Rat Tale (Sorry Andy Taylor)

Chapter 2

After a little while, I felt I could return to my feet again, and I used the wall to assist me. While doing that, I realised I now had terrible blisters on my hands from carrying the equipment all that way. It was the final insult, since it would really affect my guitar playing, and it appeared to be Eric's parting gift to me. Karma, I guess.

There was still no sign of Mick. I felt awful about leaving him, but he was pretty big, so he wouldn't struggle with his own equipment. I couldn't let it worry me too much. Besides, I had more important things to worry about, like finding a new drummer as soon as possible, so that the tour wouldn't be called off, and I wouldn't go homeless and hungry.

I sighed. Me and my big mouth, eh?

Once again, I resumed my endless trek, in the vague direction of home, but I realised as I was walking that I didn't much fancy stewing on my thoughts, alone in my flat. My roommate wouldn't be there, he worked on a Saturday. Instead, I changed my course so I'd veer toward the cheapest cafe the city had to offer. Much to my disgust, I knew that nowhere would be selling alcohol so early in the day, which got on my already sensitive nerves. I could really do with a pint right now.

After what felt like an eternity I saw the end of the industrial estate, like the light at the end of the tunnel. I wanted to run towards it with all the energy I had left, but my stupid guitar was weighing me down, so I had to walk, which wasn't quite so dramatic. My relief was immeasurable as I emerged from the crucible of the estate. Out on the grass it was far cooler, and I revelled in it for a few seconds before I set off again. Holding all this equipment, I was both suspicious AND a target - someone could make easy money off my possessions.

By the time I arrived at the cafe, I was absolutely gasping for a drink, and so starving I could've eaten the wires and guitar case I'd been carrying. Though I didn't fancy the amp quite yet.

The line in front of me moved fairly quickly, but it didn't occupy my racing mind enough for my liking. But maybe the issue of Melody Maker I could see in the newspaper rack would. I seized it, and paid for it with the rest of my order when I eventually reached the front.

Later, sitting at the cheap-looking plastic table, and shovelling the slightly soggy bacon bap into my mouth, I flipped through the pages of my magazine. Most of it was standard reading, but I couldn't get enough of the new wave stuff they were talking about. Something about it just... hooked me. The nightclubs and discos looked a lot more glamorous than warehouses and old men's clubs I'd been playing, and they seemed to play their OWN songs. That was pretty foreign for me. I mean, it's not like I hadn't written any of my own stuff, but I certainly didn't have an opportunity to play it. But there was no scene like that whatsoever in Northumberland.

When I turned the page, I saw that a few bands were looking for new members. Most of them wanted drummers (that made me tense up again), who were in short supply, but I saw one that wanted a guitarist. All the way down in Birmingham.

"That's my contingency plan, then," I sniggered to myself under my breath. Yeah, in my DREAMS maybe.

I shut the magazine with a loud slap - that was enough fantasising for one day.