International Mile High Club attempt/ London part uno

As I boarded the plane to play a one-off festival in  London England I instantly realized that maybe the little band we started in the basement of our shack in Edmonton might actually be doing something right. Maybe.

In the wake of the airline giving our flights to people on standby due to a rookie (terrible) tour manager unable to read a 24 hour clock and making us extremely late, we parted ways with our TM as well as our sound guy as a compromise for the loss of seats, the band was to fly direct to Gatwick and the two crew were connecting in Frankfurt, then London.

No problem, it's a night flight and we'll wake up across the pond. I find my seat and to my dismay it's the middle. I am less than enthused (I'm an aisle guy) and am counting the seconds til we get this stupid thing off the ground and the drink cart comes around. I am nestling into my seat for the boring 8 hour flight when it seems the good Lord decided to bless me this fine eve, with two college chicks sitting on either side of me. HMmMmM maybe this flight won't be too bad eh? We chat about the usual boring topics for who knows how long, then we're in the air the liquor began to work it's elusive magic. It's been my personal experience and extensive field research results that college chicks more often than not bring up the proposal of a threesome. At this particular point in time/life I couldn't imagine a better way to spend a night flight. However, if you've ever been on a plane you know how tricky the membership to the Mile High Club is to obtain. So naturally we start discussing variables and logistics and the sheer audacity of the fact that not only am I attempting this with one girl, I'm swinging for the fence with two girls. I can't even fit into a regular plane bathroom ALONE so this will take some serious skill. I would estimate we are around 10 minutes to pulling the trigger on making a naked clown car out of the plane's bathroom when my head starts feeling really heavy, and a cartoon lightbulb figuratively appeared above my drowsy head reminding me that I had taken a sleeping pill (or two) before takeoff. It was like when you open the lid on the washing machine mid cycle and it slowly winds down eventually to a depressing halt. That was me physically and verbally. Booze, sleeping pills, and an overnight flight is a recipe where all signs point to absolute lights out.

I awake the following morning to drool all over me (mine) and my originally gorgeous but not quite as beautiful as the liquor had me believe last night college girls in the unforgiving morning light. Not a word was spoken, a reoccurring theme with the morning after a (attempted) threesome.

I hustle off the plane to meet up with the band mates and proceed to wait in line in hell on earth also known as Gatwick airport. After picking up our bags and instruments we are then escorted by officials into a holding cell/room/hallway. It seems our TM had all our visas and festival contract documents blah blah and emailed contracts I had on my phone were not sufficient for entry into this fine country. So we wait. And wait we did. Hours were moving at a snail's pace so naturally we camped out and slept. Our saving grace turned out to be the High Chancellor from the Canadian embassy calling the airport officials to confirm our intentions in the England land. Hark the High Chanceller sings.

We make our way out to the common area and are greeted by our driver/runner/festival worker. Taking pity on us and our unfortunate ordeal he offers to buy us lunch, snacks, booze etc since it's still a bit of a drive to London. We load up on all the sandwiches and pre mixed booze drinks that the airport convenience store had available. Settling into our transport vehicle we dive into said pre mixed drinks and are promptly disgusted. We drink em anyway. Short naps and horrible forced conversations melt away the commute and we are finally in the jewel of London, the Crown Plaza in Shoreditch.

Now, a crucial detail of this part of the story is that this festival worker dude put down his credit card for ALL incidentals at the hotel. If you're not a degenerate then this means nothing to you but in our eyes this was the equivalent to a room service goldmine. We figure out our room situation and by some shrewd manipulation I end up with my own private room, where everyone else had shared rooms. Chalk one up to me playing the man.

Immediately I/we crack our mini bars and begin pre gaming, I was alone but I mean I'm assuming that's what everyone else was doing. We assemble the posse and begin to make our way down to the hotel lobby, but not without first informing the hotel staff as well as putting our own personal touch (newlyweds package) on our crew's room as they had not arrived yet, but would very soon to champagne, chocolates and a heart made out of robes on the bed. It's around 7pm at this point and we are champing at the bit, jet lag and all for a night out in London (our show was the next day so tonight we party). Quick stop at the lobby bar for some who-knows-why Jagermeister shots, which I quickly offered to foot the bill for but I was abruptly stopped by Aaron our more experienced in the ways of the world drummer and he said an infamous line to the bartender I'll never forget: "we'll charge these to the room". Genius.

We head out into the early-ish evening and find ourselves in a park, with tons of people/hippies hanging out drinking in public and having an all around good old English time. A quick stop at the liquor store and we are assimilating with locals, Pat our lead singer who is already 17 sheets to the wind drops this pearl of information: "that guy is looking at us and making fun of us *pointing to random guy sitting down in the park* I'M GOING TO DROP KICK HIM IN THE BACK!" 

Moving on. We find a bar that looked lively and settle in. Roughly an hour later, to our surprise, in walks our tour manager and sound guy. Completely baffled they were able to find us (our phones didn't work there) we ask how In the wide world they did it, their response: "well, we asked the front desk guy at the hotel which bar within walking distance had the prettiest girls".

...to be continued.  

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Daniel