Going Dutch

August 23- Jochem is our tour manager. He should hate me by now, for I am the Ugliest American. He’s from Holland and already I’ve asked him in beyond drunken moments what language they speak in his country, and tried to place what nation his accent comes from, guessing Denmark and Germany. Fortunately, he’s the nicest of the nicest and is readily accepting of my ignorance. Ignorant as I may be, I found it rather precious a moment when he was explaining to us his dislike of cooking. He said, “When it comes to food, I have no fantasy.”

Everyone seemed to find his lack of a cooking fantasy a little sad, so we all silently decided to share our own aloud, presumably with the intention of giving one to him. Mine involves my wife and some lingerie and some pan-fried bacon and eggs. Nathaniel made known a certain desire to see a loved-one bathing in a tub of fresh-fruit salad, and carries a list of fruits he’d like to include in his breast pocket. (“So it’s closer to my heart,” he explained.) Dyan apparently has a thing for polenta, and Zachary is a known whipped cream enthusiast.

Upon hearing all this, Jochem turned a little red-in-the-face. “Oh no,” he said. “Not fantasy. I meant I have no imagination for cooking.” Imagination. Then it was our turn to blush.

The music! The show in Brighton was amazing, as was the show tonight at Madame Jojo’s in London. The band are debuting a number of new songs, and all in attendance will agree they’re quite danceable. Now I’m more than slightly tipsy. I’ll try to keep myself in better check tomorrow so as to better recount the day’s proceedings. Oh yes, my dear friend Ollie wished for me to mention him in this diary, so there you have it. Yes yes yes yes.

Xxxooo,

Ben Lee