight cases and carrying guitars one minute and later the same day I could be in a launderette washing the band’s smalls. Oh yeah, it’s glamorous all right. There aren’t that many girls on tour either, really, but that doesn’t bother me ‘cause I have always been a bit of a tomboy. I’m used to the usual banter and it takes quite a lot to shock me.

To be honest, some of the girls that do end up on the road — as part of the band’s entourage for instance — can be a bit bitchy for my taste. They see themselves as ‘with the band’ whereas I’m happy with the title of ‘crew’. Unless, of course, I’m trying to get in a club for free or bag free drinks. Then I am so with the band, it’s untrue. After all, you got to work with what you’ve got.

Bee

Are we a bus?

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Bee

My blog follows the escapades of me, Bee, rock 'n' roll adventurer and swag girl as I travel the world assisting Tour Managers and selling merchandise for various bands. My fellow travellers include the band, the crew, the fans and various industry types. It lifts the lid on the myths surrounding the music biz and gives you a glimpse into that magical, filthy world. This makes what the kids in Skins get up to merely aspirational! My crew is older, but comically we're not yet wiser, and all of Europe is our playground. Are We a Bus?