Roadie #42 - Blog #98
24 August 2009 9:26 am
#42 and the awkward delivery
I spent the days off before the Stockholm show putting together some video from the first two big outdoor shows - here it is (don't forget the full screen button on the bottom right) :



For the majority of the European stadium shows, the band are spending the days off at home with their families. Being as I live outside of London, I'm booked into the same London hotel room for the whole month. It's a very spiffy hotel and an excellent room, but all is not well. As any regular traveller will know, failing to observe the Do Not Disturb sign is one of the most basic but heinous crimes a hotel can commit.

Now, getting in at 2am and then winding down for an hour or so, means rising late by normal standards if you want a good night's sleep. Therefore, after several knocks on my (Do Not Disturb adorned) door, followed by a 9am phone call from housekeeping to say "When can we clean your room? Your DND is on." I finally get up with the Mr. Grumpy head on.

I politely inform the gent on the reception desk that unless the hotel is on fire, I really do not wish to be - erm, well - disturbed. No towels, no turndown service, no nothing. I'm very easy to look after indeed. Just give me a bed, a kettle and some wi-fi and I'm happy.

I can't help thinking as I make my way back to the lift, that I've maybe got off on the wrong foot with them. After all, I'm going to be here for another five weeks. The benefit of hotel living though, is anonymity. I'm sure once the lift doors close, I'll just be another nameless body that's staying in the building.

I get back to my room and text Andy Rugg, the band's studio assistant at The Bakery. I need to get some files sent over in order to make some changes to the show at the next gig. He asks how the tour is going and an SMS conversation ensues:

"Any TVs out the window?"
"No, all the transvestites go straight to Franksy's room"

We continue on in this vein until we have created an entire imaginary scenario with a boy band called "Franksy and the Transvestites" who will have this years Christmas number one with a single whose name I probably shouldn't repeat in polite company such as this.

We also manage to organise the job that needs doing and he promises to burn the files to DVD and have them biked across town.

Some hours later, I'm sat at my desk and hear a rustling under the door. Having instructed the front desk not to phone, knock or otherwise disturb me, their only option for contact is pushing a note under the door.

On rather posh headed note-paper, I read the following:

"Dear Sir, A courier has arrived and has delivered two DVDs marked "Franksy and The Transvestites XXX Xmas Special". Please collect them from Concierge when you are able".

Plainly, Ruggsy has handed the disks straight to the courier and they are sitting downstairs with the comedy label clearly readable. I emerge from the lift into reception and am greeted by smirking faces all round. The concierge hands me my disks and wishes me happy viewing.

I head back for the lift feeling somewhat less annonymous...

R#42