After three days of wandering the streets of unfamiliar English towns, we finally make it into London. We were last here in July, and it feels surprisingly easy and familiar, as if weÃ‚Â’d never left. The city’s similar to Manhattan, except it’s massive, sort of like New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Boston and Los Angeles rolled into a single, circuitous mega-city with a logic-defying number of places to get drunk.
It’s the first night of our month-long residency at Dublin Castle in Camden, a perfect little place for drinking and mayhem that’s not nearly the dungeon its website suggests. We meet the other bands playing with us Ã‚Â— all incredibly nice people: Bear Hands, from Brooklyn, the Boat People, from Melbourne, and the Race, from Reading.
At 7:00, the place is already buzzing, and everyone feels good about the night. Even so, it’s Election Day in the States, and all day weÃ‚Â’ve been fretting about the stakes, hoping for the best (Obama), bracing for the worst (McCain). It’s Noah who keeps frightening the rest of the band, telling us: “I have a bad feeling about this.” We all try to ignore him and drink some more pints.
In any case, the show goes off really well, and we’re kind of amazed to find people singing along. Later, in our hotel room, weÃ‚Â’re glued the television. Sometime after 4:00 a.m., Obama wins. Everyone’s dead tired, but ecstatic. All is well with the world. No relocating to Canada necessary.