Zebra & Giraffe - Knuckles Album Launch

It’s almost impossible to have avoided hearing a Zebra and Giraffe song at some time over the past five years. Be in on the radio, on television, or live at some or other festival – this band has been everywhere. They chose the Assembly as the Cape Town venue to launch their brand new album ‘Knuckles’ – which you can now order on iTunes.

Upon entering the venue, it was clear that this was not your average Friday night at the popular local club. Sponsors Ray Ban and Honda Music had gone all out on the experience front, and created a station for hair cuts (which Zebra & Giraffe frontman Greg Carlin later confessed to having visited) and other where a man was holding out his arm, appearing to be having a tattoo inked on, right there and then. Surely not? Surely the tattoo was only temporary? No, it was real, all right, and the man being inked was none other than Z&G’s own bass player, Stefan Henrico – aha, that’s why Carlin was standing in a corner, having a good giggle to himself.

The opening act for the night is Cape Town’s own Reburn, who treated the gathering crowd to some songs from their second album. Although not as well known as the main act, they managed to hype up the audience very well, with their interesting style, which could possibly be described as “funk-infused reggae indie-rock”.  Their vocals and style are noticeably influenced by British indie-rock bands, and indeed one song in particular reminded me a lot of Scottish band The Fratellis’ hit ‘Chelsea Dagger’ – interestingly this is one of the bands they cite as an influence. Although I did begin to worry at some point that the bass player’s Joy Division shirt would result in a spontaneous cover of ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’.

Fresh from last Saturday’s slot at the I Heart Joburg festival alongside international acts like Panic at the Disco and Fall Out Boy, Zebra & Giraffe proved that a club environment is where they are most at home.

Thrashing on his guitar and moving about with as much mad enthusiasm as the tiny stage would allow, Greg Carlin led his band through a stream of both old and new songs. Of course, the greatest cheers were for the earlier, better known songs including ‘The Knife’ and ‘The Inside’, but this does not mean that the band have stopped making good music. In fact, personally I found their new single ‘Dancing’ to be one of the best I’ve heard. Their new style is slightly different – slower in parts, more forceful in others – but it works. They are most definitely not the same band who joked in a slightly bitter tone that “no one’s here to see us” when they opened for The Killers five years ago; nor are they the same band that played to a half-empty student club in Grahamstown in 2011. No, this band has grown in leaps and bounds, and on their latest offering, are sure to cement themselves once again as one of South Africa’s best.

By the time the last notes of final song ‘Pariahs’ echoed through the club, Stefan Henrico’s fingers were pouring blood onto his strings, and Greg Carlin dripped sweat from his face onto his slick-looking leather jacket, but they look absolutely thrilled. And they should be.

Original article also published on whatsonincapetown.com

I Heart Joburg Part 1: Journey

It's 10pm on Wednesday night, and I'm sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, starring thoughtfully at a pile of laundry higher than I am tall. I've also just had the terrifying realisation that I leave for Joburg in approximately 44 hours (which sounds like a lot, but I'll be at work for 24 and asleep for 16, which leaves about 4 hours free), and in addition to having absolutely no clean clothing - save for the new flamingo socks I just bought - I also have absolutely no free space on my phone or camera - and what's a concert without a wagon full of photos? Ah well. At least I've got the most important thing down - the brand new, bright pink travel bag that cost me as much as half a week's groceries, but was way more necessary.

Yes, the weekend has finally arrived - it's time for I Heart Joburg. After much fangirling, I'd purchased tickets way back in May, and a busy lifestyle had meant that I had had very little time to look forward to the festival. Flights booked, accommodation arranged ... it was like a full-on flashback to that crazy month in 2011 when I'd done Jozi twice in three weeks for Coldplay and the Kings. In fact, this will be my first time in Gauteng since then.

Fast-forward to Thursday, when I've given up on my laundry being dry in time because it's just too damn hot to tumble dry anything, and instead have packed the bare minimum amount of clothes, and have gotten halfway through the toiletries when I realise that my deodorant can't go with because, ya know, no aerosols on planes. And so I launch into a crusade to find a bottle of roll-on somewhere in the junk heap that functions as my bedroom. Although completely unsuccessful, I do manage to locate a rock from Mount Vesuvius, a deflated balloon from a friend's farewell party in May, a collection of small rocks, and a pair of sunglasses that I thought I'd lost somewhere between Scotland and Durban circa mid-July 2013. Not to mention that shrivelled chocolate from an Emirates flight two years ago. Gross. Anyway, I've packed what I can, and hopped into bed for a good 9 hour sleep to prepare myself for tomorrow's trip... but like all people like me, I can never guarantee rest.

Before I know it, it's 1am, and my entire life is floating before my eyes in tiny, half-awake snippets, interspersed - for some unfathomable reason - with a line from Amy Winehouse's 'Back to Black': "And life is like a pipe, and I'm a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside...". And even though I don't know what on earth that line means, IT MAKES ME SO SAD. Chalk it up to stress for work the next morning. Chalk it up to not being completely mentally normal. Whatever, either way, I get to work at 6.30am running on two hours sleep, and the certainty that absolutely everything is about to go tits up with this weekend that I had planned out so carefully.

Hit 1.30pm and I'm finished all my work for the day, but unfortunately unable to leave until 3pm. Twitter says there's a press conference, but my bois doing that weird thing where I'm not sure if the butterflies in my stomach are from nerves, anxiety, dread or excitement. I decide to satiate my stomach with some breakfast, but make the extremely bad choice to get a pie from the garage next door because real food costs more money and after this weekend I will have none of that left. 

And so at home I meet my eternal concert buddy, Miss Lauren, and we're whisked away to the airport by Miss Amy - none of us anticipating that getting to the airport in an hour is made almost impossible by a traffic nightmare on De Waal Drive. Cue mild panic, a mantra of "it'll be fine, guys" and dodging through lanes of traffic like we're in some perverted game of bumper cars. This is the part where any sane human being begins to regret that late afternoon pie - it was almost certainly road kill rather than chicken, and it's swirling around in the consumer's stomach, mixing painfully with the nerves and the bumpy care ride. We nearly hit the roof flying over a speed bump at the airport at 100km/h, and Amy giggles before pulling into a parking and declaring "We made it! 18 minutes guys, I did good!". Check-in; print boarding passes; sigh with relief; hit the Wimpy for food but get absolutely no service; proceed through boarding gates; get frisked for making the metal detectors go off; find another Wimpy; board the plane; wonder why said plane is heading towards the ground at a rather alarming angle of 45 degrees; almost fall asleep hug Carryn to death at Lanseria; drive to her house in the dark; pass the 'Welcome to North West' sign - three provinces in one day! Find a bed; collapse. 

Wake up. It's 8am, we're leaving for breakfast by 9am and plan to be on the road to JHB by 10am, ETA at Ellis Park stands at 11am. LOL JK. We make it to Ellis around 1pm, handbags stashed under the seat and finger on the trigger of Carryn's pepper spray - expecting to get hijacked around every corner. 

And so we reach the parking area, only to be asked for our parking ticket. Warning - rant ahead: HOW THE HELL WERE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW WE NEEDED A PARKING TICKET?? When Steyn Entertainment told me on Facebook that "limited parking is available at the stadium", did they ever mention parking tickets??? No, they sure as hell did not. So we're told to turn around and go find a Computicket to buy a parking ticket. That's fine. But no one knows where the Computicket is, and we're left driving in circles around what is probably the least safe area in the whole of Joburg. By the time we're driven for 5 minutes or so, our nerves are so shot that we happily pay some dodgy person R100 to park in a 'safe place'. It seems a little dodgy, but it's in the ground of a college, so it can't be that bad, right?

And so, hugging our handbags and making sure Carryn knows that she'll be offered up as Tribute if anyone attacks us, we make our way to the stadium, and only relax when we're through the golden circle gates.

Misheard Lyrics: Part 1

I can just about guarantee that everyone out there has misheard a song lyric sometime in their life. Perhaps it was because you were simply singing along without paying much attention to the words; perhaps it was because you were too young to understand what the song was about; perhaps you were just being an idiot. There are the standard "'Scuse me while I kiss this guy", "Hit me with your pet shark" and "Go, go, Jason Waterfalls", but for me, the more obscure, the more entertaining. Anyway, I personally have some classics - share yours with me in the comments!

The Gaslight Anthem - Ain't That A Shame

The most recent of my gaffes - one of my favourites on the band's new album, I had been confidently singing along to this song for the past two weeks or so ... "Oh my love, my love is a plane, ain't that a shame, ain't that a shame." Eventually I googled the lyrics so that I could read them and interpret the song as a whole, and discovered that it was 'plague'. 'My love is a plague'. Oh.

Bon Jovi - Bed of Roses

I grew up on Bon Jovi, and it took many, many years to realise that Jon was singing about being "just as close as the holy ghost is", rather than "holy ghost ears", which apparently are not a thing.

Brandon Flowers - Magdalena

On Brandon's debut solo album, he sings about a pilgrimage to Mexico, and how he is "fixing to carve this out of wood". In my tiny, science-infused brain, I interpreted the words as "I'm fixing the carapace out of wood." Please note, a carapace is the exoskeleton of a crab. Jury still out on what the crab was doing along a road in Mexico.

Take That - Back For Good
"Whenever I'm wrong, just tell me the song and I'll sing it - you'll be right up on the sun." Doesn't sound very comfortable, does it? It's "right and understood".

Coolest Covers: Part One

A friend *cough* Tara Lancaster *cough* recently suggested that I do a blog post on 'awesome covers'. I thought it was a great idea, but immediately embarked upon an internal debate about what makes an 'awesome cover'. I came up with a few ideas:

Is it when the cover gets more attention than the original? (e.g: Leona Lewis's cover of 'Run' by Snow Patrol) 

Is it when the cover is entirely more memorable than the original? (Johnny Cash's cover of Nine Inch Nails' 'Hurt') 

Is it when your favourite band covers absolutely anything? (The Gaslight Anthem's take on 'God's Gonna Cut You Down') 

Is it something completely unexpected and different to the original? (That Hawaiian guy who covered 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow' on his ukulele. Edit: his name was Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. I found it on Google, because the only other human being who would have known what I was talking about is my grandmother, and she'd probably think I'd lost my mind if I phoned to ask her) 

The answer is, in fact, that it's a little bit of all of the above. 

Below is a list of some of my favourite covers, a few being recent additions, and the rest oldies. I quite like this idea, so I'll see this as Part One of a covers series.

- Watershed: 'Southern Cross' by Crosby, Stills & Nash. Whilst it doesn't beat the original, the local boys do a fantastic version of the song, and luckily they always play it live, so I've gotten to see it more than once.

- Chvrches: 'Do I Wanna Know' by Arctic Monkeys. I love Alex Turner and co's version of their song, but I love Lauren Mayberry's voice more. Also, no matter how many times I'm told that the correct pronunciation of this band's name is 'churches', it will always be 'cha-ver-ches' to me.

- Johnny Cash: 'Hurt' by Nine Inch Nails. I dare you to watch the video without feeling a stab of painful human emotion. Plus, it's Johnny. He can do no wrong.

- Bruce Springsteen: 'Royals' by Lorde. Something bugs me about Lorde, and I think it's the fact that she's a kid singing about adult struggles. I don't believe her when she sings about being from a torn-up town and driving a cadillac in her dreams, but somehow when The Boss sings it, I believe every word. It's all suddenly real.

- Nirvana: 'Where Did You Sleep Last Night' originally American folk song 'In The Pines'. Because Kurt Cobain brings this song to life and adds a little bit of gravel and grain without losing the gist of the original song.

- Glee Cast: 'Don't Stop Believing' by Journey. For a lot of people, this was the first time they'd ever heard this classic song, and I can't hate on Glee if it made great music more accessible for the younger generation.

- Pendulum: 'Violet Hill' by Coldplay. I wanted to stay away from the Radio 1 Live Lounge songs, because I could do a million posts on those amazing covers, but this one sticks out for me simply because usually I'd block my ears if someone tried to cover Coldplay around me, but this one is just really great.

- Lily Allen: 'Everybody's Changing' by Keane. Lily seems to have a thing for covering Keane songs (she also did a cover of 'Somewhere Only We Know' for the John Lewis Christmas advert last year), and somehow her thick London accent and sweet, high voice do justice to the alternative band's songs. 

Review: Prime Circle Live at GrandWest

Cape Town – a land where the inner-city hipsters judge the quality of a band’s music based on its failure to sell albums, and write-off anyone who happens to have a hit on the radio, because really, what kind of mainstream fools even listen to the radio? How, then, did Prime Circle expect to sell out a venue as large as Grandwest’s Grand Arena? Well – take note, hipsters – if they’ve had so many radio hits, they must have had some fans in the first place, right? The answer is yes – they had a whole arena full.

The Grand Arena has in the past played host to international bands including The Script, Daughtry and Nickelback, with The Fray and 30 Seconds to Mars both scheduled for later this year, but this was the first time I had experienced it with the golden circle and general admission areas instead filled with chairs. I must say, it was a welcome sight. With tonight’s concert attracting a large number of the older crowd, as well as parents with children, seating everyone made for a less tiring evening, but did not stop the fans from jumping up and leaving their seats long forgotten by the second song of the night.

Opening act Jesse Clegg was treat for many of the audience members. Playing slowed down acoustic versions of five of his song, ‘Heartbreak Street’ in particular contained enough familiar lyrics to transport one back in time to 2008, when it was a firm radio favourite.

It’s a mind-blowingly quick changeover, thanks to the help of a giant curtain which had been hiding all of Prime Circle’s gear, and within seconds they burst onto stage. Now, I’d need both hands and possibly a foot to count the amount of times I’ve seen Prime Circle before – but never quite like this.

Instantly, the stage is lit up in all colours of the rainbow, with dancing lights and background screens emphasizing each song. It’s impossible to reconcile this band on stage tonight with the band that so often plays on outside stages at the likes of the Kirstenbosch Summer Concerts. Tonight, they’re just as international as any of those bands that have been here before.

Brand new single ‘Gone’ goes down a storm as the second song of the evening, but of course we are treated to some of the old classics as well, including ‘Hello’ and ‘As Long As I Am Here’ from their first album, way back in 2002. And yes, everyone does still remember the words to both songs.

With the front rows having left their seats long ago, Prime Circle proceeded to cover their fans in sparkly gold ribbons, which shot from the confetti cannons, high into the air and elicited many ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’.

‘Out of This Place’ and ‘Breathing’ are two of my personal favourites, also performed impeccably, however the biggest singalong of the night was – without a doubt – ‘She Always Gets What She Wants’. Frontman Ross Learmonth (still, somehow, with that hint of a Scottish accent, although he left the country when he was tow months old) dedicated the song to all the ladies in honour of Women’s Day, and grinned broadly as the voices of the crowd overpowered his own.

Closing with ‘Consider Me’, the show was absolutely fantastic. Ending in a shower of confetti, Prime Circle set the bar high for live performances, and other local bands should take note. An absolutely professional production, it is no wonder that the band have had successful European tours with bands including 3 Doors Down.

As a side note, there are several ways in which one can describe Grandwest Casino on a Saturday night: the tourist brochures will certainly call it ‘a hive of activity’, but I prefer ‘pure hell on earth’. Do arrive at 7pm for an 8pm show, expecting to ‘just grab dinner when you get there’. What you’ll be doing is entering a fierce battle with several teens on dates, and perhaps a crying 3-year-old before you get near the front of the line for any kind of food. In fact, I’d advise to sneak in the side entrances near the arena, and skip the rest altogether.

Original review also found on www.whatsonincapetown.com.

Top 5 Songs: The Shins

I was halfway through a list of my favourite song lyrics in the history of songs, when I was suddenly struck by the fact that I had to keep restraining myself from adding another song by The Shins. And another. And another. So I decided to save that one in my drafts and instead begin a list of my Top 5 by The Shins.

Way back in early March 2012, I booked tickets for Reading Festival, simply because the thought of Paramore was enough to elicit and actually squeal, and when The Gaslight Anthem were added about a minute later, I literally screamed. Add Foster The People, The Vaccines, Florence, and some weirdos called the Foo Fighters, and I was sold. Cue buying tickets on my poor mother's credit card, and hoping she'd forgive me the next morning when I had to make the "I-just-spent-R5000-on-your-credit-card" phone call. The next few months flew by in a whir of Pumped Up Kicks, you-and-what-army, instrumental intros for Flo's numbers, a cursory listen to The Black Keys... and an interesting new find called The Shins. Something about their melodies haunted me, even though I battled to catch a lot of the lyrics. By the time I got better at figuring out James Mercer's vocals, I just had enough time to place myself firmly in awe of his lyrical genius, before I embarked upon a crusade to learn every word of their setlist before August. It was the beginning of April, and I was hooked.

Fast-forward to this band being the one I was most looking forward to, besides the Gaslight Anthem, but then add 5000 bored-looking audience members, and it was enough to put a massive downer on my excitement. The band's performance was great, but the audience acted like they were at a funeral, and I was the only one singing along to 'Bait & Switch' at the top of my voice. Now, two years later, they are still one of my favourite bands, and I think back on that day with nothing but regret. I wish that I could have blocked the audience out and enjoyed the performance more, but it hurt me personally that such an amazing band weren't getting the treatment they deserved.

Anyway. To make me feel better, let's do a Top 5, so that if you ever happen to see The Shins, you'll be able to sing enough for all those losers who just don't.

'Australia' - At first listen it's upbeat, happy-sounding and catchy. Even if you do work out the words James is singing, chances are you never string them together well enough to realise that it's about being stuck in a dead-end job. It's a classic formula: being with poppy tune, add miserable theme, and it's that perfect shocker for when your listeners finally figure out what you're on about. Don't believe me? Take a look at the lyrics - it's all selfish fools (bosses) and buying of your life's time (that pitiful salary you receive at the end of the month). 

'Port of Morrow' - If this was the first/only song by The Shins that you ever heard, you've be forgiven for thinking that they're super-emo. It's a lament on the sad truths of life, and is horrifyingly descriptive and frank. I love it, and in my head there is a perfect sepia-toned music video to go along with it. 

'Phantom Limb' - Apparently about a lesbian couple in high school, but there's no doubt that everyone can relate to the line "follow the lines and wonder why there's no connection" every now and then. It's a song about being out of place, and all of us rejects know what that feels like.

'New Slang' - Pure and absolute poetry! This isn't a song, it's just a purely genius way of stringing words together into absolute perfection, and elicit emotions I didn't even know I had. I mean, what does "If you took to me like a gull takes to the wind, well I'da jumped from my trees and I'da danced like the king of the eyesores..." even me?! I'll tell you what it means - it means that this band is flawless.

'Simple Song' - Oh, the way I squealed when this was played in How I Met Your Mother! Perhaps they'd finally get some attention in the mainstream media. One of my favourite songs ever, it contains an endless amount of lines appropriate enough to caption an Instagram picture with, or quote on Twitter when you're feeling alone. Plus, the video is full of people tearing each other's hair out and avoiding a wrecking ball, what more could you ask for?

Panic! At The Disco; Top 5 Songs

So after getting over my initial displeasure that Panic! At The Disco were the much-awaited final headliners for I Heart Joburg, I remembered that they sing 'Nine in the Afternoon' which featured in one episode of the second season of Heroes, and then I got excited. So why was I initially so displeased, you ask? Well, because they're a little alternative, electro-rock band from Vegas, they have a little song about Vegas lights, they shoot little videos in the desert and the little fool that leads the band is called Brendan of all things. Basically, they're as close to being The Killers as you can be without being The freaking Killers!!!!! I was so close to seeing my favourite band in my country again and then they whip out the closest thing to them in the world!! It's adding insult to injury, I tell you! Like seeing 'cola' on the menu and then having it be Pepsi instead of Coke. Like, just give me Creme Soda instead FFS! Anyway, this displeasure lead to a temper tantrum at the office, with me basically running around shouting 'Panic! At The Disco' at the top of my lungs, whilst trying not to burst into horrified sobs. When asked what was wrong, I simply replied 'Panic! At The Disco'. I think I was having a breakdown.

Fast-forward a month or two, and I've calmed down a bit (unless someone mentions the video for 'Vegas Lights', then I lose my shit) and I'm forcing myself to listen to the band that I really did like until they offended me by not being The Killers. So let's break down a top 5 - nah, let's be realistic and do a top 3 -  and I'll try to keep my cool:

3) 'I Write Sins, Not Tragedies' - Probably Panic!'s best-known song, it was many people's first taste of Brendan's vocal range, quirky lyrics, and song titles that don't make sense (a-la Fall Out Boy). 

2) 'The Ballad of Mona Lisa' - I swear, I once said that I wish The Killers had written this song. In fact, every time I hear it, I imagine Brandon Flowers singing it into one of those old-fashioned 50s stand-up microphones. Anyway, Brendan and his crew do it pretty well too (I'd expect so, seeing they wrote it). I have a vivid memory of singing it in the car on the way to PE one day back in 2011, when going to PE was the most exciting thing in the world.

1) 'Nine in the Afternoon' - I don't care who tells me what 'I Write Sins...' should be number 1; it should not be! I mean, what even is nine in the afternoon? I don't know, neither does little Brendan Urie I bet, but either way, it's a catchy tune and I love a few nonsense lyrics every now and then. 

Top Five: Fall Out Boy

As I Heart Joburg Festival draws ever closer (flights booked, friends bugged for accommodation, and slight panic that omg-the-whole-thing-is-going-to-fall-through initiated), I've set my playlist to nothing but a constant rotation of Fall Out Boy and Panic! At The Disco - because in all honesty they're the only acts worth seeing. Anyway, I can sing along to all of Jason Derulo's songs without even trying - all I need to do is belt out "JAAAAAYSOOOOON DERULOOOOO" at random intervals. (I'm just being facetious here, I'm really quite fond of Jessie J too, it's not about the money, money, money and all that, and my friend assures me that Jessie is the only reason she agreed to fork out all those cash monies to join the concert-pros in golden circle. Plus, B.O.B did that song with Hayley Williams. And the one with Rivers Cuomo. Okay, maybe the line-up is good all-round.)

As the playlist on my iPod progresses through the various stages of FOB, I'm left squealing "Ahhh I forgot all about this song" every time "I'm Like A Lawyer..." starts, and positively squeaking over "Sugar, We're Going Down". So what are the top must-listen sing-along faves for the 6th of September? Let's break it down:

5) 'Just One Yesterday' - I know the premise is a little depressing, but I love the title line in this song. Anyone pick up the reference to 'Me & Bobby McGee'? No? Oh well, the band probably didn't either. This song is a little slower and more serious than the FOB we've grown to know and love, but nonetheless it's one of my top.

4) 'This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race" - after many moons spent trying to figure out exactly what tisseenaseenitsaguuhuhsru actually meant ("this ain't a scene, it's a g*d-damned arms race) and many more trying to figure out why this guy is weaving such intricate lies (still haven't got that one down) it became another FOB classic. But if you say this one's your all-time-favourite, I'm afraid the bandwagon's full - please catch another.

3) "My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark" - it was the moment every Fall Out Boy fan had been waiting for: the reunion. Despite my mother's hilarious suggestion that perhaps the guys had fallen out, die-hard fans never quite gave up hope. And then, on the day of Reading Festival 2013 line-up announcements (I CALLED IT), FOB decided to come back, and they dropped a new single, which just happened to be this one. For that reason alone, it should be on the top 5.

2) "Thnks Fr Th Mmrs" - I finished school in 2007, the heyday of this song. For our 'yearbooks' we each had to provide a song quote/title/something to accompany our picture: something that summed up our personalities, or our feelings on leaving school. I went with 'Thanks For The Memories', but unfortunately so did half my year, so I didn't get to use it. Either way, I perfected this song on SingStar, and felt like a boss belting our Patrick's vocals. All together now, "one night and one more time!" and soon we'll be thanking Joburg for the memories. 

1) 'Sugar, We're Going Down' - ahhh, the sweet sounds of 2006! I think my 'Now' CD almost wore out from over play of whatever track number this was. When the times comes at I Heart, I will definitely be falling over a barrier, laying flat at Pete/Patrick's feet and crying. Remember, I'm flying up from Cape Town for this song, and everything else is a bonus. 

Scotland Part 1

We make it to the airport with several hours to spare, and whilst waiting to check in, we observe the behaviour of others around us. Turns out that no matter how much of a fuss you kick up, there's no option of taking extra luggage with you. "Go over there and empty your bag, bring it back to me when it weighs less than 6kg." I hold my breath and gingerly place my suitcase and hand luggage on the scale. Mine is 1 kg under weight, and mom's is 900g over, so together we're alright. The next obstacle is finding food. I would soon live to regret my mumbled "I'll eat through security" when I realised that there was NO FOOD THROUGH SECURITY. Not even a crappy Costa rip-off to sell my exhausted soul a cup of milk-less tea and a dry doughnut. After making besties with an older lady who asked us to watch her handbag whilst she visited the loo (cue minor internal panic that she had definitely just left us with a bomb), she was most interested to hear that we were from South Africa. "Is it safe there, though? The whole Oscar Pistorius thing..." No, lady, it's not safe in SA... every former sports star is a raving lunatic with a gun. 

Eventually we fall in line to board, way at the back of the line, underneath a large poster bearing the image of a designer handbag. I don't know more than 5 words of Italian, but the message is pretty clear: if you're found with counterfeit products, you're in big poo. Hmm. Good thing I managed to tear myself away from that beautiful handbag I'd seen on the streets of Rome. 

Once in the air, the food trolley can't come around quickly enough, but once it does I have to be difficult once again. Rather than grab a coke and packet of crisps to help my rapidly-dropping sugar levels, I insist on tea and a cheeseburger. What? I was starving and it was the most substantial thing on the menu. Little do I know that we'll be 15 minutes from touchdown when my pathetic excuse for a cheeseburger will finally arrive, along with the ketchup I'd paid 50c for. Sigh. I'm done with you, EasyJet.

Upon landing, it's all I can do to not throw myself upon the Great British ground and kiss it. While crying. And throwing back litres and M&S lemonade. Seriously, I've never been so happy to touch down in an English-speaking, Starbucks-offering country in my entire life. I never have to see another gosh-damned pizza again in my life!

We make it onto a bus (and pass a Toby Carvery - cue flood of emotions - remember the server caller Chris? - but unfortunately we don't get time to pay a visit to this particular restaurant) but by now my mind is starting to lose itself in an "OMG The Killers" deadlock, because I'm seeing my favourite band in exactly 4 days. 

After checking in to our hotel - a neat, pretty MotelOne complete with a kettle - we hit the road to the nearest M&S. I have a vague recollection of lemon-flavoured biscuits, buying a dress from H&M or Primark or somewhere, a mad hunt through Primark for a suitable pair of wellies for T, dinner composed of a stuffed baked potato and an interesting cold drink, a quick glance at a few more shops, then heading back to the hotel just in time to hear the news saying Mandela was on his death bed and Cory Monteith was actually dead. I also felt a pang of a minor elation at the fact that there was a Starbucks just up the road. And then... I slept. 

But dawn breaks early when you're so far north, and we waste no time in hitting Starbucks for a snack before proceeding to explore the town. Edinburgh Castle comes first, where we bump into a large collection of Canadian school children, before pottering off down the Royal Mile in search of tartan scarves which cost less than 30 Pounds (read: rip-offs that weren't 100% cashmere - ain't nobody got time for that). 

Scotland is everything. It's the walk up a steep and winding path to the Castle, at the top of which you find the best view of the city you could imagine; it's the record shop that stocks enough Springsteen vinyls to keep an E-Streeter happy for the rest of his or her glory days; it's the fact that there's a freaking volcano in town, and another castle at the other end of the Royal Mile. It's everything. Once again with food on our minds, we head towards the centre of town and locate the Hard Rock Cafe, where the waiter frowns and informs me that I don't look like I'm dressed for T in the Park. Please. It's taking every ounce of self-control I possess, for me to still be wearing normal shoes rather than prancing around in my brand new pink wellies. 

The Edinburgh Dungeons are not the be missed, and we brace ourselves for the scariest possible tour. We pass a giant fake guillotine (maybe, I can't remember what it was, but I know for a fact that it could chop heads off...) and venture down a dark passage way, decorated on each side with a fake rat or two. From somewhere inside comes maniacal laughter, and a guy in a long cloak takes our money, before handing us our change and saying "Thank ye' " in a thick Scottish accent. I giggle and fight the urge to beg him to say "See ye in another life, Brotha." Trying his best to be menacing, he leads us into a room and orders us to stay there, along with a woeful-looking dad ('What am I getting myself in for?'  is surely his predominant thought) and his two teenage daughters. Eventually we're ushered into a makeshift courtroom and interrogated for various crimes: someone's broken the laws of fashion; someone else was caught dancing naked at midnight. And the dad? "Where're you from?" asks the 'judge'. "Belfast." 'Sorry." "BELFAST." "Oh no, I heard you, I'm just sorry that you're from Belfast." and the poor dude is certainly sorry at this very moment that he ever left Belfast. And so we move on through the tour - the ghost girl in the window is a nice touch, as is the way the seats move below us when we're inside the rooms of some dodgy lady doctor. The cannibalistic cave-people are quite fun too, but then we're made to board a 'boat' and row off down a 'river' to escape them. 'Scuse me? You want to launch me through the pitch dark in a mechanical boat, without any idea of what's ahead of me? Not about that life. I repeat: I am not about that life. Luckily I manage to keep calm enough to not plant myself upon anyone's lap (unlike Belfastian teens in the seats in front of me). Next we're loaded onto a mini-rollercoaster and zipped up into the air and then dropped. Child's play after that boat. I'll stay on this tour as long as someone can promise me that the rest of it will be fully illuminated. It is, although we do have to fight our way through a maze of mirrors to find the exit, where we leave through the gift shop after purchasing photographs of ourselves beheading each other. 

Darkness also falls late here, meaning that we have been able to squeeze in a full tour of the city before passing out back in the hotel room with an adequate supply of M&S and tea, to ready our bodies for what is to come the next day...

Going Neopolitan

After a train ride bypassing Rome and heading further South to the Neopolitan coast, I'm excited to explore the famed Bay of Naples. Oh boy, am I in for a surprise. Yes, I'm on a spur-of-the-moment Eurotrip; no, I did not thoroughly research every stop before boarding my train (rookie error); yes, I've landed up in perhaps the dodgiest city in the whole of the Northern Hemisphere. I exaggerate, but only slightly: Naples is Hell on Earth. 

If the repeated voice over of "Please be aware of pick-pockets" in the train station isn't enough to send you right back on the next Trenitalia back to Roma Termini, perhaps the homeless people outside will do the trick. Or the fact that you can't cross the street without almost getting hit by a car because there are no stop streets and no robots! Phew. Good thing our hotel is about 100 paces from Napoli Centrale Stazzione. We hit the local 'pizza kebab' (read: chicken takeaway shop owned by immigrants from Pakistan) because if I see another gosh-damned pizza in my life I will hurl the thing moonwards quicker than you can say "that's amore". Adequately fed - and holding onto our handbags for dear life - we manage to dodge the throws of people trying to sell us a myriad of stolen items (iPads being the most plentiful) and make it onto a circumvesuviana train to Pompeii Scavi.

Yes, "scavi" is Italian for "ruins", which means I am on my way to the ruins of the actual city of Pompeii, destroyed by the volcanic eruption of Mount Vesuvius wayyyyy back in the first century AD. Goodness, gracious me. "If you close your eyes", that episode of Doctor Who with Peter Capaldi, and the ACTUAL CITY OF POMPEII. It's almost too much for my little brain to handle. The train ride there is pretty gross and goes past a million slums and poor fishing villages, plus when we reach the modern town of Pompei, everything is closed (it's afternoon), but we make it to the ruins around 2pm, and spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around, lost in the history, architecture, and the fact that these ancient human beings had pizza ovens. Some things never change. But Pompeii is truly something spectacular, there are no words to describe experiencing the remains of a city so ancient that parts of it were built before Jesus (whoever he might have been) even walked the Earth. Breathtaking, isn't it? 

But it's true what the guidebooks say, the maps aren't kept updated, and after walking towards an exit for a good 20 minutes in the 36 degree baking sun, we find it blocked and have to try to figure out another way to leave. It's not pleasant, but we persevere, and eventually make our way out. We stop on the way back to the train station for one of those lovely lemon-slush-drink things, and then make sure we catch a train which lands us back in Napoli long before the sun goes down. If the place is dodgy during the day, I'd hate to imagine it by night. But in stark contrast to the rest of the town, our hotel is the nicest I've seen the entire trip... plus there's a kettle. A kettle, I tell you! Luckily we still have some of that Irish tea with us. 

The next day dawns slightly overcast, but warm, and we know that it's the perfect day to tackle Mount Vesuvius. Now, I'm probably the least athletic person you will ever stumble upon, so it's a miracle that I even agreed to go near the Mountain, but hey, when in Naples, do as the tourists do, right? And so we head for the Circumvesuviana line again, this time stopping well before Pompeii, to catch the little tour bus up the side of the mountain. Tourists pay a fee, get dropped off halfway up the mountain, then have 90 minutes to reach the top, explore, and get back down before the bus leaves again. 

And so we're hustled into the front of the minivan with a large Italian driver, wearing a bright green t-shirt and a slightly menacing grin. It doesn't take long for me to absorb my surroundings, and take in the fact that the dashboard is covered in old photographs of the driver's presumably-dead relatives. Hmm. Before we know it, the bus goes racing off, driver speaking into his cellphone in rapid Italian, one hand pressing the device against his ear, and the other precariously balancing the steering wheel between its thumb and forefinger. I'm sure I'm going to die. Driving with an Italian is not the faint of heart, and the speed at which the bus hurtles around the corners on the twisty mountain road are enough to give me nightmares for the rest of my life. Eventually, we slow down behind a massive touring bus, and I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that at least now our driver has to stick to some kind of speed limit. I've never been more wrong in my life. All at once, there's an explosion of hooting (this is how drivers communicate that other cars should get out of the damned way) and we're flying past the tour bus, on the wrong side of the road, and narrowly avoiding being taken out by various cars zooming down the mountain. I decide that perhaps I should close my eyes for the rest of the ride. 

Finally, we're deposited in the parking lot, and dumped unceremoniously from the van. 90 minutes and we'd better be back, unless we really want to walk all the way back to the train station (though after this ride, perhaps that would be safer). And so we set to work, heading up the mountain. Young men in the parking lot hand out long wooden hiking sticks, and whether or not you think you'll need one to help you, the answer is yes, you do. The path is steep and full of loose stones, which make it difficult to get one's footing. But once we've gotten into a rhythm, we manage to make it up the mountain with no major problems. They key is to pace yourself, and not try to get up too fast. We take in the view, and that fact that we're in the midst of an actual volcano, and then take our time exploring the rim of the crater and buying souvenir postcards. I completely disregard the "No removing anything from this natural site" rule, and pocket a tiny piece of rock. What? I'm a former geology student, I'd be a complete disappointment if I didn't try! By the time we're finished wandering around, however, we realise that the bus is due to leave in 14 minutes, and we're still at the top of the volcano. Oh. Cue mad rush down, and the realisation that it is in fact impossible to do anything other than run down Vesuvius, due to the steep gradient. We try our hardest not to lose our footing and become casualties of the nearest hospital (*shudders*). 

The bus ride back down the mountain is even more terrifying, this time the smell of something burning is followed in quick succession by the driver furiously making the sign of the cross (Oh good lord, I am going to die, this is how it ends!), before launching his vehicle into second gear, where it was to stay for the duration of the ride. Yes, the fool had burned his clutch out. 

Invigorated - if slightly worse for the wear - we stumble back to the train feeling very impressed with ourselves. And although we immediately lock the doors and windows upon arrival back in our Naples hotel room, this dodgy city has been good to us. Tomorrow, Rome awaits.