Spin For You [Peterick]

-19-

Patrick,

I'd planned it all out so well.

You'd slept through the whole morning and lunchtime, and only after Joe bellowed at you to get the fuck up, did you groan and slowly pull yourself out of sleep. Watching you get out of bed is like watching someone try to swim through treacle. First you roll over and doze for like an hour, then after someone shouts at you again, you sit up, usually smacking your head on the ceiling in the process. Serves you right for insisting on having the top bunk. Then you just kinda stay there, all bundled up in your duvet, your face sticking out of the top, looking a bit like a meringue, your hair fluffed all over the place. Then there's complaints, more groaning and some cursing, and you unwrap yourself from the cocoon and wobble down the ladder, landing on the floor with a thump and rubbing your eyes. Then you might stumble into the kitchen and get breakfast, or take a shower.

On this particular morning, well, afternoon, Joe was pretty pissed because it was gone three o'clock and he really wanted to go look round this record store, so he made you skip breakfast and nagged you to get changed as quickly as possible. I couldn't really blame him, the day was nearly over, and the manager's kid was arriving later, so we were enjoying some alone time while we could. I mean, three, Patrick, really? I'd already been out to the town twice, once to do laundry and the second time to get some stuff I knew I'd need for the plan. Joe had cleaned like the entire bus at least three times waiting for you, and I had no idea where Andy was. He usually liked to get up and workout when we got breaks like this, so we probably wouldn't see him 'till later. He's one of those prefers to be out kind of guys.

So anyway, you and Joe were out, Andy was god knows where, and I'd told you guys that I was meeting some friends later on so you wouldn't think I'm a sad lonely loser. Which I am, but that's beside the point.

I'd been to the store earlier, and got a massive bag of food, mostly chips and that special guacamole Joe likes, but I also got some other things. I was all set to make the food you loved. I'd printed off a load of recipes, in readiness for this.

The thing was, after I made those pancakes for you, you didn't stop going on at me to cook more stuff. You were all Pete if I do your laundry can you make me breakfast and no, no, let Pete cook he's so good. I'd spent a good deal of the tour making stuff for everyone, which would have been fine if it was just you, or even just us four, but when you have a whole management team plus some very greedy roadies and a massive bodyguard, it was pretty hard work. Plus, the manager's kid was gonna be one extra mouth to feed. But tonight, that was just about you.

I knew you went crazy for this soup we had a while back in some town east of Chicago, so I hunted down the place and after some very awkward phone calls got the name of it, and with the magic of google found out how to recreate it. Then there were the pumpkin squares, which involved me having to come up with an excuse to get your mum's number and ask for the recipe. I'm pretty sure she now thinks I'm a psychopath. But whatever, it was gonna be so worth it. Finally, I bought this huge tub of hot chocolate powder, and a bag of mini marshmallows, and also a can of squirty cream which I did not use to see what I'd look like with a beard.

So I spent the whole afternoon on the bus, occasionally dashing into town to get something I'd forgotten, cooking your favourite things. I just prayed you wouldn't be home before I'd finished. By late afternoon, I was pretty much done actually cooking, so I spent a stupidly long amount of time arranging the pumpkin squares on the plate in a neat little pile, and tweaking the soup temperature to make sure it was just hot enough for us to eat as soon as you got in the door. Everything smelled so good, the sweet spiced pumpkin smell wafting through the bus and chasing away the whiff of stale sweat. I even set the little table, with the proper type of spoon and everything, god bless Joe's cutlery obsession, sitting us opposite each other.