Sore throat, chesty cough and my resulting misery in the run up to our departure are Bad Signs. Other Bad Signs include:

·        The caretaker at work having to retrieve the Mr Heart badge delivery from the skip where he had slung them through ‘inadequate delivery information’

·        Helen and Kim looking at me dolefully during our last practice because I hadn’t written the new song in enough time to ensure we were sufficiently rehearsed

·        Virtually the first words to come out of the mouth of John The Driver (newest addition to our party and at that time unknown quantity) being ‘Where are the maps I asked you to print?’ (Maps??? What about the Sat Nav!)

Despite these minor glitches, Mr Heart, Kin and JTD hit the road at 8pm on Wednesday night with a fairy cake inside each of us and a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Our gear just about wedged like an especially complicated game of tetris into the back half of the splitter and our last minute google maps clutched tightly. It quickly becomes apparent that with all of us, the gear and the weight of our naivety, that there is no way that we can make it to our first show in Groningen for a 6.30 load in aboard our original late morning tunnel crossing on Thursday. No matter: quick changes via the (ever mocked) iphone fix this, and we are re-booked on a 6.50am crossing. Giving us precisely 3 hours to rest in the welcoming Folkestone hotel with the cheery hotelier before suddenly it’s breakfast time… time to leave… time to rush rush rush to the crossing.

Thursday 8.30 am - Arrive in Calais

There’s not much you can say about travelling across Europe by road. The route we took through France, Belgium and then Holland involved flat boring landscapes punctuated by surrealist objects posted by the side of the road in a bid to keep drivers awake. Concrete elephants, lego houses, giant teapots….  Oh and lots of windmills. The modern type for power and the old-fashioned type to remind you that you are indeed in the home of milk-maids and clogs.

In typical British fashion we had a moan about paying 50 cents to piss at the services, laughed at the common use of ‘slag’ in various Dutch words (‘slagroom’ translates as ‘cream’ for example) and managed to turn every head when we stop off for lunch and a beer in a small Dutch town en route. (It might’ve been our complete lack of ability to speak any Dutch at the bar or because we’d just rocked up in a 20 foot van and driven the wrong way down all the one way streets into the heart of the tiny town, undoubtedly parked in the wrong place and then tumbled out greasy haired and black clad and stumbled around the town square looking for a suitable ‘beer and cheese toastie’ venue.)

5.30pm – Arrive in Groningen

Platformtheater is a rather excellent venue and a large Kin poster outside greets us. The gig had been organised for us by our good friends, Rotterdam based band Cradle FC who we would also be playing with on Saturday in Pijnacker. The sound team and promoter greet us and are efficient, polite and more than competent in a way rarely experienced on British soil. What’s more there’s no air of jaded about them, just a healthy dose of enthusiasm.

Unfortunately despite being a great venue, it turns out there is a far more popular one just down the road where apparently the majority of Groningen are lifting their beers to a bunch of other bands. No matter, nothing can dampen our spirits at this point, and Mr Heart take to the stage for their first Dutch show. And considering all my fears about my voice not working it seems to go remarkably well. The highlight for me being ‘Mr Heart’ (the song), which after nearly a year of playing, appears to have reached its 4 chord best. The quiet bits are really quiet in satisfying contrast to the loud bits which are errr loud, and there’s just the right combination of saccharine menace. Or so it seems from the stage. The pesky new one dies on its arse in a crumpled heap of 5/8 ridiculousness but I mentally sweep that under the carpet to preserve a fragile ego. Tomorrow it will be better… 

Next, our first Cradle FC hit of the tour with their new drummer (well old in that he was the original drummer who’s been away and come back). They saturate the venue in their monotone, Joy Division-esque brand of hypnotising noise.

Time for a smoke and a few beers, and then the beautiful moment when Kin transforms from Mr Heart’s bass player into Kin front-woman. The audience is enthralled as well they should be, and I find myself dancing alongside an affable chap called Wouter who also happened to be a local reviewer. We both jump up and down with excitement and discuss how great Kin are, and he tactfully tells me that ‘Your band was ok. I wasn’t going to write a review of the night tonight but Kin are so good that I must. And because Kin plays in your band too, I will mention you.’ Why thank you Wouter! Luckily I’m too drunk and happy to feel deflated, take it in good spirit and mentally note to up the game.

The night draws to a close and Maike, the lovely guitarist from Dutch band ‘The Bent Moustache’ ushers us back to her flat where we are staying tonight. We have a cheery nightcap and Maike tells us fairy tales of the smack addicts who frequent her block and I tell tales of midgets locked in bathrooms and the world is goooddd. And then all is black.

Friday – Head to Amsterdam

We decide to head straight for Pacific Parc in Amsterdam to drop off the gear at about 3pm and then we can head off for a little break and much needed showers at the house we are staying. Steak is mentioned and Helen’s eyes light up like belisha beacons, but alas it is not to be today, as we run out of time before heading back to the venue to be welcomed by the gorgeous and ever hospitable Femke. She organises for us to be fed like kings at the table sat atop the stage (Pacific Parc has an unusual but great vibe whereby it turns seamlessly from family friendly restaurant into bar/club/venue at about 10pm). JTD’s eyes are drawn by a particularly attractive member of staff until I shatter his fantasy by whispering that she’s not into men. John looks a bit downhearted until the gumbo arrives to distract him.

After dinner, things take a turn for the worse. It gradually comes to light that the owner, Martine, has not been expecting us. He had sent an email to Pim, (our friend who had booked the show and is also currently in Thailand on an extended holiday) telling him to cancel the show because he’s decided to put on his girlfriend, Kiki’s album launch that night. Needless to say, we have never received such a message and so we find ourselves watching Kiki perform in a circus tent opposite the venue wondering if we are going to get on stage this evening.

As it turns out we are. An hour later at about midnight I find myself standing on a sweltering hot stage (the ventilation has been broken by a solitary mouse and it’ll be the best part of 25,000 Euros to fix it), in front of 150 drunk, dancing revellers with only a few bars of the record left before I am to blindly stumble into the first song of the set with no sound-check, no monitors and only a vocal PA. There is terror but I pray for some sort of miracle. It doesn’t arrive and we struggle through our set without being able to hear anything, me sweating over the fret-board making a thousand mistakes and wanting to run home to mummy. The new song is once again a total shambles and our parting song Hide has to go naked of guitar because something dodgy has happened tuning-wise. I get off stage a soggy and furious mess, but something strange has happened. I am almost immediately accosted by a Dutch man who tells me to ‘Cheer up, you were excellent!’ and thrusts 5 Euros into my hand for a CD. I cannot reconcile this man’s enthusiasm with what has just occurred and look at him completely non-plussed. Several other people seem to say the same and I assume that since these people have never seen us play before, they are less likely to be discerning. I mentally chide myself for not being cool enough to accept the compliments with good grace and head to the bar for several beers.

Once again Kin’s set rocks the place and I realise that the sound front-of-house is actually bang-on. If only I’d known this whilst on stage! Ah well, live and learn. They sell plenty of merch, Kim turns a straight girl gay just with the power of her intriguing neck, and JTD decides that he quite likes the straight/gay girl. Half of Cradle FC have travelled to Amsterdam and we dance like idiots. On top of this it’s Ding’s birthday and suddenly the night seems much less like an abyss of musical misery and a lot more like a bloody good party.

Saturday – travel to Pijancker (or Pissyknackers as it becomes affectionately known)

We head off on the short journey from the Dam towards Pijnacker and once more STEAK seems to be the word on everyone’s minds. A quick text to Johan from Cradle FC yields the name of a steakhouse in Delft en-route to Pijnacker and it’s there that we head. One amazing Argentinean steak later and we are driving around in circles trying to find the venue, peering at our dodgy Google map in the dark without much success. We are due at 7.30 to load in and at 7.33 I receive a text from Henk (bass-player for Cradle FC) asking where we are. The Dutch may be hospitable and laid back but lateness is a particular pet-hate for Henk! He takes pity on us though and walks down the middle of the road until we see him.

De Trucker is yet another excellent venue, this time a community centre in a small town run entirely by volunteers. But if by Youth Centre you are thinking a ping-pong table in a graffittied hall that smells of piss then you could not be further from the truth. Holland seems to have it right – money is poured by the local governments into the arts and into communities. And by god it shows. Fantastic PA, great lighting and lovely, lovely staff.

A rather odd evening for me in that JD Meatyard are also featuring on the bill with their debut gig.  [JD Meatyard is the project of one infamous John Donaldson of the recently disbanded Calvin Party, for which I provided backing vocals tambourine and a bit of guitar. John had moved to Holland and as a result Calvin Party had come to an end and JD Meatyard was born with Nina and Johan of Cradle FC.] I’m pleased to catch up with John, having spent over a year playing together. However, his set catches me off guard with a mixture of Calvin Party songs and new material. I unexpectedly find myself welling up and have to leave the room on more than one occasion for fear that I might burst into tears. Part of me wants to jump on stage with him to sing but I’m unsure as to how that will be received so I wait. As it turns out, I get cajoled onto the stage to play a G chord on their parting shot ‘Olive Tree’ on a guitar that’s out of tune and initially not plugged in. It’s a bittersweet moment….

No time for pondering however since we’re up next. The room is not bursting at the seams with an audience but those that are there are welcoming. Unfortunately from the stage it’s very easy to see the audience and I suddenly feel like they’re slipping away. My distorted sound is too quiet and doesn’t give the lift that it should in the loud parts. I spot that Ding is filming it and wish suddenly that he wasn’t. That fragile ego snaps and I lose my nerve. So although the set passes off ok (oh, with the exception of the new song of course!) it also passes without fireworks or passion. Right at the death I hear a shout of ‘Get a guy in your band!’ I leave the stage disheartened and John picks that unfortunate moment to dissect the band and advise me on how the set-up could be improved. It’s the wrong time and salt water starts to escape down my cheeks.

Highly embarrassed I just about manage to pull myself together to pay attention to Cradle FC and Kin. Cradle play the best set I’ve ever seen them play. The song choices perfect, Pieter hitting that China cymbal like it’s a piñata, and all is right with the world again! They play an Iggy cover in honour of John the Driver who is napping upstairs. We dance and sing along and drink ourselves stupid. Kin get much the same reception; in fact there might even be a smoke machine. This band just keep blowing my mind and taking me through goose bumps and butterflies more and more intensely as the tour progresses.

The rest of the evening passes in a drunken haze of dancing and searching, dancing and searching, dancing and searching……* We retire to Henk’s and Johan’s houses at about 5 and stumble around in their family homes trying not to wake children and find a bed to sleep in.

Sunday – head to Hoorn

Today we head back North to the little town of Hoorn to play in the miniature punky bar, Swaf. I’ve played here with Calvin Party and am really looking forward to it. It’s the kind of venue that has evolved organically into a place of real character and Nico the owner-cum-sheep-herder does not contradict this image.  The toilets are located to the side of the tiny stage and are somewhat lacking doors. It would be easy whilst playing to jab someone in the arse with your headstock whilst they piss. It’s just Kin and Mr Heart on the bill tonight but by the time all our gear is on stage it looks as if a bomb has gone off in Dawson’s music shop.

The bar slowly draws people in so that by the time Mr Heart are due on stage at 9.30 there must be at least 10 people at the bar! It’s enough though, since the place is so small it almost looks busy and the people are the type to drink A LOT and dance away with you as long as you’re giving it your all.

The sound is surprisingly good and you can hear everything on stage. Partly because the speaker with the vocals is behind the crowd’s heads and therefore facing the stage, and partly because Kim is practically stood on the bass drum with me on her toes. In the rush to load in, sound-check and get some food, I haven’t had time for even one beer. The result (and I don’t know why this surprises me) is that we play the best set yet! The new song actually comes off even though it’s a bit wobbly and I feel fucking fantastic. I trip off stage in a happy daze, head straight to the bar and spend the next few hours attempting to drink the place dry, handing out free badges and CDs to everyone in the bar and making lots of friends.

Kin kick arse AGAIN and I feel so excited for them, as John the Driver raves about the people he knows who can help them get off the ground and the shows he can sort out for them. I examine myself for any tangible signs of envy but I surprise myself that there are none; just pride that we’re sharing the tour with them and pleasure that Kim plays with us too. It’s marred only slightly by the realisation that someday Kim won’t have time for Mr Heart. But I shelve that for another time.

Monday – Leaving Holland L

Nico surreally guides us out of Hoorn on his tractor and we head to Amsterdam. John the Driver has decided that we should all use the return journey of the flights we’d booked before hiring him, and he will drive our gear back through the tunnel and to Manchester on his own. He drops us at a bus stop so we can kill a few hours before the flight in the city and we wave him off with sad little faces. It feels as if a limb has been cut from our collective higgledy-piggledy body and I keep looking round to check where the 7^th entity is. 

We gobble up as much sushi as we can fit in our greedy little beer drenched bodies and then head off for a few more beers before our flight back to the UK, the bus back to Manchester, the taxis to our houses and the walks to our beds.  We learn that John has arrived in Manchester almost simultaneously which seems to have a pleasing symmetry to it. We are exhausted, happy, and left wanting much, much more.

*For those of you who don’t know what Searching is; it’s THIS!

It’s a simple game really, get your friends to look at your hand in this pose and you win. And they suck. As introduced to us by NINA.