A Sinus That Is Criminally Vulgar

G: You said you've read our magazine?

R: That's right.

G: Could I know your thoughts on it?

R: Interesting.

G: Just interesting?

R: Very... interesting.

G: Yeah. You've recently reunited with Deep Purple, is that right?

R: A while ago, yes. It's even been in the paper, if I'm correct.

G: It probably has.

R: I don't know how that correlates to the topic of this interview.

G: You lot have been Deep Purple now for quite some time.

R: If you ignore the ten years in which we weren't.

G: Have you any memorable stories you'd like to tell us?

R: Let me think. I recall to having once fallen sick.

G: Really? What happened?

R: I had a fever.

G: Okay.

R: I might have even sneezed once.

G: Really?

R: Yes. I'm a firm believer of the theory that everyone has sneezed at least once.

G: Oh. I believe so too.

R: It were mostly throat-related issues.

G: That didn't affect your peformance?

R: No. I don't play my guitar with my vocal chords. That'd be a bit disturbing.

G: That's true. I mean, illness can affect your entire body.

R: I like to believe that I am special.

G: Special?

R: Illness doesn't really affect me.

G: Interesting. Can you elaborate?

R: Well, there's not much to say. I just don't get sick very often and if I do, I'm basically fine. Yes, the virus is in my system, but I'm not affected.

G: You just said you'd suffered a fever and throat issues once, though.

R: That can happen without illness.

G: Yes, but the illness causes it too.

R: How do you know that?

G: Because it's... a symptom of the illness.

R: If you think about it, is it really? I believe I just happened to have a fever because sometimes, hotels get awfully cold so I sort of bundle up in a lot of blankets. That heats up my body, naturally.

G: ... Right.

R: The throat stuff happens because I yell at people too much when they do stuff I don't like, which is very often.

G: I see. I've been wanting to ask you something else.

R: What if I don't want to answer?

G: Well...

R: I'm joking.

G: Okay. Many people were wondering how a man like you experiences the act of sneezing.

R: A man like me?

G: You've got a reputation.

R: Obviously, but which aspect are you talking about?

G: You're a perfectionist. Some might describe you as moody.

R: I'm just shy.

G: Right.

R: So, the act of myself sneezing or someone else?

G: Both.

G: To some extent?

R: I don't know if I want to talk about it...

[A moment of silence.]

R: So personally, I think the act of sneezing is something that's very natural. Raw. Y'know? Everyone does it, whether they like it or not. Well, most people anyways. To some extent, it's involuntary.

R: I believe it's controllable. Of course, when... feeling that sort of pressure in the sinuses, you'd want some relief from that, but it's not necessary.

G: You don't think sneezing is completely involuntary?

R: Not for me, at least. I have never been in the position where I couldn't hold it in. I think, when other people sneeze at inopportune moments, it annoys me. My own control over my own body might be the reason for that.

G: Most people can't control their sneezes.

R: I disagree with you.

G: I think you're a minority if you can control them.

R: I think you're a minority if you think I'm a minority if I can control them.

G: I have another question.

R: Okay.

G: Have you any interesting moments including bandmates to share with us?

R: Ian Gillan sneezes like a foghorn.

G: Loud?

R: Loud and disgusting. Y'know, when someone sneezes and it sounds like they have a lot of mucus in their nose blasting out. He always sounds like that, even when he's not stuffed up.

G: I see.

R: It's absolutely vile. I cannot believe that I am the same species as Ian Gillan.

G: Right...

R: He's an absolute nightmare when we're sick, too. He's his own invasive ecosystem when he's ill.

G: That's quite the colourful language.

R: You don't need to print this.

G: We prefer being authentic, unless it's you who wants it cut?

R: No, I'd love for this to be published.

G: Alright. You've also been in the band Rainbow, haven't you?

R: Yes. I have.

G: Have you any stories from that era?

R: Yes. I've got a great story for you, actually. Cozy Powell, y'know?

G: I know Cozy Powell.

R: He's a jokester. A prankster. And so am I, we were pulling pranks on everyone else... except Don. Touch Don and you're a dead man, y'know. Well, Cozy and I pranked our bandmates a lot. We switched out musicians every few weeks anyways, so it wouldn't harm any personal relationships. There weren't any.

G: Hm.

R: Ronnie Dio, you know him? Of course you do. He used to sort of wear these extravagant clothes. He was obsessed with medieval armour and such, in a similar way to me, only I'm not one for knights. He was more of a fighter, more of a knight. He'd purchased this expensive cloak and Cozy and I wanted to dirty it up a bit to mess with him. The only thing that we could find quickly while Ronnie left his cloak unsupervised was cayenne.

G: I can see where this is going.

R: Yeah. Ronnie had no idea what was coming over him. He sneezed a lot and he'd kind of grown paranoid that he had developed an allergy to something, but what? No idea. He was suspicious of everything the following few days, all while wearing that cloak. I don't know how he didn't realise.

G: Wasn't the cayenne visible on the cloak?

R: It was the same colour. Our initial plan of dirtying the cloak didn't work because of it, but this was much better.

G: I agree. Well, thank you so much for your time.

R: I could've done so much useful stuff in this time, so I'm glad you're thanking me for it.

G: One last thing, what do you say after someone sneezes?

R: 'If you want attention, just ask'.

-------

"For fuck's sake!" he hissed out groggily. "Could you slam that any harder?!" Ian didn't respond to his outburst, instead opening the door once more and, indeed, slamming it even harder. The sheer pettiness that radiated from the action had Ritchie fuming. "Stop it! What's got your unexistent knickers in a twist?" He watched in horror as Ian began to strip himself off his clothes.

"Would you sod off for just one second?" Ian snapped back. "I literally just got back!"

Ritchie scoffed, "At this time? I'm trying to sleep!" The audacity that man had! Ian told, "Not everyone leaves the venue abruptly after their show ends. Some people like to have fun with friends. Ever heard of that?" and instead of responding directly to that, Ritchie demanded, "Can you at least keep your trousers on!"

"No", said Ian resolutely. "My parts feel more comfortable this way." Ever since this particular leg of the Machine Head tour, Ritchie and Ian had been booked into shared rooms to cut down on money. No one else wanted to share with these two difficult men, so they were put together.

And, to Ritchie's absolute horror, Ian had turned out to be an unashamed nudist.

"Well", Ritchie sputtered, "My eyes feel more comfortable *not* seeing your parts! Put it away!" He finally managed to avert his eyes after what felt like an awkward amount of time. "At least put on boxers!" The two of them had had this exact conversation for days on an end, but Ritchie had no intent of giving it up. Perhaps, he could convince Ian to cover up out of sheer perseverance.

Ian sighed, as though Ritchie was being immensely dramatic. "It's just for the three seconds before I get into bed! We all have one, why are you being so impossible about it?" To be honest, Ritchie couldn't really argue with that fact. He turned his back to Ian's side of the room, facing the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to tune out all of Ian's sounds. The occasional sniff, the clearing of his throat, the sound of his breathing...

"Must you breathe so loudly?" Ritchie finally sighed out, too impulsively. As expected, Ian let out an indignant, "What?!" He even almost seemed to choke from the surprise, though he regained himself fast enough. "Oh, so now I'm breathing too loudly? Just get bent, you silly old fuck." That was so incredibly expected (and honestly deserved) that it didn't even anger Ritchie further. He simply wanted a night's rest.

There was the sound of Ian getting himself ready for the night, then slipping into his hed and soon, his breathing smoothed out. It took Ritchie a bit longer to fall asleep, especially with the way Ian was snoring. No, it wasn't loudly, but it was enough noise to keep Ritchie up, just like the past few nights. That explained why he was as much as a wreck as he was the next day.

When Ian got up in the morning, he saw Ritchie miserably buried in his bedsheets. The guy looked downright pathetic. He couldn't help himself and called out, "Oi, Blackers. Rough night?" Not so secretly, he felt a sense of satisfaction. The guy had complained that Ian breathed too loud, after all! Ian To his delight, Ritchie took his bait and hurled a pillow to his head. Ian caught it with ease, laughing loudly. He tossed the pillow back as he cleared his throat. "That's yours." He disappeared into the bathroom to get himself ready for the day with a shower, a shave and a brush of his teeth.

Unlike he'd expected, when he re-emerged from the bathroom, Ritchie was still glued to his bed. He pulled the bedsheets off of him, watching him squirm like a worm on a hook. Ian could imagine it would be cold, seeing the guy was merely dressed in his knickers. "Wake up, Blackmore. We've got soundcheck at four." He didn't say that it was only nine in the morning. It was worth it, seeing the flash of panic on Ritchie's face, "Then, how late is it n..." before he processed the time on the nightstand clock. "Oh, haha. Very funny."

Ian laughed again, "Don't worry, we've got plenty of time. I'm getting some breakfast. You want anything?"

Ritchie sat up. "Coffee", he mumbled as he rubbed in his eyes. That only earned him a slap on the arm as Ian grinned, "Well, then go get it yourself!"

Neither of them really liked the breakfast the hotel offered. It turned out their minds were more alike then both of them would've liked, as well. After all, a bit later, Ritchie did find Ian in a diner about next to the hotel, bowl filled with some salad.

"We've picked the same spot to eat", Ian called out as Ritchie passed by his table, mouth full of cucumber and lettuce. Seeing the guy so grumpy, Ian didn't want to pass on the opportunity to take the mick out of him. "Come, sit across of me. Don't ignore your colleague!"

Unlike Ian had expected though, Ritchie sank down on the seat opposite to Ian. He ordered a simple breakfast of coffee and toast (after all, he didn't need to look out for his throat) from the server and silently stared out of the window. Ian tilted his head, layers of brown hair bouncing along with the movement. "You're awfully quiet today."

"Not everyone's as obnoxious as you", Ritchie pointed out and Ian grinned. There was the Ritchie he knew, after all! The toast was served to the table with a cup of piping hot coffee, steam swirling up to the roof. Ian peeked over, spotting ham and cheese on the bread. Ritchie grabbed the peppermill and ground some onto his breakfast and Ian...

Ah, shit.

He quickly turned to the side, slapping his hand over his mouth and nose as his breath hitched. "H'ERSHhhh! Ah, sorry", he sniffled out quickly. His face was red and warm. That was a bit embarrassing. It wasn't better that Ritchie was staring at him in disgust, those piercing eyes almost stabbing through him. He wanted to disappear for a moment. If only he hadn't leaned in so close, he wouldn't have smelled the pepper...

He quickly grabbed a napkin, discreetly wiping his hand and nose with it. He felt a bit uneasy under Ritchie's unwavering eye contact, even as the guy took a small bite of his toast. Ian cleared his throat, quickly finishing his unseasoned salad.

Ritchie couldn't stop thinking about it. How disgusting it had been. Almost on his food! If Ian hadn't turned away quickly, he could've thrown that whole plate out and order something new, which would've been a terrible waste. He wanted badly to reprimand Ian about table manners, but no words came to mind. And if he was being fair, Ian hadn't been able to help it, but still! Why'd he have to hang over Ritchie's plate in the first place?

He only realized he'd been staring into Ian's eyes when he heard Ian clear his throat. Ritchie quickly redirected his attention back to his plate. Was it him, or was the room suddenly feeling a bit hotter?

The sunlight was casting a glow onto his face and he squinted his eyes. That was probably it.