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                            So, 6 months after my first European Tour I thought it was time to go do it again,only smarter.The first smart thing I did was cut the time on the road in half.Instead of 16 days away it'd be 8.I figured I could earn around the same without missing the family too much and getting knackered.Second smart thing I did was plan in a few rest days.These adjustments made a huge difference to my enjoyment of the tour and as I've intimated the financial implications proved negligible.

The first gig is in Bristol,England,a favourite city of mine to play.The Mother Beef are playing and want me to support.Always happy to join the Bristol boys I set off north for the first 80 miles of a 1550 mile journey.We soundcheck and all goes smoothly.Downstairs is a solo punk guitarist called Rita Lynch, so I go and check her out.She looks my age yet has retained a fabulous. blonde, slim, glamourous rock chick image.Her set is enjoyable and when I watch the crowd watching her I'm reminded of why I like Bristolians-eager,open minded and ready to party.Later on,she buys me a drink and we swap cd's.

     (Rita Lynch)

                                                                                  I get the call,go back upstairs and hit the stage-all goes well enough though the trouble free soundcheck proves a little misleading, as weird booms seem to be emerging from somewhere or other.I plough on regardless, sell a few cd's then watch The Mother Beef do their thing.

       At something o'clock I bid farewell and drive west towards London.My plan is to drive until about 2am then pull into a service station to sleep.I pull down the bed and settle in for a nice kip in The Bellybus.I wake rested at 8am and see a sign I hadn't noticed in the dark-two hours parking are free, its £10 a night or a £90 penalty fee-this is bloody typical of England.On the continent you can pull in and sleep or rest to your hearts content-not in UKPLC-where every opportunity is taken to squeeze every last penny out of joe public.I jump bleary eyed into the drivers seat and scarper.I pull into the next service area and cook up some breakfast in my bus in rather less hurried fashion.(If you are entertaining the notion I got away think again-I just paid a £50 fine this morning).Thank you England, you sclerotic old witch.

                I take the M25 round London and on into Folkestone towards the Eurotunnel.I pull into a shopping area and cook a meal.A mum is watching her two kids ride their bicycles in the deserted carpark.Eventually its time to board the Eurotunnel.I drive onto the train and 30 minutes later emerge in France.I pass roadsigns showing the names of towns and cities I've played before..Kortrijk,Brussels,Ieper,Lebbeke,and so on.My next stop is an area familiar to me-Roeselare in Belgium, where I will be entertaining The Outlaws MC West side chapter party.I arrive on time and Francky shows me around the Clubhouse.Its a mighty fine clubhouse it must be said.Outlaws from England,Germany,Belgium and many other countries arrive on their Harleys and mill around.There are Outlaws guarding the entrance-a necessary precaution-two of the Outlaws were shot to death in a white van recently and three of them attending this party carry bullet wounds from run ins with the Hells Angels.I wonder if there's another drive by whether the guy on the stage gets spared-somehow I doubt it.

        After a lovely veggie meal I do my thing-it proves to be hard work-its kinda difficult singing your heart out to peoples' backs..but I realise after a while The Outlaws are not here because it's a Hollowbelly gig-they're here to meet and chat-they haven't seen each other since last year and naturally they've a lot to catch up on.The guy providing the music is secondary and thats fair enough.Certainly Francky looks unperturbed-he's having a great time.I set my ego aside,dig deep and deliver my show.

        I retire to The Bellybus.I have a comfortable nights sleep,which is remarkable given that The Outlaws like to party all night long ( til 10 am the next day to be precise). Francky and his rather lovely wife take me back to their pad where I shower and eat a nice breakfast.I pass on some bands he might be interested in booking-Left Lane Cruiser being one of them.

                     I set off for Lous bar in Leige-150 miles east-a nice distance.I plan my tours so they make logistical,geographical sense because diesel costs will of course eat into your profits.All is well until I get to Leige,where I find a festival is on- cops have set up road blocks-I hit the sat nav to 'avoid road blocks' but every effort it makes to find me an alternate route meets with yet another road block.I give up,jump out the bus and phone Lou.His English is limited and in desperation I thrust my mobile into a cops hand and get her to talk to him and tell him where I am! Eventually I am rescued,and we both jump in the Bellybus and make it to his bar.

                             Lou's bar has a great reputation amongst touring musicians as a super enjoyable venue to play.It doesn't disappoint.It is small and lo fi- the tiny stage is made up of used wooden pallets with a carpet thrown on the top.No pa.The punters are here for the rum and the music and they know what they're getting.I drink white rum and my late afternoon sets go down a storm.I eat some great pasta made by an Italian bloke.Then its dark rum and coffee.A black dude from Chicago gets up and sings the blues whilst I grin,drink rum,whoop encouragement and generally lap it up.Unusually, the bar closes early-this is done to avoid drunken idiots later on apparently.Its great for me cos I can leave the bus parked up,drink then walk over to my hotel for a relatively early night.

           The hotel turns out to be a sort of hip,internet savvy hostel.I go to my room (which uncannily is room 101-again!) to discover there are 2 bunk beds! I have no idea I'll be the only one in there all night-I choose a top bunk cos I'm already carrying quite a bit of cash and I dont wanna get ripped off in the middle of the night. The walls are unrendered breezeblock,the ceiling bare concrete-I guess its supposed to look minimalist, but juxtaposed with the bunks,the effect is rather like staying in a nuclear fallout shelter. Being slightly drunk I fall off the bottom step when going to the loo and mash up my toe-oh well.I decide to pull on a clean sock and not look at it for a day or two-lol.Anyway, my early night plans are sabotaged when I hear an explosion outside, followed by more-its a minute or two before I realise it's fireworks.

                          I wake with a mildly throbbing toe,brush me teeth and check out.I have time to walk around Liege.I sit by the banks of the river and watch the heavily laden boats go by.It occurs to me that this is the way to earn your living.I feel good.I feel confident being onstage.It feels natural.I'm making good money so I can take it back for my family.

               Eventually the bar reopens and I load out.Next country is Holland.I head north towards Amsterdam,stopping off en route to feed the bus with oil and screenwash,and me with rice and coffee.I reach OT301 and load in smoothly enough.

                                            Its great to see Dawn and Joe again and I decide to stay an extra day in Amsterdam after tonight's show.Its a Monday night but my seemingly realistic expectations of a quiet night are not to be fulfilled-this is the first of several shows where people who have seen me before in March have returned to see me play.I can't believe the crowd that shows up-theres only me playing,its Monday,surely there's been some mistake..I play my set and we all have a great time..I begin to understand that they are coming back to see the show and that that's a good sign for my future.I come offstage and Its more cd selling/signing and t shirts too.

Mark of Cain live @ OT301 Amsterdam-ee my page for the video

             We catch a cab to Dawn and Joes flat, and Dawn wants to learn CBG-after a quick lesson,she treats me to a drunken rendition of Long Road "ooooooooooh baby'sha long long road"  heh heh its great.Eventually I sleep in the spare room amid Joes records and guitars.

               The next day we enjoy Amsterdam,eat a nice meal out,stroll in the park, that kinda thing.I am in much better spirits than the last time I was here thats for sure, for reasons you may recall.I eventually depart for Germany the next day.I have forgotten my drum mat during load out but it aint worth turning around for a grotty bit of carpet.I reach Bremen a little later than planned due to traffic.Its great to see Andreas and Daniela again (last time was Muddy Roots Festival,Belgium) and I join them for some lovely pumpkin soup.By now its Thursday and I have time for a quick tour around Bremen with Andreas as my tour guide.Its fab to have time to actually see the city and its these time outs that have made all the difference on this tour.

           (My German contact and good friend Andee aka Tourette Van Thom  and me-Bremen sept 2012)        

           In the evening we load in-I'm playing onboard a boat-the Betonschiff Treue.Yet again a good sized crowd turn up-theres a few Hollowbelly t shirts in the crowd.Once again,the people who saw me play in March have turned out.Dani tells me later people were singing along to the songs.The show goes great.As usual when in Germany I leave Andee to sell my shit-when I eventually go across to the merch table I wonder where the hell it's gone he's sold so much its untrue.Excellent.I meet a dude from Bear Family Records and I'm also offered the opportunity to record my album in Hamburg.I'll be flying out for a week in November to do just that.

         (Yeah Yeah Yeah Studios,Hamburg,Germany-my home for the week beginning 3rd November 2012)

           So the next day I set the dials on the Bellybus to 'south'.I feel sad leaving Andee and Daniela and the feeling doesn't wear off until I reach the autobahn later on.

             Next stop Dusseldorf.I haven't played this city before-the gigs are being organised by Patrice (Slydog on cigarbox nation) at his art/tattoo gallery and I am unsure what to expect.I needn't have worried.Patrice is a class act.His art gallery is cool and I set up ready for tonight's gig.The gig is intimate-it really encourages the storytelling aspect of my show-the crowd and I have a great time-somebody tells me he's travelled three hours to get to the show and it was well worth it-I tell him its much appreciated.

 (photo credit:Christoph Heuer.)

                                        Next morning I awake on a sofa amid lovely artifacts and feel confident about the final show tonight.I feel like I've got a cold coming on but I know I'll be fine.The gallery becomes packed and I set about giving it my all, as I can afford to go a little extra crazy given its the last night.It gets recorded and I may very well release it, as it does capture what the live show is like.It's lovely to see some old friends in the audience-

and after the show we head behind the scenes for a private party-the food is totally vegetarian and delicious..I contemplate staying the night, but decide to load out late and do a 100 miles or so that night, thus making the final homeward leg of the journey a little shorter.

                  So it is I find myself driving into a Belgian truck stop at 2 am.I try to sleep but can't stop coughing when I lie down-it's so bad I nearly puke.It's autumnal and cold.I cough up phlegm and blood.I pull on my woolly hat and curl up in a ball under my duvet.I should be pissed off but,after a successful tour, my spirits utterly refuse to be dampened.I'll be fine.I eventually drift off around 5am and wake around 8.I piss in a bottle,(I'm a classy guy).fire up the bus and drive on to Calais and board the Eurotunnel train.

                   I reach England but my excitement at being nearer to home and my girls is sabotaged by the weather-last time by fog, this time by extreme,driving rain.I nearly aquaplane twice before I see sense and slow down.Someone is going to crash the conditions are so bad and sure enough the traffic slows as we reach two freshly mashed up cars being attended to by the cops and ambulance dudes.Its square wheels,so I stick one of the cd's Joe has given me on-Little Richard-damn! I'd forgotten how wild he sounds-I sit there in the traffic screaming "Luciiiiiiiiillle!!!" and dancing in the drivers seat like a man possessed-lmao! I eventually reach home-the kids don't hear me come in-Maisy turns round, sees her dad and her little face crumples-she runs into my arms and won't let go.Suits me.My 14 year old walks up and holds me too- we both look down at Maisy but all we can see is the top of her head as she's squashed between us.The embrace lasts a good while.Maggie is in the bath and later on she welcomes me home too, but that, dear reader, is a story decorum forbids me to share ;)

            Cheers, HB.

                         So I leave for Italy via London to play two festivals-one in Rome,one in Parma.As the plane descends into Rome, the Mediterranean sea is immediately below me to one side, to the other, the Italian landscape looks beige and parched of the rain which gives the English landscape its deep green hue.Its 33 and its gonna be a hot few days.

            I am picked up at the airport and given a large bottle of water (they know all about my dehydration issues due to my lack of large intestine)-its a nice touch,necessary and very welcome.Emanuele apologises that the water has warmed slightly and I'm reminded of how easy it could be to turn into a diva "I said the water must be 2 degrees-TWO DEGREES!!"  I'm dropped off at a smart hotel.Once in my room I could be anywhere-I have a conspiracy theory that the worlds' hoteliers have a secret annual meeting,Bilderberg style,in which they all agree upon how their rooms will look.

            Doing shows and the travel it entails is tiring and I've learned that one part of the day I dig is that dead time between your arrival at a hotel at 3pm and the soundcheck at 6.You're free to just kick off your Converse, lie on the bed and relax away the miles you just put on.I throw open the doors to the balcony,strip down to me boxers (like I said-its bloody hot!) and get horizontal.The birds are singing.Its all good and I enter that pleasant half asleep mode.

            Picked up as arranged,I'm driven through Rome to the venue.As we pass a model of the Coliseum Emanuele jokes that "there you go,you've seen the Coliseum!' I laugh, I am, of course, fated not to, because as I intimated in a previous blog,I've been to Brussels/Paris/London/Rome/Amsterdam etc etc and all I get to see is a stage and a hotel almost every time!

            The Mojo Station Blues Festival is situated downtown beneath a suitably impressive (and unfeasibly high) Ancient Roman aquaduct.The heat is incredible.As I sit down to soundcheck I notice that my forearms are sweating and I havent even done anything.The soundcheck complete, I go backstage, taking note of the copious amounts of bottled water on offer-I'll be drinking them dry-I have no intention of letting my empty belly beat me.

              I walk around the festival as the sun goes down-the venue has things going on both inside and outside-the outside is wonderfully romantic, the climate allowing the organisers to place shabby leather sofas and mattress/couches and cushions in little alcoves,lit by candlelight.It is a mediterranean lifestyle most unlike anything the weather would allow for in England.I drink steadily to ensure success.

              Eventually it's showtime-Gianluca (the super nice promoter dude who brought me out here) introduces me and I take up position.As I strike up Jolene I notice that the guitar sound is completely clean-uh oh-a valve has probably blown in the heat-I desperately turn the distortion on full-nothing..just Fender twang.

trying to find some distortion!

                      I play on and notice the punters are digging it anyway.I decide to just plough on regardless.The audience are great-up for a good time.

At the end of my set I am joined by Angelo Leadbelly Rossi and his drummer who have expressed a desire to jam a few numbers with me.Its fun to play with others for a change and we jam out three numbers before I retire.I get to my room in the early hours and sleep.I have a long day ahead of me..

             In the morning I'm dropped off at the railway station,having been provided with tickets to Parma.Its a bit of a trek-like going from Southern to Northern England say.I board the train.Its so hot its a little like being slowly cooked as you travel.I can feel telltale signs that its beginning to effect me adversely,so I walk down to the buffet carriage and order a coke and some bread (I missed breakfast).I look out the window as the Italian countryside passes by me like Van Gogh is painting it,the pallet is warm beige,greens and a pure, azure sky.Ancient villages cling to hillsides as they have for centuries,defying the passage of time.Only the Italians can make shabby look oh so chic.I still feel rough so I purchase another drink and ponder how I might survive a summer tour in these conditions..I'd really have to rest up during the day in order to perform at night,vampire style.Mind you,I had to do that on tour in Northern Europe anyway.The second drink makes me feel better.

                After 4 hours or so I disembark and am met at the station by three lovely Parma Festival organisers.They put me in the front seat-perhaps they know I get carsick-anyway,I'm grateful, because me and cars dont get on at all-never have.The sweat trickles down my temples-as we drive they point out a bridge the Mafia have had built-a bizarre structure-like a metal and glass bubble wrapped around a bridge-its construction has caused scandal in these parts and one can see why simply from an aesthetic viewpoint,aside from any dodgy backhanders-it stands brash and incongruous amid the otherwise understated historic vernacular it resides in-a brutish monstrosity of modernity.

                        They take me to a nice cool restaurant and I down a big bottle of cold water-fabulous.There is a cool breeze and I really feel ok now.I am dropped off at a hotel in a sleepy town (yay-rest time comin!) but whats this? this hotelier clearly doesn't attend those Bilderberg hotelier meetings..this is pure mediterranean-beautiful adobe walls,rough hewn wooden beams,planks making up the ceiling,wooden shutters on the windows..lovely..things get even better-it has air con! I turn it up high,strip off and enjoy a few hours pre-soundcheck rest.Sigh.

                        Arriving at the Festival site is something else-situated on the banks of a wide,slow moving river,which someone refers to as the Italian Mississippi-his metaphor is rather apt-it really does have that feel.The whole thing is outdoors-the stage is huge and the setup is,once again,very pro.I soundcheck and the amp is clean-uh oh.Is this Fenders' revenge? Determined not to repeat the clean guitar sound scenario, the harp player from the other act comes to my rescue with a distortion pedal.Sweet.The sound dudes are polite,enthusiastic and really helpful.The soundcheck is sorted in about 2 minutes flat-cool.

                       The organisers hand me a festival tee which I immediately put on to show respect.I eat the best pasta I have ever eaten in my life (unsurprising given my location).I'm called to do an interview on the banks of the river-

The guy has really done his homework and knows more about my life than I do! I then relax,chat to the other band and have a little wander.People,a lot of them,arrive and I get the 10 minute call.I pace around.I hear myself getting introduced in Italian-I am stood at the foot of the 5 steps that lead up and onto the stage.A stagehand hands me 2 fresh, crisp white hand towels.Up I go,high fiving the mc as we pass each other onstage.We are off.

The crowd is responsive,I tell little between song stories and jokes,slowing my speech slightly so most can catch it in English.I tell them about cbg's and cigar box nation.

It goes great.The crowd is so large I have to  bow centre left and right when I'm done, and wave to those at the back.They want more so I ask the stage manager if he wants me to do one more (see pic).

Encore played and I come off.Job done.My cd they're selling on my behalf sell out.Less to carry home :) 

       The punters are happy,the organisers are too-and therefor so am I.I feel excited that I will be returning next month to Pontinia rock and blues festival.I am whisked away to my hotel at 2am as I am being picked up at 7 to begin a journey that will take me 17 hours.(No flights from Parma on a Sunday so I must return via Rome).

       13 hours later I'm sitting on a Westbound train back in England, on the final leg of my adventure.I sit adjacent to two young lovers,who watch a film on a laptop together-she curled around him with her shoes off,he stroking her hair.I remember how that felt when I was their age.I smile to myself,feeling a sense of warmth and loss in equal measure.I look back out the window but its dark and all I see is my reflection-people used to say I had angry eyes as a young man, but now they look so much like my late mothers..theres a sadness about them.I cup my hands so I can see through the glass.In the inky darkness beyond only two things are visible-the lopsided smile of a crescent moon and the street lights.The warm beige glow of the moon reminds me of the Italian landscape I travelled through just hours before-its natural sunlit beauty is juxtaposed with the garish electric street lamps-mans crude attempts at light creation.

      My wife is due to meet me at the station and when I disembark we catch sight of each other on the platform.At exactly the same moment the same thing happens to both of us-two invisible hooks pull at the side of our mouths and we break out into involuntary superwide smiles.I realise that time has not,after all, robbed me of what those young lovers have-I'm home and its all good.

                    Cheers HB

Stand at the very edge of the cliff.Feel the fear of the unknown,a sense of dread even.Steel yourself-Step off...

You can't see them beneath the clouds, but I can assure you there are people you've never ever met,perfect strangers,holding their hands out,far below in foreign lands.They will catch you,shelter you,feed you..I earned a few mad stacks whilst touring Europe, but this knowledge is far more precious than gold.

      So yeah,I was scared tell you the truth-it was like a personal challenge to do my first tour alone-what if the Bellybus broke down-I have no breakdown insurance,cant speak the language,no one to help..what if I get mugged?what if my health fails? what if I lose my satnav? and on and on..dunno about you when facing the unknown, but my mind delights in furnishing me with ever increasingly lurid technicolour fantasies of all that could go wrong.I should have recognised how things might actually turn out when,out of the blue, Steve 'Leadfoot' Thompson comps me free ferry tickets across the English Channel, to 'help a brother out'.This is the first example of how people will respond to my situation, for reasons that, for me, still remain unclear.What I do know is that I felt the same way with Bob Log when I met him on his tour-if he'd have said to me "John I need to travel 50 miles to buy a plectrum" I'd have driven him happily.

          So the tour kicks off at The Chambers,Kent.Despite it being midweek the turnout is pleasing-with several cigarboxnation members in attendence.The gig goes well,the first of the tees n' cd's start getting sold and obviously I comp Leadfoot a tee, cd n' stickers as a thank you.

          I go back to my mate DJ Hillfunks' gaff-my regular hang out when in these parts.The next day mid morning I board the Ferry and leave England.Watching the White cliffs of Dover as you depart for foreign lands always elicits an emotive effect for any Englishman.I feel like ringing Mrs.Belly but at that thought an unexpected lump forms in my throat so I leave the phone in my pocket.

         Pretty soon I disembark and cruise (on the right!) via France to Ziggys bar in Kortrijk,Belgium.I am offered a bed for the night by the bar owner but as I set up the Blaublues Festival Crew turn up.They inform me that after the gig they will escort me back to their house where I can reside during the 6 dates I will be playing in their country.Wow! and heres me thinking I'd be living like a tramp in the Bellybus for 16 days.I've been on the road 2 days and been offered at least one bed each night without fail.

         The gig goes well enough,I collect my dosh and follow the Blaublues Festival crew to a rather pleasant home in a rather pleasant suburb, where I am sheltered, fed,have my clothes washed and folded,and am generally looked after beautifully.Each night the guys pull on their Hollowbelly tour tees and hump my gear,even magically delivering a PA system to gigs that dont have one.The sound dude donates his equipment free of charge, and even turns up at one of the gigs to operate it.When one of my harps fail I am driven to a blues harp players house,where he lends me one as a spare-nothing is too much trouble.Patrick takes photos at gigs and mails them to my email address each night.The guys even make a round trip of 160 miles to support me at my last Belgium gig in Brussels.

         Each gig is very different-sometimes a young crowd,sometimes an older crowd-sometimes a bar,pub,club.Luckily the reception is always the same and the cd's and tees sell steadily each night.Its interesting to witness people in different cities laughing at the same between-song jokes, now I witness them laugh at the same jokes in different countries.People are the same wherever you go I guess.When I slag off the international bankers during the introduction to 'She dont love me no more' they laugh knowingly-they know the score- in any country, the truth is the truth.

          One day I'm checking the oil in The Bellybus outside Patricks house when I see a cop car turn into the street-it takes a wrong turn but I instinctively know they're looking for me.I decide to  seek refuge in the house but I can see them coming after doing a u turn..they just wanna know who I am and what I'm doing so its no trouble,although I feel a little embarrassed that my scruffy foreign presence has bought the law to my hosts door.

        The gigging is hardcore-the europeans want you to play say two 45 minute sets at least-I cant quite believe anyone would want to listen to me for 10 minutes,let alone that amount of time.On Sunday its an afternoon gig,so it feels like I have a night off-Patrick asks me not for the first time if I'd like to accompany him to his local bar-I am introduced to the locals and much to my embarrassment they play Long Road over the sound system.I start drinking whiskey and of course its Europe-no small measures here like in the UK-its like half pints,pretty soon I'm pissed as all hell and of course the drinks just appear from nowhere into the early hours-I never recall actually buying anything-I mention my favourite song of all time is Shes Lost Control by Joy Division,I go to the loo and when I come out they've put it on the sound system-I start doing an Ian Curtis dance and I couldnt give a **** who's watching-I'm really too drunk to care.

                 Well it's a week into the tour when I leave for Amsterdam-the Belgian boys tell me I'll get stopped by the Man again cos I'll be driving on the main drugs route out of Holland.I pull into a truck stop at 2am after playing Brussels and sure enough a young cop comes across,shines a torch and asks the usual questions- fortunately,he seems quite impressed when I tell him I'm on tour and I ask him if its legal for me to kip there-he says its no problem, so the encounter turns out quite good cos at least I know I'm not doing owt illegal by sleeping there.

         Wake up, make meself porridge and coffee in the Bellybus.                                                                 Get to Amsterdam and sit down in the promoters loft apartment-I have a day and night off-my first.I call home-its my 14 year old and she's crying-her best mates dad threw himself under a train-he was 36.So my tears and snot fall onto the wooden floor and the promoter will think I'm insane when she gets back from the shops.I clean myself up.I can't get my daughters friend out of my mind-I really like the kid,shes always sleeping over at our gaff and I can't make it better.I can't fix it.I'm gutted tell you the truth.I dedicate one of the new songs 'Save your tears for the living' to his memory in the next few shows.I dunno whether its tiredness but I remain haunted and sort of fragile for days.It hangs on me like an invisible, gossamer thin shroud.I sit in a park midmorning in Amsterdam just staring.The dog walkers seem like cardboard cut outs,or figures from a painting by L.S.Lowry.The grey blanket-like sky is fitting.A hollow man on a bench.Disengaged.

The Dutch gigs go well,I meet several people in Holland who have travelled three hours to see the show.I drive east and again I am housed by the owner of The Crowbar,who's boyfriend is an excellent cook and delights in making me vegetarian food.I actually have 2 days off and so, midmorning, off I roam to enjoy walking around Groningen.I inadvertently turn a corner and I'm in the red light district,near naked women are selling themselves in shop windows in broad daylight.I thought they only did this in Amsterdam.You learn something new every day I guess.I am relieved to get back onto mainstreet.Up to now all I've seen of Europe is a stage with red lights,followed by another stage with red lights,night after night, so its nice to get out and about and act like a tourist-see daylight,breathe smokeless air,sit by a canal,have a coffee,that kinda thing.

                   The next country is Germany.Again my promoter turns perfect host,I stay in his apartment,leave The Bellybus parked up outside as he drives me to each venue.You can tell he's been around bands as he says all the right things-leaving me alone 30 minutes before showtime,sending me backstage to cool off/calm down after the performances, he sells the merch for me and shoves the loot in my hands.The shows go down great and the last performance of the tour is at the Heartbreak Hotel-                     an uber tiny venue,no pa,I can only fit on the shelf like stage by jamming the kick drum against the strippers pole and sitting on an upturned beer crate-yep this is rock n roll and I like it,like it,yes I do.Some folk have travelled all the way from Berlin to catch the gig,others have followed me from last nights show.My cd case is empty.Having no show the next day, I go mental..its supposed to be therapeutic but afterwards I feel drained backstage and feel like I'm gonna have some sorta breakdown.The comedown is slow.All I can do is stare at the floor.My tee is soaking and when I move, it sticks cold and clammy to my skin.

           And so it ends, and despite being tired I know for sure I'll be back.The next day I drive 600 miles across 4 countries to get back to my girls.Back in England it feels great giving my mrs some mad stacks and I feel useful for once,instead of a middle aged, useless, burnt out ****.I feel a new found confidence and most importantly of all,I have rediscovered something I'd forgotten beneath all the ugly 'news' that we get force fed in the media-I am reminded that humans are wonderful.That they would exhibit such kindness toward a stranger,catch me,feed me,shelter me,even clothe me.Like I said at the beginning dear reader-that discovery is more precious than gold.

                   HB.

A heartfelt thank you to Esther,Dawn and Joe (Holland),Jurgen,Patrick and the rest of the Blaublues crew (Belgium) and TVT (Germany).

                        I satnav towards Bristol with high hopes-the band I'm playing with are top drawer in my book,plus I've held a private fascination for the Bristol underground art/music scene ever since enjoying Banksy/Massive Attacks' work.I've also checked out Stickees work and he and his art will be present tonight

http://www.flickr.com/photos/stickee/

              Indeed,after I arrive and kerb the Bellybus,a cursory walk around the immediate neighbourhood reveals what I take to be a Banksy stencilled up on the side of a pub opposite the venue-however I'm reliably informed its by SPQR- sweet stuff-  for more check this link                   http://spqr.uk.net/

Stokes Croft (the area of Bristol I'm playing in) is suitably adorned with building sized graffiti (the good sort-not just tags and two colour throw ups, but proper pieces).

                    Likewise the venue is suitably cool-a former motorcycle showroom from the fifties, the two stories contain the gig/art/ bar space on the ground floor, and art workspaces on the first.Very Warholian/industrial loft chic.In short-my kinda pad.The people putting on the event have a real feelgood vibe amongst them-they all pull together,spending the late afternoon pasting up giant sized artworks, whilst others set up a soundsystem so frickin poweful its subsonic bassbins threaten to bring the building down.I grin in appreciation as KRS-1's track "woop woop-thats the sound of da police!" fills the darkened space.Damn-last time I heard that tune I'da been dancing on the streets of Notting Hill Carnival with a bottle of Thunderbird in my hand.Happy days.

                        I soundcheck and the hollow stage throws up troublesome unwanted low frequencies, but eventually it gets sorted.Crash barriers are brought in to protect the stage which seems OTT to me-but this event has been promoted to the nth degree-little do I know that later there'll be almost as many punters locked out on the street as actually manage to get in.

            The impossibly handsome and charismatic singer from Mother Beef tells me many people will be coming to see me,which I find hard to believe, yet whilst eating a pre gig veggie bap in the street opposite the venue in the early evening I'm surrounded by a gang of people who say "Hey Hollowbelly we've come to see you" and start to introduce themselves "this is my wife Jane" I stand there thinking 'I haven't a clue who you are'.Still its nice to meet them-I guess thats the power of youtube or whatever.

              Well I go on at 11pm and the crowd are well up for some Bellyfication-I enjoy that gratifying feedback from a live,responsive,supportive,up for a party crowd.Goes down great and I shake a few hands over those barriers before disappearing behind the speaker stacks to the left of the stage, and slumping sweatily onto a beat up couch.After a while I take up position in the middle of the crowd cos I want a punters eye view of Mother Beefs set.I thought they'd be good, but like all aspects of this event, they surpass even my lofty expectations.The singers so laid back he doesnt even bother to stand up-he sits on a chair cos well, thats how Tom rolls-indeed he's so bloody laid back I reckon one day the Beef entourage will just wheel his bed on stage with him lying in it-wake him up by rolling him a fat one and put a guitar in his hands..hahaha! but I digress, its all fantastic-and their album isn't even out yet.Standing there it is easy to imagine them on Glastonburys main stage-one day when they're that big I'll impress my teen daughters by saying "see the lead singer-he made me a cup of tea once" and they'll say "yeah dad,right."

           I'm supposed to crash at Tom Beefers' gaff but its 3:30am and I have a bus loaded with gear and nowhere reasonably safe to park up.As Im only 80 miles from home,I opt for the sensible option, offer my apologies to his flatmate and set the satnav for Hollowhouse.As I drive the sweet smell of someones ganja floats up from me hoodie. A wicked event-catch the Mother Beef whilst you still can.

peace

HB

Hi peeps,

                Thought you might be interested in having a butchers at my 'tour bus'-I didnt want to clog up the nation with pics of a motor so I've placed them here.You can follow developments as the work on her continues throughout Spring 2011.

            Its a 2003 VW T4-they are used as surf buses around these parts and campervans too.It has only 45k on its 2.5 turbodiesel engine and believe me I was lucky to get it-they are like gold dust, especially in this condition.Being a family man, the Bellybus will be dual purpose-a rock roll seat/bed will be installed in the rear so the kids can travel when the old rusty Rover car eventually falls to pieces.

Pic 1-heres the Bellybus as was when bought-a regular panel van..

and heres a pic with the side windows installed-I had them limo tinted so peeps cant see any gear I might be carrying in the back-

On this third pic you can see the other side window also.With the tailgate open you can see I've not done anything to the inside yet-the wood panels and blue carpet were the previous owners work.I've just cheered it up a bit for now by sticking a few set lists from recent gigs up and chucking a few cushions in to sit on..I carry a sleeping bag under the drivers seat just in case..so far the Bellybus has taken me to gigs in Birmingham,Kent,London and across the sea to Belgium-at the wheel it feels like a family car-nice n smooth and not noisy at all..it drives with all the efficiency one would expect from a German vehicle..dubtastic ;o)  

So what next? well I need to remove the wood panels and insulate, remove the carpet (come on- carpet just aint rock n roll!) I'd like to have it wood everywhere,with gig posters and the like-kinda like a Bluesmans' wood cabin on wheels! I toyed with the idea of having a pic of Eric Clapton on the floor..heh heh..wipe your converse here.Anyway, this next pic is from some dudes T4 I found on the interweb-he's removed the ceiling panels and put wood in- like I want it-the ceiling is very cool but the rest of its a bit 'neat' for my taste-plus is that carpet I see on the walls..Noooo! still, you get the idea..well, seeing as I'm pants at woodwork I reckon Juju will be getting a call!

 Well thats it for now peeps-I'll update as the Bellybus develops over the coming months.Cheers, HB

UPDATE-MARCH-

             Well I've been busy stripping out the Bellybus and adding insulation to make it more comfortable when I ever need to kip in the bus-unfortunately my dream of having Juju fit out the inside is not to be as he is inundated with guitar orders and has a kitchen to build, so its down to yours truly.I am taking my inspiration for the interior from the cover of my album and am using hessian to carpet the walls-its cheap too-I'll be going for a mild rat type look (and believe me, with my woodworking skills its just as well!)  hessian/distressed gig posters on walls etc..

              Anyway,heres a few pics-this really is the boring bit..insulating/cutting panels and so on..rear wheel arch is covered in flashing tape to quieten road noise..

more insulation in the roof space-silver backed bubblewrap-

I've made doorcards and panels from 3.6mm ply-heres the doorcard for the rear tailgate sitting in me garage-as you can see I got my mate Bansky to decorate it  lol   

bit more exciting/fun than the generic grey one anyroad.

Ok dudes-more updates soon..

UPDATE APRIL-

         Ok peeps the rear seat is in,and I've got all the hessian where I want it-begun to stick up posters and stuff-heres a few pics-

This heres a close up of the 'mojo hole'-a take on honesty windows from strawbale eco houses if you will-I put in a used (knackered) bluesharp, a glass slide and a used plectrum.I really like the roof cos it cost me nowt-I just reversed the original panels! It added no extra weight-I was gonna put in thin tongue and groove but it weighed  a considerable amount and you'd pay for that at the pumps, so I decided against it-plus these hardboard panels give that ratty shed look I wanted.seat down into the bed position-king size-nice!gotta dash peeps-more pics later..

UPDATE MAY-

floor getting installed today-it might look fancy but its just 12mm outdoor grade ply and I varnished it 3 times-might not last  years n years but of course I have the option to lay a harder wearing floor on top at a later date if I feel the need.I've put 2mm of neoprene rubber strip all around the edges to cut down on the possibility of squeaks where wood meets wood or metal-what with the bus moving and all that.Left a little space in case of expansion due to heat also.It fits nice, but dont zoom on this photo or you'll see how bloody awful my woodworking 'skills' are!!

ok you zoomed didnt you?! DIDNT YOU?!!!

right next,so heres the riser that goes under the rear seat and houses the rear 6x9 speakers-I found a tea chest on the local dump-as you know, they have stencils sprayed on from being shipped all over the world and I thought I'd take it apart and make panels out of them.All the stencils are genuine apart from the Hollowbelly one which I added then sanded slightly to match it with the others..

so here it is in situ just to give you an idea-I've installed the floor and the riser is just sitting there unglued for now-seems prudent to ensure the speakers work before I stick the panel in.. I sprayed the speakers covers matt brown as they were brand new, then knocked em back a bit with sandpaper-the 2 rusty metal bands in the centre of the panel are those metal strips that hold the tea chest together.I used them to hide the join between the different panels, as well as add a bit more grunge..

the opposite wall panel now looks pretty boring so Im on the lookout for a few more tea chests-alternatively I may leave it so I have more space for future gig posters as and when they arrive..

ok thats it for now peeps-I'll get back when I next do something else-the step probably..

      July/August-ok so heres the step and riser going in-I used the offcuts from the free tea chests for the riser and also the rusty metal strips from the tea chest edges to match the pattern under the rear seat.The actual step is the same 12mm marine grade ply..oh and I used the 'Hollowbelly Punkblues' stencil I used on the cd flightcase-just sprayed it with black car spray,then white over the top..and Bobs yer uncle as we say in the north.

the lights are coming on nice...

Its 1972, I'm around eleven years old- I'm in a working mans' club somewhere in the north and we'd just played a set.This particular night we get told not to come out of the dressing room during the next performance as it was unsuitable for kids to see.So of course I sneak out onto the balcony.I remember peering down at the stage.I can still see the scene now in my minds eye.Theres this woman singer on stage-she is gorgeous-long blonde hair, full lips,long lashes-a skintight silver dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.Damn shes hot.I may be eleven but-well, you know.

After a number she asks which guy would like to come onstage and kiss her-the crowd are going crazy "ME! NO ME!!!" eventually she chooses some jammy bugger and up he goes-man I bet he cant believe his luck-the kiss turns into a full blown snog and everyone is drunk and cheering and all that.All I can think about is-I wish it was me.Well the guy goes back triumphantly into the audience and the sexy blonde starts singing her next number-she starts stripping-oh man-this gonna be great.Nobody has spotted the wide eyed kid on the balcony-my heart starts to race- off come her over the elbow gloves, singing all the while..off comes the hair-uh oh-out come the plastic boobs-oh shit! the fake lashes get peeled off and discarded..well by the time she gets to the last chorus 'she' is a short haired,gravel voiced man-aarrgh!! holy cow!-I cant believe it and judging by the noise, the crowd weren't expectin it either.Sheesh-I always wonder what the guy from the audience must have felt like and also marvelled at the fact that the tranny didn't get decked-it was a northern working mens club after all-it sure as shit wasn't Madam Jojo's in Soho.

Well I'm just remembering some of the gigs I played as a kid you understand.Self indulgent I know but what the hell.

Laters..HB

Get up 5:30am and satnav my way north toward Birmingham for the largest UK arts festival.I pray it doesn't rain cos my rusty car roof leaks and I dont want my gear getting wet! Arrive at Chickenbone Johns' 1960's bohemian split level gaff nice n early.After a quick coffee we convoy into the city centre and set up the cigar box nation stall.It's another example of just why Chickenbone John is the Godfather of the UK cbg movement-with the stall emblazoned with cigarbox nation backdrops, his homemade cbg's and flyers.I set up my gear.Over the next 6 hours, we alternate doing short sets to the passing festival goers,selling cd's and handing out flyers for the 2nd UK CBG fest next month.

Its a long time since I played on the street and I'm reminded how different it is to playing to an indoor captive audience.I find it harder to build a relationship with the mercurial masses-they do stand and watch, but stop playing for more than 4 seconds and the crowd will soon dissipate as the river of people flows,naturally enough, along to the next stall.You have to be more aggressive in the way you interact, pulling them in and keeping them there.I see John working the crowds doing just that.I unfortunately do the opposite and give up trying to talk to them and simply resort to playing the tunes.I'm still harbouring secret doubts about my abilities-due largely to not having had the type of positive feedback that only comes from a live audience for a few months.Playing in amongst a line of stalls doesn't particularly assail my demons.After I overhear the nth person hissing Seasick steve to their partner I seriously consider having a shave.On the other hand, as John sagely points out-its really the only point of reference the public has to what they are witnessing on the stall.

Around 5 we break down the gear and dash across the city to load for the gig at the CBSO. (City of Birmingham Symphony orchestra)Damn-this place is one serious venue.We are directed through massive manned steel security gates.Not the usual parking down a dark alley behind the club.There are staff on hand to help in any way they can-its all very pro.Me and the Godfather load via the stagedoor, down a corridor lined with huge double bass cases-the effect is funereal, they stand like gleaming white Sarcophagus against the wall.We pass the Ancient Egyptian sentinals and enter the concert hall-holy smoke-the ceiling is like 3 stories high and its all polished wood floor.I throw down my grotty carpet and set up-it looks tiny but kinda cool-the addition of the cd flightcase left open toward the audience makes it look like a set-the final addition of a bottle of beer and I'm good to go-I like the way it looks and I'm learning fast about selling.The soundcheck is painless-the acoustics are the best I've experienced (but they would be given its home to an orchestra!) I dont even have monitors, yet I can hear everything.Fantastic.It might sound pretentious but I feel at home.

So I'm on at 6:15pm-opening act for an evening of blues.I think to myself "who the hells gonna turn up for a gig at this hour" but I'm wrong-the place fills-the Godfather grabs a radio mic and tells the crowd about next months festival and introduces me-I cross the expanse of polished wood and strap meself in. "its dead posh ere innit?" I say and they all laugh.I tell them I can always tell posh venues cos the toilets still have the plastic seat bit attached to the loo.More laughter.Launch into Jolene and it all goes gr8.Its so good to feel that ebb and flow between the audience and the performer-its like being psychic-you can feel what they're feeling, tell what they're thinking-gauge their level of enjoyment.This is what I like.Theres no bull-its immediate,its all out in the open.I tell them if 3 of them buy my cd I'll be able to get enough petrol to get home.Its over all too fast but the reaction is gr8 and a good number of people line up and buy the cd.It's exactly what I need and the doubt demons flee to bother someone else for a while.So thanks to Chickenbone John for providing me with the opportunity to get back in the driving seat.It felt good.Oh yes.

I climb into the Bellybus, beneath rainy British skies and set off for Europe.Little do I know the rain wont stop for the entire trip.Tonight I'll be staying 200 miles away at DJ Hillfunks gaff in Kent before we both head on out to Europe.That evening Hilly takes me to play a short set at a bar in Kent.The bar owner looks chuffed to nick to have me there, and it serves me well as a warm up for tomorrows festival.

The next day we cross beneath the English channel, the Eurotunnel is gift for people like me as I only have to look at a boat to get seasick.We are on foreign soil in no time, and after a short while driving along the French coast we head southeast and cross the border into Belgium.We arrive at the festival site-there are flightcases upon flightcases of gear getting unloaded from big trucks-its all very pro.We are greeted warmly and looked after as one is at such events-handed backstage passes,drinks,complimentary tees,a gift of Belgian beers and so on.I'm told they found me on the internet and 'like the honesty of what I do'.The main hall is huge and this is where the main acts will play-my job consists of playing three sets throughout the evening in the adjacent tent/marquee-the idea being that as they change gear on the main stage between acts they need someone to fill the downtime-thats me.some punters will drift into the tent and watch me before returning for the next main act in the hall.

The possible problems I might face start to surface in my mind..am I supposed to do 3 identical sets, as different punters will drift in each time-or am I supposed to do 3 different sets? I have 45 minutes worth of material and three 30 minute sets to do- do the maths and I'm in deep doo doo.What if the second set attracts half of people who have already seen me and half who haven't-do I tell them who I am again, do I talk about cbg's again or not bother-it seems a little no win..if I talk to them about cigarbox nation I risk boring the people who have heard it before,but if I dont mention it again the punters who didn't hear my first set will miss out.hhmmm.

Well I play my first set-it goes great-I finish with "I think I'm coming home' and 'Black dog', telling them about hospital visits and clinical depression-as some of you may know its pretty intense and I come offstage shaken-my blues (pain) have been delivered and they loved it but as I come offstage with watering eyes I know I wont be singing those songs twice more-its draining and its not an act.As I pass through the crowd that Belgian hospitality/warmth is firmly in evidence-someone thrusts a piece of paper in my hand-on it it he's written 'your belly is maybe empty but your heart is full of blues', I'm extraordinarily touched.Another guy says 'can I give you something?' I say sure and he says 'a hug'-I look at his warm open face and we hug- it is very unbritish and I enjoy the breakdown of the stupid social norm-it doesn't matter that we are men-we are two humans consoling each other.Another guy presses a gift of a bottleneck in my palm.After I've calmed down I sell the first batch of many,many cd's-they all want them signed and it starts to feel normal signing stuff.

I'm due back on in 40 minutes..I still have 6 songs they haven't heard but as you know they're short songs! I pick others from the first set to make up the 30 minutes and decide honesty is the best policy.I get the nod from the soundman and the circus rolls on-I'm pretty proud of the way it gets handled-this set is more light hearted-I tell the audience of my predicament and they smile-this fest has a 10 year history and they probably know the score for the guy in the tent! I tell them its radio hollowbelly on strict rotation-they laugh.some have returned some are new-they clap along, stomp, woop-that damn song 'southside girl' goes down a storm and defies yet again my secret desire to drop it from my set.It goes well and the crowd are with me once more.More cd's get sold, more tees..as I walk into the main hall to grab a quick look at the main acts the size of the place and the turnout is incredible.As I push past the punters I can see people nudging each other and pointing at me, mouthing Hollowbelly and suchlike.People pat me on the back.

At midnight I drift back and stand at the side of the stage like a tired boxer who's past his prime-holy cow there's another round coming up-I'm not Bruce Springsteen, and I curse myself bitterly for not writing/playing the laid back traditional 12 bar blues I've witnessed elsewhere..on the other hand I feel like a pro-its up against the wall time and I like it-I'm working, I'm earning great money and of course this is what its about-hard graft..I'm not in the realms of the bedroom guitar hero no more-this is what its like to earn a living wage no matter what business you're in-it involves good old fashioned hard work.I go back on and play again-I'm tired but I get through it-I give it my last ounce, then there's yet more cd selling and yet more Belgians saying beautiful things..we hear theres a backstage party but its 2am and all I want is my hotel bed.We get back to the castlelike hotel, Hilly clambers into his bed opposite and as I lie in mine I'm aching from the neck down-my head is buzzing but I eventually drift off.

Well dear reader, I met some wonderful people-the Festival organisers were consumately professional and treated me wonderfully.If you ever get the chance to play Blaublues then take it.I would especially like to thank the Belgian people for their support, warmth, enthusiasm, honesty, and passion.It was an absolute honour to play there.