They endured a stolen laptop and passport in the US, but as the My Disco roadshow makes its way across Europe, things are finally starting to look up, writes guitarist BEN ANDREWS. They’ve even discovered the true meaning of a French kiss.

OK, so the second we reach the continent of Europa, things start to change. Case in point: our second show in France, where we play this small southern town called Nimes. I roll up with the wheels and announce, to what looked like our hosts for the evening: “We are band.” (Note my expert use of the pigeon English yeah?). To which one small Frenchman replied: “We are DRUNK!” And yes, yes they were. Very.

So it turned into a pretty memorable show. Not only was the performance stellar with small French people dancing and jiving around the small venue, which had ceilings as mirrors, but not even five minutes after the show, Rohan is already making out with some stunning French broad at the bar. No shit, it was that easy. What was NOT easy was trying to figure out whether it was her father who dragged our slightly startled drummer outside and asked for his drivers license and if he wanted to buy copious amounts of hashish. Either way, no harm done as the old man bought Roy a beer or two and we all felt slightly ill on the amount of cheese, red wine and bread we had consumed pre-show. In Europe, the ole four-to-six hours no eating pre-show rule is completely thrown out the window. Sigh.

As we head further west, things get more and more relaxed. Portuguese people seem to want to start a concert only after midnight, no matter how many bands are playing or how far one band (us) had to drive straight after the show. (It was 1300 kilometres, if you wanna know). Ouch. Still, we loved it there, only regret was not going to Lisboa. Next time, right?

Spain proved to be a similar level of indulgence, aside from the fact that when we parked the van in a perfectly legal parking spot opposite a glorious museum in central Madrid (or is it Ma-thrid?!), we got towed TO THE FUCKING AIRPORT! After five hours and several frustrating phone calls to our rental guy (who failed to mention that we had no papers or documents saying the van was rightfully ours, but why would we right?) we get our van back and, yes, we made the next show. Kinda how it rolls with My Disco these days. Side note: our amazing tour host for Mathrid told the parking lot people, who held our van hostage for so long, that they were living in, and I quote, "Fucking South Africa!", for making it so damn difficult to get our property back. Disaster moment avoided.

Back in France, we reach a new level of bad luck. Our van, which had been running a little shit to be honest, had almost bald tyres and fucked axles, rendering it unfit for the road. It had to be towed to the nearest town and we had to wait two days until it was sorted. Ooooohhhhhh the lividness burns! As it turns out though, the town we got stuck in had some lovely old castle that we inspected (alas, no Topshop though). On the bright side, there could have been worse places to break down, and now we know what every European Formule1 hotel looks like down to the very last lack of soap and hand basins.

I have failed to mention that despite popular belief with regards to touring bands, the UK was surprisingly good to us. Our London shows were jammed (mainly with punishing Australians, but whatever – heads through the door, right?); promoters, for the most part, feed us; the money was better than expected; and the drives are short. Pity about London being so fucking expeno, but you gotta roll the good with the bad.

Glasgow was particularly memorable. I think we ate lasagna? At present we have two days off in Berlin before the last run of shows, and I heart Germany. Towards the end of the French dates I was getting pretty fed up with the scenic countryside, outlandish road tolls and copious amounts of intense cheese tastings that would leave me in a comatose/vomitous state right before playing every night. Germany is the land for me, with its cheap beers, large snags and militant timing: “Get to the W-enue five to six hours before it is necessary.” Oh, and did I mention that we completed the last six or so shows of the US tour with a different bass player due to Liam being deported from Canada back to the UK with no passport? No joke. Long story.

Part one here.

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