Travelling in what’s essentially an enclosed sardine tin with other humans over a period of several hours can do strange things to you mentally. We don’t really stretch to the luxury of what could be called a tour bus in TDT, it’s actually a van that’s appropriated for the use of gigging. Old Skool. Like they did back in the day.
Which is fine except that I keep watching BBC4 documentaries of music acts that get flown everywhere, or have individual buses for each band member, and a touch of the green-eyed monster can set in. Now, I doubt that TDT’s current budget stretches to quite that arrangement (although the option to post Barratt via Royal Mail would be hilariously welcome), so it’s just as well that mentally speaking, we as a group are comfortable enough in each other’s continued presence that we don’t feel the need to kill each other before we’ve reached the gig. Having said that, long drives home after the gig has been completed can be an altogether different matter.
I’m talking about snoring. When you’re the driver, and its 3am on a dark motorway with no street lights, your mind and ears notice things. Things that once heard cannot be unheard. The differing pitch and overall timbre of a snore. The differing heart rates and speeds of the various snorees. Its approximately 2 Jones snores for 3 Barratt snores, for example, indicating what I presume is a slightly more robust level of fitness in guitarists over keyboard players. It also seems that one big snore can clear the airway for around 45 seconds or so before the congesting slime re-gathers in the respective airway to begin gurgling along again. I’ll need to conduct a bit more research into discovering just what causes that one big snort that is so gruff that it wakes the snorer, albeit only briefly before they doze back off.
I imagine its probably time to see if we can get the stereo in the van to actually pick up something other than the shipping forecast, before my mind goes into meltdown on those long drives home.