We’ve had some monstrous drives on this Prince Tour, you know. One of them – Dublin to Oslo – required five drivers to get the truck there without stopping. Now, I never know whether this sort of information is as dull as dishwater and you’d rather I shut up. Or mildly fascinating because I’m taking you behind the scenes on a pop tour? I’ll risk it..
Briefly then, my man, Number Two – also known as Rasputin, Catweasel or Frankenstein due to an unfathomably large forehead – drove with me from Dublin to Ashford (near Dover). Number Two then dived into a hotel and took a train home the next morning; I took a cab over to a hotel at Gatwick, then flew to Oslo.
Long Distance Trucking
Meanwhile, a couple of chappies had hopped in the lorry and hoofed it up to Copenhagen non-stop. They jumped ship there and flew home – no doubt after a rowdy afternoon in the hotel bar – while another man drove the remaining eight hours to Oslo. Interesting? No, I shan’t bother going through all that again. But it’s good to be aware that it’s not all glamour. That said, I had a very jolly time in Oslo, thank you very much..
Well, let’s forward wind to the next show: the 10-Æren Festival in Copenhagen. Now, generally, nobody in the industry likes working at festivals – flip flops caked in mud, a foul stench from the slop buckets, trucks enveloped in dust etc. – but this one was reasonably groovy.
For a start, it was at Amager Beach. OK, yes, there was the odd female naturist on the four-kilometre island, but the big draw really was swimming in the protected lagoon. Oh, and mini-golf, kite surfing and ice-creams. And all within view of the Copenhagen – Malmo Bridge, an engineering marvel.
(Actually, the bridge, while awfully impressive, is the bane of my life; my blasted office has done some deal so I have to use it instead of the jolly little 15-minute Helsingor – Helsingborg ferry. Extra driving, coupled with fewer cups of tea aboard ships, can only be a bad thing in my book. Still, I shan’t harp on..)
Music? No thanks..
Back at the Festival stage there was a great line-up of performers for the afternoon, a veritable feast of great music. ‘No, I won’t come and watch,’ said Princess stoutly. ‘I don’t like music.’ Eh? What a thing to say! How can somebody not like music?
‘I’ve had too much of it in my life,’ he explained. ‘It’s all just the same thing over and over again. “Wooo, I miss you baby”. Then a little solo [here he mimicked a guitarist] and then “Wooo, baby, I miss you.” See what I mean? They just change it round a bit.’ I did try to get a definitive answer on Mahler’s Third Symphony but some chips arrived and we ran out of time.
Anyway, ghastly louse that he is, he mooched off, socks pulled up to his knees, in search of more Kitkats. Oh, and here he is impersonating a mutual friend’s girlfriend – I think it’s supposed to be a rubber doll. Honestly, the sooner I get home the better…