Easter in Aberdeen was followed by a raucous evening in Glasgow where we saw an entire audience JUMP for the first time. It has happened every evening since and it makes my heart soar. We became Travelodge pros, carrying a ludicrous collection of meals that can be cooked with a mug and a kettle. That reminds me, confession time: in Birmingham I set a kettle on fire. That everyone wasn't evacuated due to a fire alarm was a blessing from the gods of tea. Whoops.
I'm getting ahead of myself. After Glasgow we made the dreaded drive to London and settled into a familiar homestead before hyperventilating about the evening's show in The Borderline. Gary summed up the evening wonderfully in his blog, so I'll spare the nervy details, but we were so happy with how it went. I completely teared up afterwards just thinking about how connected we all are. 'We' now referring to us, and to you who came to see us, and to the ripple of people that surround us when we throw such musical stones into such rivers. Our late night van talks have wandered on to the topic of beginnings with regards to YouTube and music, and when I'm playing piano I'll look up at my better half and at Gary, and I know how many audiences of three people they've played to in the past, and how the timeline begins before YouTube's creators had even been to that blimmin' zoo. I'm incredibly proud and incredibly grateful to be allowed to tag along and collect these memories on a dented disposable camera.
Birmingham was a bit of a gift after London. I knew that no nerves could compare to that of London, so I was a bit more relaxed and surrounded by lovely people (I finally got to meet Ariel Bissett and was reunited with Danny Gruff!) Two wonderful tweeters, Charlotte and Juliet, gifted me with a book of every piece of writing I've ever published online. I'm not sure what the intended reaction was, but I haven't blushed that hard since I found out Brian texted our sound engineer instead of me a few nights ago. My writing is usually focused on a fleeting moment, moments that I struggle to recall when I re-read words written by my seventeen year old self. And yet, sometimes those fleeting moments full of feeling can hold on to you and read as clearly as the day they were written. Reflections on cancer diagnoses, Alzheimer's evil, heartbreak and lust sit ageing on the pages of my 'book' and look so small and long ago but still hold a lot of emotional power over me. Maybe I need to write more terrible poetry.
Yesterday, as we talked Dodie through the pros and cons of getting a 19 years and 364 days old tattoo, we talked about how there will be a time in the future when she looks back on a time she was travelling the country with her friends, making a LIVING out of doing cool, fun stuff, and she will be mindblown. Her tiny tattoo forced her to pause and say 'woah, this is happening' and I hope it continues to make her remember how this feels for many years to come. For me, it is these scribbles of commemoration, and poorly framed disposable snapshots, and texts to my mother that read 'We are beaming' that allow me to prolong these fleeting moments for many's a year to come.
But I think I'd like a tattoo, too.
Thank you for reading, and thanks especially if you've been to see us on tour.