FROM AUTUMN TO ASHES drummer Jeff Gretz has posted the following message at the band's MySpace page:

"Last night of UK. Show goes great as all of the previous ones have. We've broken even on expenses with 3 weeks of tour left. This is great. Spirits are high. After the set the bus is loaded we're saying goodbye to HUNDRED REASONS and taking pictures. I'm walking in between the side of the bus and the club - tight fit, it's dark – and an inconsistency in the sidewalk causes me to lose balance. I can't fall completely over, because I fall into the bus. I land on the ground straight down onto my ankle. I hear and feel a distinct crack. 'Are you okay?'. 'No. No, I'm not'. They help me up and usher me into the lower lounge of the bus. Not much ice in the club. Anthony, our tour manager, gets me some cubes wrapped in a napkin and I try to ice it down. No "visible" damage. Nothing feels out of place with some cursory pokes around the area. Feeling in the extremities, everything is moving. It's sore but not terrible. For now.

I go to bed, I'm gonna sleep this off. No such luck. It feels like someone is holding my foot in the mouth of hell itself. I retire to the the TV lounge. I watch a movie. This thing hurts. I take off my shoe, my foot looks like someone inflated it with a bike pump. Everyone that comes into the TV lounge says the same thing, 'Holy shit!' Really, that's exactly what everyone says. OK, I'm not sleeping at this point, No ibuprofen, no ice on hand. I'm toughing this one out, there's a lot of DVDs here, I'm gonna watch 'em!

Noon. Still up. Now this thing REALLY hurts. I can't even really WALK on it at all, or put weight on it. It's bigger than ever. Hospital time. Let's try out this free health care thing. I take a cab over to the Chelsey Royal Infirmary. I tell them I'm a Yank, they ask my name, my address, my wife's name and phone number. That's it. Not one signature. Nothing. No paperwork. They take me right back to X-ray, immediately sit me down with a doctor who explains I have broken two bones in my foot, will have to wear a cast (and use crutches) for 6-8 weeks and can under no circumstances try to play drums in the cast, which I was already contemplating doing. They charge me 10 pounds for a cd with my X-rays to take back to NY to have my doctor there determine when to actually remove the cast. But other than that, in- out- no questions- no problems. Frightningly efficient.

That's it. The band finds a fill-in (Fran will be drumming and singing for two shows then the fill in is flying to Paris to finish out the tour. This fill-in is Graham Griffith from the band FLOOD OF RED from Glasgow). I'm probably out for the Austrailia tour, actually most definatley unless a miracle happens and they take the cast off after 4 weeks, Brazil is cancelled. I can still go to Japan. I don't envy them in the least. The only positive thing about this happening to me is I don't have to deal with the headache of organizing that fill-in shit...

But I have to go home, it's surreal. You come over as a gang, and there I am alone, at midnight, sitting in an honest to god ghost town of an airport (no one around, nothing open, can't check in and just be done with it until 5:00 AM and then my flight leaves at 8:20 AM – no sleep for 48 hours at that point. ) 6 hour flight home. Then customs. Airports are NOT set up for people on crutches. Some nice people from British Airways do help get me priority screening for bagchecks and security purposes. By the time I land, get through customs, get a cab and get home it's around 2:00 pm New York Time (which would translate to 7 PM london time, which means I've been up for 62 hours straight).

Now the question is what do I do? I'm scared. I haven't held a "real" job in years. And I don't count waiting tables (which I haven't even done in over a year) as a real job, that's like a anthropological circus sideshow of the human psyche… I never counted that as a job, that was a "social experiment". I can't play drums, I can't practice. I can write! But even that is limited to what I have at my disposal in the apartment (I don't like writing on guitar and all the keyboards are in the space which I can't drag from Brooklyn to Harlem for the obvious reasons.) On top of all that, we live on the 4th floor. I can't maneuver these crutches anyway, let alone up and down our treacherous stairs that I have taken near-miss spills down when I'm HEALTHY. I will probably spend the next 2 months, obsessively journaling ridiculous thoughts, reading, plotting, sceheming, and becoming bitter.

I wish the guys the best of luck and wish I was there to finish the mission. If you're going to the shows keep in mind that they're figuring all this out as they go along and instead of canceling the shows are trying to give the best they can. In the mean time, I'm ready to come back and kick shit harder than before when I'm better."