"So... who are you with?" The burly security guard steps forward, barring your way.
"I'm with the band," you say, your voice loaded with suggestiveness, and it doesn't go unnoticed.
He raises an eyebrow, taking in your too-tight dress and cherry red...
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It soon becomes quite apparent that I'm going to have to compromise and take some shortcuts when it comes to my beauty routine whilst on tour. The bathroom is small and cramped with a tiny shower reminiscent of the caravan holidays of my childhood that I've tried to block out, and a toilet that I've been warned about not using for 'anything more substantial than a wee'. These were the bus driver's words as he'd emerged with a grim look on his face as he'd recounted a tale of blocked pipes and overflowing sewage on his last tour with another band. That's probably a good thing being as I'll be sharing my living space with nothing but male company for three weeks.
I make short work of clearing out the rank-looking bottles of various men's toiletries in the cabinet, replacing them with my own array of luxury products. I take great delight in pouring the contents of an industrial sized bottle of some cheap brand of 2 in 1 hair and body wash down the sink. Who on earth uses that stuff anyway?
Fifteen minutes later the bathroom is full of my own toiletries and beauty products and smells like the perfume counter in Selfridges. That's much better.
I know Van will likely be livid that I'm taking over but I don't care. It's about time those boys started taking better care of themselves. I have visions of pamper sessions where I treat the guys to facials and manicures, wondering if maybe Van or Bondy would let me paint their nails?
Getting ready doesn't take me too long. I slip into a tiny figure hugging dress, pull on my docs and touch up my make up. I'm eager to get to the venue, wondering what mischief I can get up to, determined to make my first night on tour a memorable one.
"So... who are you with?" A burly security guard steps forward as I make for the back door of the venue, barring my way.
"I'm with the band," I say, my voice loaded with suggestiveness, and it doesn't go unnoticed.
He raises an eyebrow, taking in my too-tight dress and cherry red lips that are puckered into a pout. "Oh right, I see. So which one you shagging then?"
I shrug, noncommittal. "I've not decided yet..."
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The venue is much bigger than the room the band had played in Manchester just last week. An unexpected swell of pride warms me through as I make my way through a maze of narrow corridors, the loud thrum of Bondy's guitar echoing off the walls, guiding me to my destination. I'm starting to understand why people get so excited in the run up to gigs, anticipation is thick in the air as I push through into the backstage area and hear enthusiastic chatter from the lads as they tune up their instruments. I can only imagine how they must be feeling on this first night of tour, debuting their songs to a fresh audience who might not be familiar with their sound. Excitement and nerves churn inside me and I'm only a spectator.
