Heathrow Terminal 3. A relatively smooth run on the London Underground for close to 2 hours; a skip through Security and my fit bit tells me a mere steps. Heading for a sandwich at the Pret nowβ¦I shall make this diary a shade more colourful in the days to comeβ¦..
Jet lag and stress. With the notable exception of London Southend, I dislike airports. Security can be unpredictable too. Once, in St. Petersburg, after a myriad of checks before we actually made it to the scanners, we encountered a situation where a small dispute was going on concerning a long object wrapped in a towel. I frequently wonder if he squeezed it into the overhead locker. I WILL be positiveβ¦. At last, some good news. Our equipment showed up last night.
This warning especially applies if it is a Lufthansa Check-in desk. All bands are forced into this eventually. Sadly, for Joep, this moment will arrive a little sooner. Our old friend Hein owned it and we rented it from him for European Tours.
It was huge, light blue and, so slow, snails cruised past us laughing into their shells. Going uphill, it could manage no more than around 40mph. Despite all that we were actually stopped for speeding in the Czech Republic. Such an ominous momentβ¦the good traffic policeman turned white when he stepped inside our tank. In my head, I was picturing a fine with a figure stretching to the Polish border. Incredibly, the officer warned us to buy a vignette for the highway and to observe the the speed limit in future.
We gave him an album. It was the bus that Amanda Palmer travelled in with us when she took care of the merchandise desk. Eventually it met a gruesome end when joyriders stole it and set it on fire, presumably because their delight evaporated when it refused to overtake a tortoise. Last night in Kansas was intense. So many new songs to nail, I felt like I was clinging on to the tail of a wild horse.
