sunday, sunday, sunday.

I have found that days off on tour are splendid and welcome respites from the stress and constant hustle of being on the road, but having said that, I’m ready to play again. And this time, Mr. Brian Wolfe will be back on duty after missing our first three dates in Dublin, Belfast, and Glasgow. Brian is a surgeon on the drums; he cuts with a fine blade and has a steady hand capable of performing the most intricate of maneuvers with both ease and flare. I couldn’t be happier to have him back on as my rhythm section partner in crime. Even though Binzer did a fantastic job filling in during Brian’s absence on the first three dates, playing with Brian again sort of feels like coming home. I’m very excited. We had a nice, leisurely sound check, and I wore a bent grin on my face pretty much the entire time.

Having logged time in the Diamond with now three different drummers, I can say that Brian has a sort of style and panache that makes this music feel just right. It’s not too flashy, never too slow, and always squarely and comfortably in the pocket. To be “in the pocket” is a hard thing to describe, however. It’s a term used most often to refer to the interplay between the bass and the drums in an ensemble, and is always mentioned alongside words like groove, or feel. Being in the pocket means that not only are you playing completely together, completely rhythmically fused, but also that your dynamics and the intensity with which you attack the notes make sense in an aesthetically pleasing and harmonious manner. This will probably make me sound like a “puff,” as Joshua Ben Joseph frequently called it, but I would compare it to having really good sex. Mom, Dad, please pretend I just compared it to something else.

After a completely enjoyable though relatively uneventful night on the town with Joshua, his friend Dom, and a couple of other Mancunian locals, I went to bed happily last night. For some reason I woke up early, around 8, and watched BBC news for an hour before a sudden impulse to exercise overtake me. I found this fairly odd, for I’ve been off that whole exercise thing for quite a while. I cranked some tuneage on my laptop and did a bunch of crunches and sit-ups and pull-ups until I felt the burn. After achieving the burn, I regretted the crunches and the sit-ups and the pushups. I showered and got dressed and headed downstairs to find some breakfast. In the lobby I found Nuno, Brian, and Nuno’s girlfriend sitting around in chairs discussing things. I greeted Dr. Brian Wolfe warmly, asking him about the funeral services for his Grandma, and bid him adieu as I searched for breakfast. There was a nice little place right around the corner from the hotel where I happily ordered a garlic and prawn omelet (yes, it sounds disgusting). I returned as Shara and James came out of the elevator, and soon found myself again sitting in the nice little place right around the corner. My comrades ate as I watched, and we chatted eagerly about a variety of topics not really worthy of mentioning. Afterwards, around 2pm, we met Nuno at the venue and began our load-in of the gear. Colin, the soundman at the Life Café, was extremely friendly and professional, which made the sound check both painless and fun.

After sound check, I explored the neighborhood a bit, stumbling across a charming pub named something ending in “Arms.” I was tickled to find that on the big screen was a soccer (football?) match between Arsenal and Wigan Athletic. I thought of my good friend and fellow member of The Kiss-Off, Oliver, who adores English football. I ordered a Guinness and headed to the upstairs area to blend with the locals with the score 1 – 0 in favor of Wigan. Most of the faces of the spectators in the place were a bit chagrined; evidently there was more than a few Arsenal fans in the building. After a few futile efforts, Arsenal finally scored on a bit of a fluke own-goal in the 82nd minute, which drew a volley of cheers from. I joined the cheers, feeling like a bit of a phony because I don’t really care about the Premier League all that much. I’m a bigger fan of Football American style. However, Arsenal scored again seven minutes later on a beautiful cross and stunning finish by a guy named Rosicky. “Magical stuff!!” was the commentator’s choice of words. I agreed, smiling and cheering along with the rest of the footee fans.

That pretty much brings us up to date on today’s events. And, though somewhat unexciting, the day shot by as if out of a cannon. I guess that’s the way it works, though. Unfortunately, we will be driving straight through the night after the show in order to make a 7am ferry over to Belgium, and our next destination, the city of Brussels. I’m excited to find out whether or not they have actually cookies there like the Pepperidge Farm Brussels cookies, which are extremely delicious. ESPECIALLY when dipped in milk. I am somewhat sad to leave Manchester, only because it is a city made of visible history, and is full of total drunks. I hear that’s sort of par for the course around these parts. Anyways, tomorrow will take us onto the mainland of Europe, and Tuesday will bring us nothing short of AMSTERDAM. I hear marijuana is legal there.