Blog: Mexican Hangover, No Visas no Geezers, Green green grass…

So Big Jim wanted me to tell you all about Mexico, did he? To be honest, Mexico was all about �hang over� for me. We were all so wasted to begin with, after Los Angeles… Meeting Ado at LAX, I felt pretty sure we were going to have trouble at customs. He had a wild look in his eye and the same kind of deameanour as when I travelled and became inebriated with him from Heathrow to LA on a previous Coloursound voyage. I think we consumed almost 15 bottles of (small) champagne that trip much to the concern of Mike and Billy, �the band for the millennium�, who flew tee-total all the way.

Sure enough, at Mexico City Airport, we were all herded into a very concerning little white room. As James has mentioned, Mike quipped �No visas- no geezers�.. We didn�t have a clue what was going on. It was all a bit of a laugh at first but as the minutes ticked by, images of �Midnight Express� (which coincidentally I had fallen asleep to only a few nights before) began to haunt me. I was dying to film it on MPO�s Digital camera but lacked the bottle. Mike Peters, surprise, surprise, had no such qualms and proceeded to give us all a near heart attack as he filmed the officials running back and forth, checking our visas.

We were released finally without any body searching, thankfully. It was another fiasco passing through customs with all our gear. Bags, cases, guitars cluttering the airport as we all clambered aboard our vehicle. Mexico City was freezing cold. I was so wasted and yearned to just shut myself away for a day to sleep. No such luck as instead we were whisked to a a press conference where MP, the Jezebels plus Ado, the sole representataive of The Mission proceeded to answer questions and generally extract the Michael out of eachother.

By the time we arrived back at our hotel we had perked up and were ready to party. Taking full advantage of the �charge whatever you want to your room – in moderation� instruction, we proceeded to obey orders whilst forgetting the �moderation� part. Why is it that 2 margueritas are never enough? The night passed in a blur of drunkard loud conversation and when I stirred the following morning I felt confident I had escaped lightly.

Not so. This was the Mexican Marguerita Hangover from Hell. As the day progressed I deteriorated rapidly. Driving around Mexico City with the concert promoters and journalists, absorbing the amazing sights and sounds of the city, I finally surrendered and unashamedly pebble-dashed the bathroom of the clothes/record/guitar store we were currently browsing. It�s not cool being hungover away from the security of your own bathroom, especially when you�re trying to pretend that you are not hungover, in the slightest. God, I felt so ill, so ashamed, so annoyed with muself. Where�s my self-control? Why do I always get so smashed in new locations (I drank myself into a frenzy when I first visited Japan with Mike in a Tokyo Karaoke Bar. Once, in Kansas City, I had to be physically removed from the Merchandise Desk for offensive drunkard behaviour). Other than that I�m fairly well behaved and nowhere near as bad as a certain Craig Adams.

Despite the hangover, I still managed to slip in some shopping – this had to be well manouevoured nevertheless, in between stomach lurches. Mike and I have a shared love of all furniture Mexican and so of course went overboard on the purchase of Mexican mirrors. We decided to worry about their trip across the Atlantic, later.

I tottered tentaively as Mike took the stage that night and winced somewhat as the Mexicans screamed wildly. The Alarm had never had a hit in Mexico, unlike the Jezebles and The Mish and so Mike decided to play a complete solo �Mike P� set. He was received rapturously by the very warm-hearted Mexicans.

The Merchandise Desk was a joke and as my Spanish is limited (ie. non-existent) I had to leave my display in charge of the Mexican promoters. When I returned, the Mish/GLJ/MP store had been transformed into a Mexican record store and only the most die-hard fans would have been able to extract our merch. When in Rome…

All the chaps very much enjoyed themselves and the evening culminated in a raucous version of �Knockin� on Heaven�s Door�. I was still hungover and very white at this point and nearly gagged when we were taken to a local bar after the show, serving authentic Mexican cuisine.

This was my second visit to Mexico and I would love to return with more time on my hands to visit the Pyramids outside the City and revisit the spectacular Cabo San Lucas (where Mike played at the opening of the Hard Rock Cafe a few years back). At this point, exhausted and suffering from food poisoning (my story and I�m sticking to it) I was very happy to return to America and the reassuring comforts of Florida.

Orlando Airport was a non stop experience of security checks even after stepping off the plane. That�s the Disney state for you. It felt great to step outside into a warm balmy atmosphere and of course the sterile House of Blues with all its creature comforts backstage. A bunch of Brits were on our guestlist tonight and surprisingly I felt remarkably perkier and was soon gingerly supping a Corona to raise my party spirits.

The rest of Florida passed pleasantly and I made a mental note to plan a vacation here soon. The last few times we visited had resulted in the issue of many speeding tickets and I had felt the Florida experience too authoritarian for my tastes. This time however it was a much more liberating time…

Mike and I had initially planned (or should I say Me) to tag a week�s vacation in Miami at the end of the Resurrection Tour. I was quite surprised at the time when Mike agreed to it but come to think of it he had looked a bit glazed. As the tour progressed and Mike turned his attentions to �Flesh and Blood� I realised that a holiday was out of the question.

There are those of you I should imagine who will think we have just been on one long vacation and for some parts I expect you�re right. Like all professions though, life on the road can be demanding and tiring with its glamorous shiny bits and non-glamorous tarnished bits.

I did put my tired toes down however when Mike was trying to change the flights home a day early, as this had already been earmarked as my Christmas Shopping Day. I won and soon Mike was in his element trailing the Florida mall in search of gifts and of course the occasional shirt for himself.

Orlando to Manchester was uneventful despite the 21 years bad luck upon retrieving our Mexican mirrors. The frames were still in tact and so all was not lost. We were collected by the chattiest Welsh taxi driver I have ever met and we were soon updated on all the village happenings since our departure. This guy had played football with my Dad, drank in Mike�s Mum and Dad�s pub and worked with Nightrider�s Mum (who had been teching on the tour with us-Nightrider,that is, not his Mum)… Mr. Taxi Driver drove about 50 miles an hour all the way back to Wales as he regaled us with his tales of Welsh wickedry and wit.

As the Wesh border approached, I reflected on the last six weeks. It had surpassed all my expectations. We had been lucky to share great comaradarie with the Jezebles and the Mish and of course put faces to mames of many more MPO members. There were no real low points other than sheer tiredness and the desire for rest and recuperation. Otherwise, the Resurrection Tour had achieved its intention: a group of friends who enjoy eachother�s company taking a roadtrip across America with a few �right good tunes� along the way. We had shared some spectacular sights along the way in America but as we reached the brow of the hill, the �green green� of Wales failed to disappoint and I felt wildly elated to be back home…

{Next, Mission in the UK, Flesh and Blood, Mike Peters on tour in the UK…}

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