When I was very young and lived in Los Angeles, I had two flatmates and our flat was really big. One day Juanita said, “So… I hope it’s ok that I told some band they could sleep on our floor for a few days. They’re called Fucked Up. But they’re from Canada and they don’t drink and there’s a girl in the band so they’ll probably be kind of ok?”
They stayed a few times. Some other bands did too but Fucked Up were my favourite. When they played Coachella we all stayed in a nicer-than-necessary
rental and then on the way back to LA went straight from Palm Springs to El Matador, and watched dolphins for so long we didn’t realise the tide had come in and the ocean was waist high as we trekked back to the cars through the cave. I had a bag full of camera equipment held over my head, but it was ok.
Now I live in London and never almost get stuck on beaches, but I will still lug bags full of camera equipment out for Fucked Up. Their new album is the best, too. (Thank you, Sandy and Jonah.)