Those that know me, know that I have spent the majority of my adult life on the road with bands, touring, hanging out behind the velvet rope, and all of the excess and crazy bad behaviour that comes with it.
I've met a huge selection of the A-list, seen them at their worst, and in some cases, put foreign objects in their assholes. " It's boring, but it's a part of my life"- Ron Burgundy.
So when I meet someone new, and they have heard about me from a friend, the inevitable question is "Tell me a story from the road?"
They stand with baited breath, wanting to hear about the time after the awards show, when I walked a celebrity actress, a blonde perfect 10, known more for her epic chest than her acting ability, back to her Hotel, and what happened next.
Or the time on tour with the band *** *******, when we wrecked 6 rental cars in an hour.
Or the time I bent the newsreader over her desk and....
But you know what? I like this one-
One day in summer, we were in the tour vehicle, rolling along a coastline with the ocean on our right, and hills full of sheep on our left. It was one of those moments where everyone was getting along, good music on the stereo, full bellies, summer smells. Perfect.
But out in the water, I saw a white shape, and I realised it was a sheep. It was caught in a current, and was well on its way to being swept out to sea. It was kicking and trying to swim, but it kept going under, out past the breakers.
One of the guys in the band saw it too, and instructed the driver to pull over.
We all jumped out and ran to the waterline, and me being the least important, jumped right in and swam out to the sheep.
He wasn't a friendly sheep, and he wasn't small. He had horns (which makes him a ram), and he had way too much wool on him for that time of year. So when I grabbed him, he fought me out there in the water, neither of us having the luxury of being able to reach the bottom.
He weighed at least 100 kg's wet, and was almost as big as I am in the body. I kept going under, and caught a horn a few times in some excrutiating places. It took 15 minutes to get him to the shore, I was beyond exhausted.
But I wrestled that bastard back to the beach, and picked him up like a wrestler, dragging him bucking and bleating across the road to the fenceline. The band pulled down the top wire, and I dumped him safe and sound on the grass. Back in his world.
He glared at me, ran along the fenceline to the break we all just noticed at that moment, and ran straight across the road again and back into the water.
I was fucked if I was going to go get him again, so we all just sat on the beach and watched this crazy old ram headbutt his way through the waves and for all we know, swim to Indonesia.
Whenever I meet someone who works the land, I ask them "Do sheep like water?", and they always say "No". So whatever his motivation was, I'm sure it would have made an epic tale if he survived (which there is no way he did).
In comparison to moments like that, all the parties and celebrity wank, and 'here today gone tomorrow' personalities and endless stress and technical difficulties of life on the road just fail to compare, which is why I'm pretty happy being separated from it all nowadays.
The best thing about life is the living of it, not all the decorations and acoutrements we dangle off it.
Write that down.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.