Taking a cue from student's delight 'Memento', our US blog will flit through time like the good lord never done invented it. Cut to us meeting in the middle of soho at 6 in the morning to film a few last minute shots for the 'jump in the pool' video. It feat.'s us lip-synching underwater to a chorus that's longer than our lung capacity. With our pained, oxygenless expressions in the can we wipe off our make-up and head for Heathrow. There's no place for transvestites on a long-haul flight to Philadelphia.

Having not enjoyed Owen Wilson's latest unfunny comedy offering and a luke-warm fish pie, I'm tempted to turn the tiny plastic cutlery on myself. At passport control I get every part of my body scanned to check I'm not pen-pals with Bin Laden. I get talking to Sheridan, the man behind the desk, about the amazing gigs he's seen in the 70's. Before I leave he asks if I drink, and ducks down behind the counter with my passport. He pops up to explain he's slipped us 20 bucks to have a drink on him, totally reaffirming my faith in humanity. In today's climate of terror, I'm pretty sure he risked gunfire just to give us a chunk of his hard earned crust.

Get out of the airport to be greeted by insane humidity and prehistoric dragonflies. We listen to a golden oldies medley from some 50's FM station all the way to the hotel. Leg it over to the night's venue – a concrete block with enough disco balls to make Giorgio Moroder blush. Hit a diner for some amazing saturated fat and sugar at low, low prices. I have a new-found respect for anyone who can live here without becoming morbidly obese.





We finally get to play at 5 am, GMT, and it feels fucking great. Even the security, 7 man mountains, actually the biggest people I've ever seen seem to dig it. Get back to hotel feeling all warm inside for some sleep 18 hours too late.

until next time,
edd g.