U is for Up Her What?!

Champagne at Big Uncle Franks

So it turns out ‘Upper Norwood’ only exists in the minds of Ash and their booking agents, because we certainly can’t find anyone in London who has heard of it! Ees no beeg deal cos ‘Gypsy Hill’ or whatever this place is meant to be is an Irish bar, and that means open bar, busty barmaids and lots of ‘craic’. It’s possibly the smallest stage of the tour so far, and not only that but it’s a funny ‘L’ shape and unless you’re standing on top of the bar you can’t really see what’s going on. Smartly they’ve done some sort of live video link kind of thing to the smoking area and set up an outside bar, and if it wasn’t so flipping freezing this would be the perfect setting to watch the show. I have to admit that none of us really prepared the best for the show tonight since we all demolished the biggest veggie burger + chip setup ever seen, and the auld hearts were having a tricky enough time getting oxygen around our wretched bodies already. The barstaff and Big Frank the landlord were a great bunch of lads, not only giving us free run of the bar, but letting us tear into the backroom stock (including champagne!) all night. If only we didn’t have to get up early to travel to the Isle Of White there would have been quite a few contenders for the Chardonnay Award! The gig actually went really well, mostly because I had never seen so many lovely girls in the crowd, and if you’re not already aware, that’s our target audience. Afterwards we had the pleasure of meeting Damien from the Undertones, one of the nicest men in rock and a hero of ours, and everyone got involved in some serious jollies. We were staying in the posh part of London tonight, and since Stevie is barred from anywhere that isn’t a bath or skip, we left him and the rest of or Irish buds and headed into the night. Let’s ‘av you Isle of White!
Luke

Tour Video Part Three

Enjoy x

PK Christmas Show

We’re pleased to announce that next week we’ll be playing a free gig at Radar Live in the QUBSU Speakeasy in Belfast, this is the last PK show before we go into hibernation to finish writing the album. Also playing are our two favourite new bands – the dirty, noisy, car-crash of rock The Alice Kona Band and Napoleon, who you’ve probably not heard of, but if you like Ryan Adams, MeWithoutYou and Manchester Orchestra, you’re in for a treat. Did I mention it’s FREE??

T is for Two Nights In Heaven (Tunbridge Wells yo!)

T Is For Tunbridge Wells

The morning after the night before was interesting because everything was wet. “You boys are very naughty” delivered in a sultry Welsh accent was the only punishment though, so we got out of there and back to England as fast as Mild Terror could take us. The venue where we would spend the next two nights was pretty cool in terms of decor, really trashy art, fender guitars made out of iron hanging on the wall, cheeky graffiti, but yet again, FREEZING. You also had to climb a ladder to get into the soundbooth and walk round the drums to get into the dressing room, so someone didn’t consider the layout too well, did they? The gig was one of our best, the crowd were well up for it, and we saw a worrying amount of Ash tattoos and sparkly pompoms. Stu and I headed off to stay with our new mate Pat, a music photographer who had been right in the heart of the glory days of Britpop, so we had plenty to chat about. I’m now going to hand over to someone from the hallion brigade to fill you in on what went on back at the party.

S Is For…Someone Call An Ambulance

S Is For Swansea

I’m assuming that it was because Swansea presented us with the coldest, wettest night I’ve ever seen that the crowd were so dull. We rocked the pish out of it despite all the broken strings and tired bodies, but the gig was irrelevant because the after party was so good. After Ash’s set, the venue (kinda like a bigger version of the Limelight if you’re familiar with Belfast) turned into a club and instantly filled up with hundreds of tweenies drunk on energy drinks and fags. We were on a mission to set up the single members of our party with some lovelies, so we headed out with Josh (Ash’s American cameraman : bold, confident, funny, gay) and got involved in ‘interviewing’ the finest Swansea had to offer. I was making great progress by asking stupid questions and hamming up the Belfast accent, but it was useless trying to play the wingman since most of our tour party were more interested in other vices that night. Anyway, I met some new friends who Stevie would later dub ‘The Sundays’ (gorgeous, yes, but I’m quite keen on Frankie if she ever happens to read this…) and brought them back to the dressing room to see what was going on.

R Is For…Rock On!

Shabby Road

R Is For Rotherham

Rotherham then. Coming from London this is one of the less pleasant journeys we’ve had to do and given the previous nights antics and how far along the tour we are, we’re all feeling a bit worse for wear. For all the enjoyment we get from playing gigs three nights out of every four, one of the drawbacks of touring is that you get a little starved of creativity so to combat this and a long aul’ van journey we get the laptop out and set about writing some new tunes.

Q Is For…Queer Giraffe On Display!

Going, going…

Q Is For Queens Park

Over the course of this tour we’ve played in some strange places, theatres, cow sheds, leisure centres, strip clubs, you name it. So it comes as no surprise that after we load into the Corrib Rest – an Irish pub in north west London -  we’re told we have to leave the dressing room so the Irish dancing class can start, turns out this wouldn’t be the only flamboyant dancing of the evening either, oh no. After our gig in Oldham and their ‘chavvy’ drinks promos, we’re inspired to buy litre bottles of ‘VS’ (Basically this is fake ‘VK’, which in turn is fake Smirnoff Ice – don’t judge us.) from Morrisons  (Fake Tesco?) and everyone’s in good spirits.

P Is For…Please, please, please get down off the roof of the tourbus or Party in the street or Premier fan de Ash et le Panama Kings or Pretty blonde down the front or Please, please, please let me get what I want or Prelude to the return of the pink pants…

Tim talking Stevie down from the edge…

P is for Plymouth

So blondie and ginger scrape themselves together on Remembrance sunday and try and make their way back to the centre of Manchester. Thanks to the two lovely Bangor ladies Claire and Kelly for being so accomodating.

After a rescue remedy in the form of a foot long sub, the boys pick us up and we’re off heading for the toe end of England – Plymouth.

After what feels like forever (I think I have a much needed sleep – dreams on this trip have been SO messed up and a heart to heart with my brother from another mother, young ricolias pyschopath) we pull into the sleepy town of Plymouth at dusk.  Bizarrely for being the start of winter time in UK, i actually feel like im on my summer holidays.  The neon lights crossed with the setting sun makes me imagine for a fleeting moment that im in miami vice.  Maybe its time i made myself over like Don Johnson.  i reckon some sort of extreme-ish makeover is required if i am indeed going to ever return home after tour: more piercings???  that tattoo that franko has been pushing me for forever or maybe a new wardrobe or removal of all this hairy business????

O Is For…Overcrowded

Ash soundcheck on the smallest stage yet

O Is For Oldham

Rolled out of our glorious hotel at what felt like the crack of dawn, got greeted by some more miserable Newport weather and piled into the back of the van. The space between where we sit (usually me, Stevie and Ricardo, the bad boys of the tour) and the driver’s seat in front is now filled with a month’s worth of CRAP. An overview- carrots, sushi, fake blood, real blood, boke, chipsticks, mustard, crisp packets, beer cans, crisp packets with beer cans in them, beer cans with crisp packets in them, strepsils, all of Stevie’s meds and various costumes, about twenty Primark bags (it’s easier to buy new keks than find a laundrette) and a stack of magazines covered in a mystery liquid.

N Is For…Never In My Life

The dressing room.

N is for Newport

So after a day off in London town where me and Ricky went on another one of our adventures where we just appear to walk around forever never really getting anywhere we manage to get all our laundry done (finally something for our Mums to be proud of!!) at an East London Laundrette that the Kooks are setting at a table outside the cafe next door.  i believe it was an emergency crisis meeting – where to go next eh boys??? the bargain bin methinks!

Later that night, we meet up with Stu Gismore and Timmy Anderson and Ian Gambo take us out on the town.  We meet Gypo and Ben Jamie at a big gay drug party (don’t worry mums, we did no drugs and no gaying either but someone did find some buckfast and soon there is a bout of wrestling and other dancefloor hijinks.  One of the tour party who cannot be named for legal reasons actually woke up in a wheeler bin in the middle of nowhere but somehow managed to find his way home like a sodden homing pigeon and slept in the doorway of the flat before realising that the rest of the tour party were already tucked up in bed.