or this one, seeing as it is the first part of a tour I am following since I picked this blog back up in July and since the pandemic, really, I have decided to keep up with my somewhat spontaneous writing streak and go with some sort of diary situation, but with live music sprinkled all over.

About three years ago, I discovered American metalcore outfit Thousand Below on the Impericon Never Say Die Tour. Doors were at four in the afternoon and, seeing as it was a Sunday, I was free, so I turned up early and was absolutely blown away inside a half-empty Koko. Since then, it's been three years of waiting, of religiously listening to the band's two records, 2017's The Love You Let Too Close and 2019's Gone In Your Wake, and hoping for anything to happen on my side of the world. Sometime in the middle of this nonsensical hellhole that has been 2020 and 2021, a European tour supporting Sweden's very own Normandie was announced, and here I was, planning adventures in fun places like Copenhagen, Prague, or Eindhoven. COVID hit again, in the form of the mainland Europe leg of the tour being postponed to next spring, sans Thousand Below, the day after I looked up flights to Denmark. By this point, the UK shows, the only ones that were still going on as and when and with the correct line-up, had already been sold out for months, and here I was, back to basics, back on my bullshit, planning to attend a fully sold-out tour, very largely for the support band, and without a single ticket in sight.

After much planning and deciding on my end (I am far from being sensational at decision-making, and my sense of guilt is over-developed when I feel like I should be doing something, and I can't in the end), on Friday morning, I jumped on a ten-hour coach from Paris to London. See, I don't mind long journeys at all. I flew to Australia and back, two years ago, and I was absolutely fine with being on a plane for twenty-five hours, even though I was craving fresh air by the end of it. (Side note, a layover in China is not a prime location for oxygen. The sky was pollution yellow when we landed in Guangzhou.) I know I won't get bored, and I can bring lots of things to occupy myself, from books to embroidery kits. 

But I hadn't missed sitting ten hours in uncomfortable seats and having the man in front of me push both of his seats back, leaving me with next to no legroom. (I pushed one of the seats back with my knee. You don't mess with 2021 me.) As planned, I wasn't bored. I read the best part of a novel for the first part of the journey and actively listened to music (more on that later). On the ferry, I stitched while listening to one of my favourite podcasts, and here I started feeling inspired on an artistic level. I always do when I'm travelling. I stitch in ferries, coaches, and trains. A sizeable chunk of my luggage is dedicated to art and journaling supplies. When in Melbourne, I would wake up every morning at six, sit up in bed, and write. Being on the road, anywhere in the world, sparks my inspiration in ways nothing else ever does. I'm going back home from this trip with, at the time of writing, three iPhone notes full of future projects I am excited to start- the results of the aforementioned "active music listening." There will be moments when music is just a pretty soundtrack. There will also be moments when I will listen to every word and see where my mind wanders. Most of the time, creative endeavours.

[ If anyone likes a good podcast, there you go ]

There is camaraderie found in strange places, one of which is long-distance travel. Following the pandemic, paperwork to travel to the United Kingdom has become stressful at best, and the check-in process at the coach station was the longest I've ever seen. As it turned out, everyone on the coach set out to help each other and, by the time we reached Calais and got our passports checked three times, we were all politely chatting. The girl in front of me had the same voice as someone I know, which proved disturbing every time she phoned someone. The guy behind me informed me he had a professional phone call, and I found myself rooting for a complete stranger, even though I had no clue what he talked about in said call- I am not tech-savvy and I think he was an engineer of some sort.

After I reached London, I met up with my friend Diane, who is following part of Trash Boat's UK tour. We ended up in Pizza Express for food and, I guess it's the time of this post where I praise the country for vegan and vegetarian options in restaurants. Living in rural France when you're a vegetarian is a testing experience, to say the least. The only thing I'm asking from McDonald's is a half-decent veggie burger (not a cheese wrap, not a salad, not an Egg McMuffin), and if I see another goat's cheese and honey anything anywhere, I will set fire to something and yes, this is a threat. Pizza Express does a banging vegan pizza with jackfruit pepperoni and fake mozzarella, and it's not even more expensive than traditional options. Those kinds of things make me so happy I could cry.
(Yes, I am aware I could simply not go to large fast-food chains. Again, I live in rural France, and the nearest towns are in working-class areas. I'm not exactly spoilt for choice.)
Euston Station used to be a second home of sorts when I lived in England. I used to live in Watford, and I have taken the Northampton and Milton Keynes Central lines one too many times. If I never set foot on a late Saturday service full of drunk, middle-aged, white men screaming Wonderwall and banging on the windows again, it'll still be too soon. Unsurprisingly, every Wembley Central service was cancelled, so here I traipsed on the tube and across all of Wembley after ten pm. (The stadium lights weren't even on.) 

The next morning, I treated myself to a cup of tea and biscuits, like the middle-aged lady I am at heart, and went around the charity shops of Wembley High Road before heading to Victoria Coach Station. I hope every band on the planet knows that if I ever come to see them in Southampton via Victoria Coach Station, it's a declaration of love of the highest order. In my Instagram post relating to the show, I called Southampton one of the seven circles of hell, and not even the nice shopping centre can change my mind. (Though it is very nice. I like Westquay.) Victoria Coach Station has to be another one of those hellish corners of the world, right? (Alongside Gare Du Nord and Châtelet Les Halles, in Paris.) Why else would I have seen a woman floss in public with something I am positive was not dental floss? The coach journey was pretty nondescript, as usual, I read, and I stitched, and I had lunch, and here I reached Southampton at 4pm, still without a ticket to tonight's show. I kept checking out all of my social media and still found nothing. I decided to go out to get food and treat myself to a peach wine spritz, because why the hell not and, on the way back to my hotel, I checked my phone and saw someone had tweeted me, offering me their spare ticket for free. I couldn't believe my luck! I went to get ready (pro tip, spray to cover up roots is a horrible, horrible thing and, at the time of writing, I cannot wait to wash my hair) and power walked to the venue when I couldn't get an Über. (I'm not trying to be precious or anything in my use of taxis, I'm just petrified of the large rodent population of Southampton. Not a joke, just a phobia.) My friend for the night was called Tom and was great company, and I had a brilliant time and a lot of luck.
I guess Saturday was a bones day.

The first support act of the night was Caskets, which I had never heard of before, but I knew I was interested as soon as I saw their merch table. See, I like an original merch spread and, if you turn up with tarot cards as part of your items, I need to know more about you. (Same if you have household items of some sort. Give me those mugs!) At this time, I have no idea what the cards are for and how they relate to the band's music (or lyrics, one can imagine), but they drew me in immediately. Their performance was fun and energetic, and there was a large number of singalongs in the Joiners that night. I have downloaded one of their albums on Spotify to listen to on the journey back to London, so, from my point of view, I'd call this first set a success.
I got closer to the front for Thousand Below and...you know what? I don't use live music to fill the void anywhere anymore, but the joy I feel when I see one of my favourite bands walk on a stage and start playing is unmatched. I couldn't shake the stupid grin off my face for the whole set, and nothing compares to hearing songs you've been listening to for the past two to three years being played live. Thousand Below are just as brilliant on a stage as I remember them to be from the Never Say Die Tour, and it's as big a joy to watch them perform as it is for them to be on a stage. A little while back, I tweeted the band, as a joke, something along the lines of "How much is it going to cost me to hear The Love You Let Too Close live?" and one of them replied "Just the price of a ticket." And I can confirm it only cost me turning up in Southampton to hear my favourite song live. I know what I said about hell and its circles, but it was worth it. I sort of jumped in the pit, hoop earrings, tears and all, and gave my all to that bridge like I'd been waiting my whole damn life for it. At the end of a set concluded by the excellent alone (out of my head), I was still a bit emotional and shaking like a leaf. And, as I found since I came back to live music in the wake of that virus we don't want to hear about anymore, this is the best feeling in the world.
A few minutes before Normandie is meant to start playing, frontman Philip Strand walks on stage and apologises as he has lost his voice and might not be able to play to the best of his ability tonight, which resulted in their performance being cut short. I have first seen Normandie on Yellowcard's farewell tour, in 2016, then at Download Festival in 2017, and then headlining in London, a show which I'd mostly attended to see William Ryan Key, formerly of Yellowcard. (Both bands are good friends if I am not mistaken.) However, my most vivid memory of any of their sets, apart from thinking "that band's good" was them congratulating the audience on the results of the general election at Download Festival and being met with confused silence. (The June 2017 GE saw the Conservative Party remain in power, even though they lost part of their majority, if I understood correctly. I'll put the band's error on the fact that they are Swedish, British politics are confusing to say the least, and that comes from someone who had an English civilisation module in her degree.) Southampton marks my fourth time seeing the Swedes, and the two main thoughts I had were a, if this man has lost his voice, how come he can bust out a high note like that, and b, I have only listened to one of their albums once, how come I know the words to half of these songs? Turning up for shows mostly for the support act can be a tricky situation, but I suppose there could be much worse headliners than Normandie to have to watch every night. Much, much worse.

At the time of writing, it is Sunday, and I am waiting for my coach back to London. (I hadn't realised my hotel check out was at 10am, my coach is just before 2pm.) I didn't fancy walking around with my luggage, so I have been sitting down in Costa for the past hour and a bit, writing this around an iced latte with coconut milk. After this, I guess I'll eat the sandwich I didn't have for dinner last night and head to some charity shops in search of a red blazer for my Halloween costume.
I chose honesty for this post. I sometimes feel insecure having hobbies that are not being stuck to my phone screen in public. I feel like people look at me when I get a book out of my bag (not a Kindle, a plain old book made out of paper, a lot of the time in French because they're all I have access to in my neck of the woods), let alone a laptop to write or an embroidery kit. It's crazy how normal hobbies can make you feel insecure sometimes, because they are not the norm. Most people don't whip out fabric, floss, and needles on the train. Oh well. Again, no one messes with 2021 me, I guess. I've been thinking of writing a post like this since I knew I would be attending these shows, and I thought it would be something closer to "tricks and tips when you're following a tour" than this long-winded diary entry with live reviews in places. And to honour my original thoughts, here are some tips and tricks for when you're following tours.

- If you can, don't take the first coach or train out in the morning. Sleep. These things will get tiring.

- Get a good backpack. (Mine's from the hunting section of a popular sports chain where I'm from, it was relatively cheap, and it's perfect.) 

- Tea is your best friend. Travelodge is your best friend. Spray to cover up roots is your worst enemy.

- Make an itinerary for where you're going.

- If you tend to have mental health issues, mostly anxiety, try to incorporate some of your everyday life habits even though you're away from home just so you don't lose your footing. (Mine range from spending time alone to making space in my day to be a little creative.)

- Eat well and drink water regularly. Don't be like me, who automatically gets heavily dehydrated at least once. By eating well, I mean eat whatever you like, I'm not the healthy food police, but, you know. From experience, chips for breakfast and dinner won't ever do you any favours, and that's me saying that.

- If you're using a bumbag at the shows, don't put the clip on your back. It's safer to have it in front (and, if that's any relevant to you, no one can unclip it when you're crowdsurfing.)

- Document that stuff. All of it. Write, post on social media, take pictures, text your friends, whatever. Keep memories.

Before I got on the coach, I went into the aforementioned charity shops. I did not find the red blazer, so I changed my Halloween costume, but I found a pretty kickass Royal Blood tour shirt, and Lily Allen's book My Thoughts Exactly. (Just prior to entering the shop where I found it, I was in WH Smith, saw it, and thought I'd love to read it, as I love Lily Allen. It's crazy to me that I would find it on the next shop I step foot in, and only for one singular Great British pound.) At five in the afternoon, I touched down in London Victoria, jumped on the tube to King's Cross, and the first thing I did when I got into the Travelodge was to go for a shower and wash as much root spray off my hair as possible. (The amount of times I have washed my hands off its residue during this trip is unbelievable. Surely, it had to be some sort of record.) After making myself look somewhat decent, I headed to the Islington Academy, another place that has basically been home for the past few years, especially when I lived in Watford.

The queuing process felt like it lasted for hours, and the number of people who had turned up without their COVID passes, getting tested beforehand, or getting vaccinated altogether was befuddling. Didn't we come close enough to losing that thing you're here for? I sort of have to commend the venue staff for having lateral flows tests on hand, I suppose. I joined my friend Am upstairs and missed a little bit of Caskets but, as I had the night before, enjoyed what I saw very much. The singalongs from the crowd are so impressive that my first thought is that "they must be from around here," but as it turns out, they are from Yorkshire, so I'm guessing it's just sheer talent. Part of this tour felt like awesome bands sprouting out of nowhere, and somehow having several hundred people singing along to their music.
I loved it.
I briefly caught up with my friend Tosca, saw my friend Emily for the first time since the pandemic hit, and then, headed downstairs for Thousand Below. Shockingly, every once in a while, I like staying at the back or on the sides for shows. (Joiners had CHAIRS at the back. It was great.) But not during the band I have travelled for, and not when those three main support sets are something I have waited three years for. In London, the moshpits start during the first song, and I jump headfirst, as usual. I am also the first person to crowdsurf for the night, during The Love You Let Too Close, and security is taken aback, to say the least. And it was a great time. I appreciate the intention of the guy who offered to swap spots with me during No Place Like You, so I wouldn't get hit by the people in the pit, but I think he and I both knew he wouldn't have said that to a guy. I guess that's what happens when you're the only girl in a moshpit. Oh, well. Thousand Below are fantastic, meeting frontman James Deberg at merch afterwards was a great moment, our picture together is hilarious, and playing The Love You Let Too Close immediately followed by No Place Like You was kinda rude to my emotions, but I'll allow it.
Sometime during Normandie's set, which is the planned length in London, and which they explain is their biggest ever, I start wondering about one thing. Who are the people who listen to Normandie? How did a group of Swedish men become the kind of band who sell out a whole UK tour, including a thousand capacity venue, months in advance? Surely, touring with Yellowcard (who broke up five years ago) and Hands Like Houses (who have never been that big) doesn't make one scene famous? What did I miss? Who is the target audience? What's the demography? And I mean that with absolutely no disrespect, only curiosity. Have I missed out on a big tour they would have done? Is it because we collectively love Sweden as a society? (Also, as found out through research, why did no one inform me that frontman Philip Strand had contributed to a Eurovision song? That's the kind of fact that's right up my alley.)
On another note- Holy Water is a straight-up banger and has been stuck in my head for the past almost week.

At the end of the show, we run into some of Am's friends, head to merch, where I purchase a cool Caskets pin (if you know me, you know I'm a sucker for things I can put on jackets), spot one of my old team leaders at the merch table, and then, we head to the back of the venue in an attempt to meet people. See, I remembered the Islington Academy being something of a ballache when it came to meeting band members, I remembered having to go all the way around the block because security staff simply will not let you go in a straight line down, but I had never seen the "designated waiting area" they now have. Is this new?
We end up not meeting anyone, but I make new friends and I have a great time, so, who cares. Emma and Callum, this one goes out to you.

On Monday morning, I leave the cosy Travelodge room (I swear this is not sponsored content, though if they wanted to, I'm down- I just really love Travelodge) and head to Victoria Coach Station, yet again, to make my way to Birmingham. If every other journey had been comfortable and convenient enough, this cannot be said about this specific trip. Upon embarking, I notice a large and somewhat loud family group and decide to let them in first so I can then sit as far away from them as possible. (Disclaimer: I'm not mean about families and children, an overload of noises and voices can trigger panic attacks.) And I think I'm fine until we reach the Finchley Road stop and a second family group, larger and louder, sit all around me. The sound of their voices and iPad games sometimes grew louder than my headphones, and I had to step on discarded Skittles as I left the coach. For someone like me, this was the journey from hell.
Oh, well.
I don't know what kind of relationship I have in Birmingham. The wildlife situation being somewhat similar to Southampton's, I cannot say the Midlands city is my favourite place in the world, but I have to admit it is convenient, in the middle of everything, and it has a Tim Hortons café, which is always going to be an advantage. (For future reference, the presence of at least one Tim Hortons per tour is a requirement on my end. What's the point of going to the United Kingdom if I can't have a slightly-too-sweet Iced Capp with coconut milk?) After reading whatever All Time Low thought they were doing with that statement and getting ready, I head into the heart of the city for a well-deserved stop at Spoons (everyone in the scene will tell you, is it really following a tour if you don't go to Spoons?) and then, find my way to Mama Roux's without getting lost, which is a first. 

I have only been to Mama Roux's twice (both times in 2018, to see Mallory Knox, then With Confidence), and I can confidently say it is one of my favourite venues in the country. It is the perfect size for a good show, and it looks so lovely and quirky. The show opens with Caskets and, from my tiny corner, the only spot I could find in a packed and undeniably sold-out room, I can see the waves this band will be making in the future. This could have been their own headliner. The singalongs are deafening, especially considering they are the first band of the night, and everyone knows who they are. They sound as tight and fantastic as always, and I'm ridiculously happy I got a new band to fall in love with out of this three-day adventure. That's the best part of doing stupid things and following tours and going to shows early: you get new music out of it. You get to be swept off your feet three times around. Caskets are amazing, and I can't wait for the future.
About half an hour later, Thousand Below takes the stage for the last time of the tour, and a part of me starts feeling the end-of-an-adventure blues, last-day-of-summer melancholy, like, this is it, tomorrow, I'm not watching one of my favourite bands again. Outside of me being a raging emotional idiot, I have the best time during the third instalment of Only Girl In The Pit, a series by me, about my life. (Disclaimer: there's another girl who joins in about halfway through the set.) As I did the first times, I give everything I have to The Love You Let Too Close, I have a bit of a crying moment, I sing along really awfully, I dance equally awfully, and I have the best time. At the end of the night, the jacket I have made to celebrate one of my favourite albums and song gets a bit of a moment and a conversation, and, spoiler alert, I leave Mama Roux's a happy bunny.
(Honestly, I am so sorry to anyone who saw me dance, for lack of a better word, to Disassociate. I just don't know how to move sometimes.)
Finally, Normandie come up for their last show of the tour, and though still confused as to why they have become this popular, material for endless singalongs, I join in and enjoy the ride. (Also, I have discovered between the London and Birmingham shows that I have seen them support Hands Like Houses at the Asylum in 2018, which had entirely slipped my mind.) And, as usual, if you know me, even just a little bit, someone on stage asking for either crowdsurfing or moshpits is always going to be kryptonite and, after a quiet but decided "Fuck it," more to myself than anything, I jump in for the end of Holy Water. (I guess the track is now perpetually stuck in my head.) At the London show, frontman Philip Strand had informed the crowd he did not want a wall of death and, at the Birmingham show, he asked the people on the balcony to start a moshpit. It was probably a health and safety hazard, but aren't all the best nights?

On Tuesday, I finally treat myself to a Tim Hortons Iced Capp, I jump in yet another Flixbus service back to London, I sit down at St. Pancras station, waiting for my late Eurostar, I briefly catch up with my lovely friend Tosca, and I head home, slightly broken outside, but more than happy inside. On my wishlist for the future? Another Thousand Below tour, and maybe for the back of my leg to stop looking like I've barbecued it. (I burnt myself by accident on the radiator in my hotel room in London.) 

Also, as a final note! Do we remember the part about the hobbies and the insecurities? I embroidered on the Eurostar while listening to a podcast, just like I do back home. It was great. 

And, since we're on the subject of podcasts, have a listen to the Good Noise Podcast episode featuring Homesafe's Ryan Rumchaks and Tyler Albertson.