12/07/98 - Day off. Los Angeles, CA

Another fecking day off. As I wake up in the morning I follow my usual routine. Crawl out of the bunk, brush my teeth, turn my computer on. Today as I hit that power button there is a resounding sound of . . . nothing. My finger must have missed the button. I hit it again. Nothing. The battery must be flat. I plug in the mains power from the bus. Nothing. Fear growing. The plug must be damaged. I switch it. Nothing. Fear biting my throat. I try another plug. Nothing. Shit. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT! My fucking computer is dead! What am I going to do? I can't believe it. I feel sick. The thought of not having a computer makes my teeth hurt. This thing is definitely dead. Kafka's little helpers have poured vodka down the keyboard and pooed on the CPU. Doom. Despondency and Doom. Brand spanking new computer murdered by a dead Czech's evil horde. I don't seem to remember any ancestors of mine opening Tutan Karmun's tomb, and so it must be the little men with hammers. Luckily I have a back up laptop to save the day and so the tour diary will continue. I can hear you all sighing with relief (yeah right).

The day gets worse. France beat Brazil in the world cup. How in the hell can that happen? France have NEVER won the world cup. I think it was rigged. If I said to you: "France are gonna beat Brazil (the five times world champions) 3-0 in the World Cup" you would die laughing - and so would the bookies. Someone made A LOT of money from that game. I bet the odds for Brazil loosing 3-0 to France were phenomenal. Just a thought. At night the band have a dinner date with Suzanne from the record company. We take a cab to the restaurant. The cab driver has a video camera in the front window. He asks us if we'd like to participate in a 'people study'. Well, why not. He puts his headphones on and pulls the cover from the camera and starts to ask us questions as he films. Who are we? Why are we here? How do we like LA? Suddenly we drive by a crowd of French people celebrating their victory at the World Cup. Our natural reaction is to wind down the windows and shout abuse as we cruise by.

"Bollox!"
"You didn't even have to qualify anyway you bastards!"
"It was fixed! Fuck off back to France!"

We all stick our heads back in the taxi window laughing and still shouting. Then we realise the whole thing has been caught on camera. Great. Pitchshifter the anti-French band . . . on TV. We love playing in France.

The crowds are always really good to us and we always have a laugh. If this film comes out then the nation of France is going to think we hate them. It's not that at all. It's just a football thing (and that's football not soccer you bastards). Whoever wins the World Cup has to get abuse from all the losers. England hasn't won the damn thing since the 60's (even though we invented the bloody game) so we know a lot about abuse. The meal itself is very nice and Suzanne from Geffen is very helpful. The whole thing softens the blow of a knackered brand new computer and a French victory in football.

Bloody days off.