Built for Comfort

I've been feeling awfully odd, today
without a title it seems.
No seats on the bus, only the eyes that stare
Ahead

My head, it spins today.
watching the sky behind Nelson,
No seats on the steps, i'll take the floor
Instead

I thought of you, today.
i dropped everything i held
No seats inside, i'll sit out in the cold
Alone.

The bobble on my hat fell off, today.
Absence of warmth, made cold my thoughts
No seats in my life, i saved them all
For you

the roof

I've seen you staring
peering into my window
from your spot on the roof.
Our lives may not be so far apart
For I am staring at you too.

John

Of late you seem distant.
Only by the night do you live.
Flashing buttons and blinding lights,
It controls you.
You speak, I listen
With intent, your spoken words
They drench the air.
Don't let the fire inside you burn out,
For it is you that will one day rule the world.

I could use someone like you

Drunk girls, men with suitcases and travelers from faraway shores, they came and went. But I still sat there, waiting.
Purple, then a delayed yellow,
but no pink.
A girl, with the will to impress her friends,
attempted to balance an empty bottle of water on her nose.
A passer by took a photo. The girl stumbled.
Another yellow, a purple, but still no pink.

I sat waiting, for a train that would never arrive.

Apartment Story

I saw a man today. He stood on the balcony of his 11th floor council flat, finding solace in the only guaranteed beauty. He watched the sun set behind Hexthorpe. I found comfort in his solace as he found beauty in the world.

Get the knives, it's nearly ready

As you lay there, motionless
I'm wondering if you're sleeping
Or thinking about how much you wished you loved me.

Susan

I'm home and the cat hates me.

I don't want to be at home.

However, I do care that the cat hates me.

I tried feeding him, that didn't work. I let him sleep on my bed, but he still scowled when I offered him my half of the duvet. I tried to pet him, I even made a fuss about how glossy his coat was. His reply was nothing, but to turn his back and walk away.

He breaks my heart, every day.

Ready, Set, Glow

Jet Skis. Fun? Or just plain dangerous?

So, there I was. Bikini clad and signing a form (which was written in French, I can't read French.. Shit). What am I signing for? Insurance? Consent? Advanced Death Certificate? Who knew.

Not a huge fan of baring my pale body to the world, but for some reason (mainly peer pressure), I was stood on a sandy beach with St Tropez across the water, in my mismatched bikini, being fitted for a life jacket. It's all well as good calling it a life jacket, but it's not gonna save me from breaking a sodding arm, or snapping my neck when I am thrown violently from my jet ski. But, whatever.

Can't come across as being a complete girl.

This will be fun.
This will be fun.
This will be fun.

Anyway, as I'm stood there, trying to block the possible imminent death from my mind, wondering which yacht is P Diddy's - I'm being hurried into the sea by the instructor. He asks me if I'm ok. Yes, I'm ok. (No, i'm definitely NOT ok..).

Fake Palindromes

Not quite sure how I’m feeling right now with regards to a few things. It’s nothing major. Mainly, how cold it is on this flight and also the rather disturbing shade of yellow that dominates the interior of the plane.

I’m not a huge fan of having an hours sleep. In these situations, I always wonder if it would be better if I didn’t go to sleep at all. I probably feel worse now than I would if I’d have just had a nice cup of tea and a sit down. I think I delayed the departure of the flight too. I’m normally quite attentive and relatively alert in airports, but I was minding my own business and purchasing some muslie with a dash of yoghurt (which was served to me out of a squeezy mustard bottles…) and took a leisurely stroll back to where the boys were sitting. It suddenly dawned on me that they were no longer where I left them. I thought to myself, those cheeky bastards are hiding from me.. But turns out they were just sat on the plane. Interesting. I spot a man, with a bag, that looks like mine. It is mine. It’s Pabs! Doing what all good tour managers do best, making sure drummers don’t miss flights.

An ode to Harold Street

So that's it then.  Another chapter closed in the book of Anna.

As I say goodbye to Leeds for the final time today, I don't feel as sad as I thought I would.  I didn't really spend a lot of time in that house, so I didn't become too attached to the place.  Although I will miss being a 20 second walk away from the Brudenell and 10 minutes from the Fav.  I'll miss the big window in my bedroom.  I'll miss the sound of Heather and Phil shagging on a sunday morning, the girls to the back of me playing Mika at an obscene volume, i'll miss the rotting mattresses and the dead xmas tree in the cellar.  I'll miss Alex and being able to pinch music off his macbook.  I'll miss playing slide guitar and getting fucked on Wild Turkey.  Pitza Cano's, the shop on the corner that opens when it feels like it, the shit veg in the co-op and Burley Park train station.

Harold Street.  I salute you.

They say you don't have a problem, until you start drinking alone

They say you don’t have a problem, until you start sleeping alone.
I technically DON’T sleep alone, I at least share a room with someone every night. Someone that I know, I must add.

Sharing a bed is common practice with fellow band mates. It’s never really awkward as such, just more about knowing your boundaries and not invading the other person’s personal space. Spooning is definitely out of the question, as is feet touching. Sharing a bed with someone that isn’t your partner can be a tricky and often touchy subject. This is a moment when your friendship suddenly takes a drastic step into unknown depths. This is territory only reserved for that special person in your life. But here you are, sharing a Travelodge duvet with your tour manager. All normal sleep etiquette, of which you are used to, is immediately discarded as if it never existed. No longer are you permitted to sleep naked, or sleep solely in the ‘starfish’ position. Sleep, in such circumstances, as much as you wish it didn’t, becomes a battle with space and time. Now, being the polite individual that you are, you feel you should wait for your bed partner to fall asleep first. Taking great care not to cross the imaginary line that divides their side of the bed from yours, you perch ever so elegantly on the edge of the bed, usually in a position that is 10 times less comfortable than you’re normally happy with, as this person is your friend, you don’t mind of course… but do you? Anyway, that way, once they finally hit the hay, you assume all rights of the bed and therefore enabling you to sleep as normal. That is unless you’re feeling particularly selfish. I have also noticed through observation and through actions of my own, that when sleeping in an environment heavily occupied by awake human beings, usually in the day, the motion of sleeping with your face and back to the majority, if not all, present human beings seems to be the most common code of practice. Now I believe that this is definitely down to the fact that you don’t want everyone to see your facial muscles completey relaxed, because let’s face it, no one looks good when they sleep. I for example drool like a dog and I am fully aware of how unattractive this is.

If you love me, won't you let me know.

I wish i liked the ideas that I conjure up in my mind. They all seem so stupid that I never actually try to put them into practice. When in actual fact, they're probably not that stupid.... more just bordering on boring.

I want to bind books.

We're touring again. We played in Sheffield last night. Now we're in Manchester... From one travelodge to the next in one easy step. Leave current Travelodge, get in van, bust out some guitar hero, commence journey, drive for approximately 87minutes, arrive at destination, disembark van, retrieve suitcase and all personal belongings from back of said van, check in to new travelodge, find room, put kettle on.... etc etc. Same shit, different city.

I am aware that it's been a while since I last wrote on this, but I no-one reads it anyway.

Jokes!

Tour times

I really feel like i've been away for about 2 years.  When it's only really been 3 weeks.  Can't really say i've missed anyone in particular, other than the obvious.

When you're in a band and on tour, you're seeing the same people everyday and after a while, unknowingly, you start to rely on these people for so many things.  Mainly your sanity and toothpaste, reminding you not to forget your plug adaptor and getting you up in the morning.

These people become the only familiar faces you feel like you've ever known.  When you see the same people day in, day out for any length of time , there's always going to be some part of their character that really begins to grate.  But without even ushering a word about it, we all seem to know when we've crossed the line.  No apologies needed, just that reassuring smile or that friendly tap on the arm.

Rules are made, then broken and then made again.  Regular seats are occupied in the van and you can always guarantee who will fall asleep first.

The concerning glances from the person opposite , just to let you know they've had enough of this journey too.

Hostel Etiquette,

file:///Users/Anna/Desktop/We.doc

I really can't figure out how to copy and paste something that I've written in a word document on this blog.  It's pissing me off!

Anyway, What I basically want to say, is that i've been on 4 boats this week.  Two of which were ferries and two were hotels.  One of which I am sat on eating the dirtiest bacon sandwich in the world.  But I do have a nice view of Stockholm from the little port hole.

Travel day today.  Travel days just seem pointless!!

Wa wa wee wa.

I learnt an interesting fact yesterday via the wonderful yet, slightly deranged mind of Dev Hynes.  His fountain of information provided me with the knowledge that there is a certain level of Soy Sauce in the air in Japan. 

Does anyone know hostel etiquette?  

I like it in the city

For the first time since my 16th birthday, I have no real job to speak of.  That's a good 7 years of paying taxes, working stupid hours and having a regular wage slip to rely on.

I've spent too much time on Facebook, stalking people who I used to go to school with.  Now i'm starting to regret learning so much about these people.  I was happy enough not knowing anything about their lives.  Marriage, Babies, Proper jobs.....

For now, I think i'll enjoy living in a sightly grubby, back to back house in a dodgy part of Leeds - with the knowledge that i'm off to Europe in a couple of weeks - no baby sick for me, thanks. 

(Photo by Dev Hynes)

whiskey and coke please, bartender

I've just added John Fogerty as my friend on myspace.  I've been drinking and everything seems such a blur.  Someone told me that keeping a blog is seriously uncool.  Someone also told me that smoking is bad for your health.  Borrrrrrrrrrrring.

Nosey strangers on public transport

Like I said in my last post.  I should really sort this thing out into some sort of chronological order.  But I can't be bothered, nor am I ever in a logical mood.

 

Plus, I know the man sat next to me on the train is reading what I am writing. 

 

I am listening to the new Forward Russia album.  Can’t say I was a massive fan of their 1^st album.  But this one is MASSIVE.  Just thought I’d throw that one out there.

 

God, I can’t remember what I’ve been up to this week.  Maybe if I work backwards from now, It might make some sort of sense.

 

Right, I mentioned the DJing and the weird Hot Chip party that we never made it to in my last post.  That was Saturday.  Right, Friday.  Was that when I went to the Natural History Museum on my own?  I think it was actually.

 

I’ll start there. 

 

I woke up on Friday morning.  I felt pretty lousy after the NME awards and decided that I needed some culture to stop my mind from turning into a lump of pork sausages.  I needed to stare at some paintings and pretend that they moved me.  After failing to recruit anyone to join me on my cultural festivities, I set off for The Natural History Museum, via Liverpool St station, on my own. 

I boarded the circle line (the yellow one) and began reading my book.  I was sat next to a really fat businessman who kept reading the poems in my book.  These poems are particularly vulgar and he kept tutting and signing.  I was so close telling him to fuck off.  But thought it very impolite.  So I didn’t and let him carry on reading my crude poems over my shoulder.  Then I started thinking that if you’re going to fall asleep on the tube, the circle line is definitely the one to do it on.  Rather than the Victoria Line, I mean, who wants to end up in Brixton.

 

Which leads me on nicely to my night of fun, which involved Hot Chip again.

 

Victoria and I, being the socialites and well connected beings that we are, got some guest list for Hot Chip’s gig at Brixton Academy. 

That place is huge.  And it was absolutely rammed to the walls.  Gigs like that put me in a really bad mood.  I think it’s mainly because I’m too impatient and I hate having to queue for the bar/toilet/cash machine/anything.

I knocked into this bloke as I was moodily pushing by the riff raff at the bar, I didn’t apologise.  I wish I had done.

Bad mood aside, Vic and I headed up to the balcony and from there we viewed the gig in all it’s brass band induced glory.

 

As of late, I’ve been very complementary about London’s transport.  But the journey home from Brixton at 2.30 in the AM was like a head trauma.  But like most things, I was faced with the question: Would I rather spend 90p or £20 getting home….?  Just like I face the question most mornings: Do I spend an extra 10minutes in bed, or get breakfast/have a shower?

 

Judging by the state of my appearance most days, you can guess which wins.

My heart's skipping, skipping and I don't know why..

Tonight has been fun.

I DJ'd with Little Boots and intended to go to a weird Hot Chip party in a warehouse on Cambridge Heath Road.  But Sobered up rather drastically when I realised I had to get in a goods lift with 30 other sweaty bodies.  I started to assess the possible implications of fire and began to scan for reliable escape routes.  Of which, none existed.

So the moral of this story is, if you want to go to a Hot Chip party in a Warehouse on Cambridge Heath Road.  You'd better be twatted or be prepared to jumped out of a 4th story window...

I should really start doing these blogs in some form of chronology.

Lack of lactose

25th

I got up ridiculously early this morning.  It's not like i had a choice in the matter.  

Just so you know, this is going to be post purely containing my moaning.

I started the day off well, by burning my toe on my hair straighteners.  It didn't hurt at first, but now it's killing.

I got the train from Headingley to Leeds.  It was packed and the conductor didn't come round to collect my fare, which is such an inconvenience because you need a ticket to actually leave the station.  Thankfully I managed to collar an unsuspecting conductor, who kindly took my fare and printed me a ticket.

I smiled rather smugly, feeling very pleased with myself that I didn't have to queue with the swarm of office-working commuters, as I walked past.

Just to piss me off, I had to pay £80 to change my original train ticket to London to an earlier one (sorry Domino).  I must stress at this point, that this was not my fault.  Even though I am terribly dis organised.  It felt good that it was someone else's fault for a change.

I bought myself a soya latte (and a caramel macchiato, for the man in my life).  Lactose is so last week.  Got on the train, found a table seat next to the window, so I could wave at Doncaster on the way by.

The train conductor kept making a patronising point of announcing to his passengers to NOT leave any luggage or personal belongings behind.  As much as I find this patronising, I did leave my massive red bag on the train the other - it only contained me LIFE.

So I guess he does have a point.

I wrote this ages ago, but forgot to post it...

21st

Still feeling sick.  COming off stage and wanting to vomit is not something that I'm generally into.  But for some reason, I've been making an unwanted habit of it these past few days.

The London show was some kind of crazy.  It was fun, but all the while I was feeling sick, I just couldn't let my hair down.

I've not had a drink for the past 4 days.  Which is probably the longest i've gone without booze for a solid month.

We've arrived in Canterbury and i've come to the conclusion that this place is definitely NOT for bands.  Dev reckons he's in the future.  This place has Lazer Quest.  Which makes me think that it's certainly NOT in the future.  I remember when there was a Lazer Quest in Doncaster.  Which then turned into a Visage nightclub, which then turned into a Trilogy nightclub.

I digress.

I noticed the first signs of spring today.  A million daffodils lined the historic walls of Canterbury.  Which made me happy for a split second, until I realised that my iPod battery had run out.

22nd(ish)

Driving back from Canterbury.  Not being able to sleep.  It's 3am and I can't help but notice the many illuminated windows.  My mind begins to wonder, what could possibly be going on in there.

Curiosity killed the cat.  And vise versa.

Trainspotters

Train ride:  Leeds to London.

Hello Doncaster.

Of all the train stations I have visited.  Granted, Doncaster being the most frequent spanning my 23 years, I have only eve noticed train spotters in this humble town.

Honestly,  you would've thought that these people would have something better to do with their time?  Like go to work?  Or do some DIY?  Anyway, there wasn't just 2 or 3 of them, but an army of them.  All equipped with a fold out stool, a flask and a deer stalker hat.

Each to their own and everything, but I just find this strange.

Having said all this mind,  my Dad does own an LP purely compiled of different steam train noises, my Granddad was an engine driver and my boyfriend is in a train related band.  Maybe I should give into my destiny and join the troops at Doncaster station.

Goodbye Doncaster, I was only passing through... maybe sometime soon though.

The snow seems to have missed out a few places on its sweep across the country.  It hit Harold Street, that's for sure (See photo of icicles on my car).

I've had to ditch the leather coat, due to the last button finally falling off.  It was getting a bit drafty in there so I've had to resort to my 'Hi, I work in a bank' coat.

Much to my distress.

Feelin' Stabby

As an actual fact, I feel so sick right now.  It's rather shit.  

Only 3 gigs left of the tour now.

I'm in Leeds tonight.  Feels good.  

From Dull to Liverpool in 60 minutes

Feeling a little bit grim right now. 

I'm sat in the BBC studios in Liverpool having left Hull at 7 am this morning.  I'm stealing their internet and drinking their coffee.  Thankfully, I am not needed for this session.  

The weather seems to have taken a sudden plummet into sub-zero temperatures.  This does not bode well for Lightspeed morale.  We like cold mornings as much as we like actually getting up in a morning, i.e not a lot.

The gig in Hull was a funny one.  Witnessing Pab's frustration after being told he couldn't touch the graphic eq, was worth the journey to Hull alone.  

The Sugars came down to the show and they restored my faith in the northern accent.  

We drove right past Leeds today.  It's the closest i've been to my home for almost a month.

Today, I woke up at 6am with the TV blaring and the light on.  Only to find it was the end of Teletubbies!  I didn't even think that that program was still going....

Anyway - proceeded to get out of bed in a daze and witch off said TV and light.

Went to a T in the Park press conference.  Which was decidedly very boring.  But Lightspeed got a 'Big up yo self' from the festival promoter.  Which was good.  And the food was amazing too.  Buffet the vampire slayer.

I wandered around Glasgow for a while and bought some ridiculously high shoes, which I probably will never wear. 

Played a gig at King Tuts then went to ABC for some serious Indie Disco action.

I wish I had something more interesting to say.  But alas, my brain has turned into plain brown rice.

V Day

Fuck V day!

Today, I stayed in bed until midday.  Got a cab into the centre of Glasgow (Which was just round the corner...) with Dev, who got recognised by the cabby as 'that bloke on soccer am.

Dossed about for a bit.  Stumbled upon the Apple Shop and proceeded to bask in all its crisp white goodness (and steal their wifi).

Dossed about some more.  Bought a Bukowski poetry book and the re-issue of Thriller.

Went to see Babyshambles at the Barrowlands.  What a place!  Not sure how I felt about its clientele like, but the atmosphere was electric.

Got a cab back to the Travelodge (£3.10p).  The end of my V day resulted in me and Pabs sat on the edge of the bed, drinking cheap red wine out of mugs, eating cheese and watching dirty music videos.

Foggy

Today, I trapped our driver's arm in the van door.

I am getting pretty bored of eating cheese and ham sandwiches.  If I ever have to look at cheese and ham, collectively, or individually, ever again.....  I may have to kick off my own face!

I actually managed to fall asleep in the van today.  Which is definitely a first for this tour.  The last time I had my eyes open it was blazing sunshine and I was admiring the sheer magnitude of some crazy bridge we were crossing over - somewhere in Scotland.  Excuse my ignorance.  Then when I woke up,  we were trawling through thick fog, nearing Aberdeen.  Pretty weird.

Anyway, I keep saying this to myself that I need to stop drinking!  But who's gonna turn down a bottle of Scottish Malt Whiskey... NOT I!

Neil Dung

Today has been pretty average to be honest.  The usual slaggery of thinking that pretty much everyone needs to fuck off.  It's becoming a pretty bad band mentality.  Things can get gnarly when you're couped up in a van and sleeping on the sofa in a travelodge.

A trifle deaf

Had a pretty bizarre day today.

Poems, Cider and TV cameras seemed to be the theme of my day.

I'm having some issues with my memory. I keep thinking of things that I'm going to write on this thing, then when it comes down to it. I get a mental block.

So this is an extract from my notebook. Which I wrote after a few Irish Ciders... (In no particular chronology).

"Crazy girl in the poetry place. She just stood up, infront of the crowd and began to put innumerable pieces of bubble gum into her mouth. With which she then proceeded to blow bubbles with said gum. Now, I'm all for art and freedom of expression - But that just weirded me out.

Ok, now the girl who has been sat next to be for the whole time (who i've probably been incessantly annoying with the creaking of my leather jacket), has gotten up and is now doing some poetry about 'perspective'. I like the way she projects herself. It's good. Why am I suddenly into this? She is wearing glasses and a wonderful purple top. I kind of want to play some Sudoku - but that's probably equally as rude as me writing this crap in my notebook.

Mike stole a spoon without realising it. He felt bad, so he thought about taking it back - but didn't. So we ate Emma's trifle in an O'Neils pub."

Birdcagey

Happy Saturday... or Sunday? I'm not quite sure what day it is. I was convinced it was Sunday when I opened my bleary eyes this morning. The sun was shining though, which was nice.

Anyway, I'm gonna go with Saturday.

Old man pubs are the future. If you've never visited The Birdcage in Hackney/Shoreditch - you haven't LIVED! Proper east end pub.

The Old Blue last makes me feel weird. Why is everyone into dance music these days? How very queer. Whatever happened to kids dancing to 'Last night' by the Strokes?

Golden Eyes

Landan town is great.  I love it.  But not the night buses.  Man, they dry me out.

Having a shit boring job has made/forced me to rediscover my love for drawing really crap inanimate objects.  Mainly things that are on my desk, such as my phone for example.  Which i'm sure you can agree is very boring.  Also my Welsh mug (Even though I am not Welsh, I don't know why I even have this mug.  Possibly for comedy value - not that being Welsh is of any comedic value..) and those weird stationary holder things.  Which house paperclips, spare change and other office paraphernalia.

Just recently, I have become completely obsessed with rubbish 80s Power Pop.  The fact that it's so rubbish actually makes it so so good!  I also can't stop listening to Golden Eye by Tina Turner.

Get on it!