California Diary 9

Santa Barbara: 16th August 12.25pm

Basildon Bonds. Even here by the Pacific Ocean.

I have stayed in hostels before. Done my time all over Australia in1999/2000 with Jane. So the moment I walked through the door here I knew the score, the rules, or the lack of them. The mess and laziness.

My room ok. Just a double bed and fluorescent lighting, that's all. The staff are busy but overrun. There are gap-year students here from all over the world. They all wear wraparound sunglasses and surfer t-shirts. As usual they don't leave the hostel, they just hang around playing cards or cruise the Internet.

Santa Barbara is easy on the eye. The beach and harbour are pristine and the town has classy shops and restaurants. I walk around, mooch and buy a few items of clothing that I may never wear, and some funny postcards that I know for sure that I'll never send.

In the evening I go out and eat some sushi. It's good. The pacific as a backdrop, swooping gulls and skateboarders dally with each other. I walk into town. There is a farmers market and music in the bars. I grab a beer and watch. I'm feeling good. This is my arena, music and drinking. My bread and butter, my livelihood ever since forever.

I find another bar called 'Kings Road'. They are showing football on the TV. I order a margarita, settle back and watch the game. They are also playing very fine music here. Nick Drake, Radiohead , Squeeze and Elvis Costello. I'm happy.

Please get happy boy. It's about time you did.

A man walks into the bar I'm sure that I know. Do I know him? Yes. I do. I double then treble take.

It's Martin from Basildon, my hometown. Martin Gore from Depeche Mode. I am staggered. I knew Martin briefly when I was a sixteen-year-old drama student in Southend. He used to hang around college with Vince Clarke who was in the band, and who then went on to form Yazoo and Erasure. I knew Vince's brothers Rodney and Mike really well, were at school with them.

I used to go to early Depeche Mode gigs at places such as Raquel's and Crocs and was really pleased when they first hit the top twenty, but thought that they had only a limited appeal. Who would have thought that they would go on for over twenty years and become one of the biggest bands on the planet?

Well I didn't.

Martin and I have a beer and talk for a little while, reminisce about some people we both know. Phil Burdett and my brother. A few promoters etc. He wanders back to his friends and I back to the game on the screen. I feel a rush of pride. We both come from the shittest town in the whole of England, and I guess that we have both done all right on our own very different terms. I wish I had his money though.

I have three more margaritas and return to the hostel very pissed. There are kids still playing cards in the foyer, and I manage to knock a table as I pass and cause a bit of chaos. They laugh and so do I.

I remember hostel card games with Jane in Australia. Our game of choice was called 'Uno'. It became a serious addiction and very competitive between us. We would play by pools, at bus stations and at airports. She was a master at 'Uno' and would taunt me and tease me when she would always eventually win. She would flick water at me from her constant bottle of Evian and chant 'loser'. Sometimes I would get cross and storm off, which made her taunt me even more. She would chase me through corridors and around pool sides. It was hilarious in hindsight.

I go to bed and sleep deeply. I wake up and I do not know where I am. It takes a minute or so to get my bearings. That has not happened for a while. I go and have a shower and I break the bloody thing. The head snaps off the hot and cold-water adjuster and I cannot switch it off. I hurriedly dry and dress with the shower still running. I tell the guy at reception and he shrugs his shoulders. Whatever¦.

I go and have breakfast at a diner but I don't eat much. The coffee is good though. I feel shaky; perhaps it's the remnants of the alcohol and meeting Martin Gore. I still cannot believe that, but yes, it actually happened.

I check out of the hostel and go for a walk along the seafront. Skaters and tourists jam the boardwalk. It's ok. English accents everywhere. How we love America. Some of us have always wanted to be young Americans.

I walk to the end of the boardwalk where it runs out and turns into grass and picnic benches. It is quiet here and no one is around. I sit and light a cigarette. I look out to sea, there are little fishing boats and oil rigs on the horizon. It's not a sunny day today. It's overcast and there is mist pressing into the mountains behind me. I take in a long drag of my cigarette and then I crumble.

I start crying. Massive heaving, uncontainable sobs. It hurts my chest, stomach and kidneys. I cannot stop. I try to stand up but cannot. I collapse back on to the bench.

It's terrible.

I begin praying through the gasping breaths that I am trying to take.

'I'm sorry Jane. Sorry for making you ill. Betraying you with drugs and selfishness. Ignoring you when you most needed me. For disappearing when you were at your lowest. Forgive me, forgive me, please.'

It does not make anything better. If anything, it's worse. Tears are streaming. I am coughing and spluttering. I should be embarrassed but I don't give a fuck. I'm out of control

'I'll love you forever Ruth. Do you understand that? Forgive me now. Now please. The things I said and did were wrong. I went mad. Lost my way. I've been a child. Please Ruthie please I love you. I love you.'

There is snot running down my nose, and I might be frothing at the mouth. I feel useless, absolutely powerless to this.

'Help me god, please help me through.'

It's no good.

I remember a prayer that we used to say at the end of Cocaine Anonymous meetings. It's called the serenity prayer. I was always glad when we got to that point of the meetings because it meant that it was the time when we all could go home. Time to get away from the other people who were in the room with me. People so like me but entirely different.

At that point, on that bench, in front of that sea, and with those mountains behind me, it's all I wanted. To be home. Home with friends and not here. Not in this place.

I start saying the prayer. Through gritted teeth and gut wrenching wailing. I say it over and over again.

God.
Grant me the serenity
to accept the things I
cannot change.
The courage to
change the things I can.
And the wisdom to
know the difference.

It's a mantra, I cannot stop saying it..

My breath slows and I relax a little. There are still tears, but they are reducing to a sniffle. I pick up my bag, put it over my shoulder and walk away.

I don't know where I am going. I am a boy and not a man, I am lost. Lost in a seaside town in California.

Quote of the day:

I want somebody to share
Share the rest of my life
Share my innermost thoughts
Know my intimate details

Martin Gore