I’ve come to learn that there’s a definite North/South of England divide for those who live in or around London; I put it down to an inferiority complex on the Southerners’ part, not mine as they would have you think. But for some reason, they still manage to hit a nerve. Someone is always taking the piss out of my northern accent or the colloquialisms I use. I just don’t get the Southerners’ obsession with taking the mick out of us Northerners. Seriously, it gets really boring. When someone is constantly making jibes, even about the minutiae of life, it wears you down and I’m both sensitive and feisty at the same time. I love and hate with equal gusto (some consider me passionate, others emotional, I suppose it depends if they’re on the receiving end or not). I wear my red heart on my black sleeve and tattoos that reflect my interests and beliefs. And god help you when I’ve had a drink because you’ll find out exactly what’s on my mind and it’s fair to say that’s normally quite a lot.
This is how I find myself on a flight looking out for my new comrades. I’m about to spend the next two weeks with them. I thought I might bump into to them at some point before boarding but as I don’t know what they look like, save some stylised photos on the website, it’s not as easy as it might sound. I checked in on my own and am sat next two other young women; disco. I’m doing well today, no kids or anything. I have the aisle, which I always prefer, so I can get up and walk about. Plus, I’m likely to succumb to a couple of those cute bottles of wine on the way to clear the nerves when I first meet everyone. It’s weird, but I still find it nerve-wracking meeting a new band and crew. Not because I get star struck or anything – like I said, I’ve no clue who these guys even are. I just get shy. It’s ridiculous, really, because as soon as I feel comfortable with a new group of people, I’m anything but shy!
Half an hour into the flight, I’ve spotted a group of likely candidates: three quite cute guys with varying degrees of tattoos. I guess if I go and say hi the worst I can do is make a fool of myself and hope to god the actual band’s not seated within ear shot. I get up to go to the toilet and do a double take as I walk past them. I muster up the confidence to ask if any of them go by the name of my contact. Success! One guy (with an adorable lip piercing, I might add) tells me that Eddie, the Tour Manager, is asleep in the seat next to him. I introduce myself, and my new crewmate Dave tells me he’ll wait for me when they get off the plane and introduce me to the TM. I go to the bathroom, and when I look at my reflection, notice that my mascara has become smudged from my nap and I have a bit of peanut on the corner of my mouth. Damn those free nibbles! So much for first impressions. Oh well, at least I have found them.
One less thing to do when I get off the plane, I guess.
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