FOR TOMORROW, damon albarn

02 worldwide

NOVEMBER 1995

Tour was supposedly meant to be one of the most romantic, enthralling experiences of a musician's life. But as Annette Meadows finished her third performance, she found herself sitting in her dressing room on her own with her head in her hands and her knees to her chest. The show was brilliant. According to critic reviews in The Sun, her performance in Italy was 'out of this world' and 'just like her song, she's worldwide'.

Annette wasn't particularly vocal when it came to her feelings, as she always delved into that part of her mind through song. Even her brother could barely understand what was going in the crazy mind of hers. Sometimes he wanted to peel away her scalp, grab a scalpel, and cut through each thought, cut through each emotion and find the truth.

"Great show. Even better that Italy. I think being in your home country must have given you some extra luck because that was fantastic." Mike entered the dressing room with a huge grin on his tiny face. His pearly white teeth glowed under the dim lanterns hanging from the ceiling. A half-drunk bottle of wine was on the counter. Annette was sat on the lilac, soft chair with eyes on the floor and her layered hair falling perfectly over her face. She was a beautiful nightmare; almost Dracula-like with her puffy eyes, sharp teeth, and a droplet of red wine in the corner of her mouth.

Mike came towards her with anxious steps. He could hear the echoes of his boots crashing against the ground and wondered if the poor girl was even awake. He somehow had the most terrifying thought that she was dead; that possibly everything got too much for her and she just-

"Mike?" She slurred, her words too heavy for her mouth. She could almost feel herself being pulled into the ground and she kind of wanted to be swallowed whole by the linoleum floor.

"There's someone here to see you," Mike said after a moment. "But, I can shoo him out if you want? You could use a good night's sleep. I'll call a taxi?"

"Who is it?" She yawned and dragged her body up from the seat, picking up her coat. She slid her hands through the sleeves as she took another swig of wine.

Mike took the bottle from her hands with a stern look on his face. He always saw Annette in her worst state and wondered whether this tour was doing her any good. On stage, she was a force to be reckoned with, but in that room with her head slung down and her eyebags prominent, she just looked like a young girl drowning in the stress of life.

He finally said, "Damon Albarn. I don't know why he's here. I'll tell him to leave..."

Annette grabbed his arm and gave him a playful punch. "I'm fine. I can talk to him."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

The door opened with a screeching sound. It definitely hadn't been oiled in months. There, with flowers in his hands and a smile, was Damon Albarn. She hadn't seen him in a month, since their little walk in the caravan park. She had decided to not go to the after-party, seeing as she was tired out of her mind, but she gave him a short call to ask him about his day. It was most definitely not an excuse to hear the comforting tone of his voice and his warm chuckle and his incoherent murmurs. She had better things to do than to visualise what his room looked like or how messy his hair was after a long day. Those thoughts never crossed her mind.

Light from the corridor seeped in, along with that annoyingly beautiful face. His hair had been swept to the side by the cool winter wind. He tugged his jacket close to his chest and clutched onto the bouquet of blue flowers in his hand in an attempt to warm himself up.

Mike left the room with a perplexed expression.

"'Ello," Annette said. "I didn't expect you'd be here. Did you watch the show?"