Waking up, I confuse time conversion with money conversion, but I do sort it all out, spackle on a face, and go to the show. Somehow, almost everyone I know is congregated in this narrow alley in the center of Oxford England, why? I can not believe all the people I see here, all with bright eyes, big smiles, vigorously waving arms, oh my goodness, this is fun. Catching up, all of us chatting away, with our various funny accents, explaining to the nice people around us the odd way we all have become friends and acquaintances. Concerts. These Concerts. And many of us feel the urgency to get to as many as possible before it is too late.
How do we all explain to friends and family at home that although we might be traveling alone, or as a single, we are never alone, we have friends at every venue, and those odd ones up on the stage, pointing at us, waving, nudging the one next to him/her, and both pointing and waving. Lots of waving.
Oxford. Enthusiastic seated but bouncy audience for the first five songs, then slowly the sleeping giant awoke. Like we had springs under our bottoms, the assorted collection of Brits, Canadiens, Dutch, Scottish, Americans, basically the ones who have popped up at a concert almost anywhere, well, we all gave each other the eye, and we popped up. Right at the key change in IKYOTS, and then the Band made a noted change from playing perfectly, to playing with heart. A subtle difference to the casual, and I mean that in a nice way, fan, but like a shot of adrenaline to those of us in the know. Those of us in the front few rows. Those of us who have gone to not quite too many shows. Those of us who might have been there yesterday, might be there tomorrow, and will be there again, and again,.
And the rest of the audience followed. First, those in the front who wanted to get up, did, then those behind us did, then everyone was up, the roar and the applause was louder than 1600 or so people could safely produce, one would think, and it got better. And I thought I was tired.
Fabulous Concert. Welcome to the Tour, Marijane. Thank you I said.
And after the last song, the hugging continued. So many people, so glad to see each other.
But in the vernacular, I was knackered. We slowly limped to a Thai shop, I had cashew chicken, and made the hike up the ten thousand steps to my room, passed out, and so it all starts again.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The Day we Meet Again
The Day we Meet Again
September 19, 2010 Sunday.
I woke up in the morning, in my camp on the southern seacoast of Maine, after a rough night of sleep, having fallen into a hole while gathering firewood, straining my already touchy right knee. Not a fun way to end my glorious day of riding in a convertible with the top down, eating lobtsers and clams, and Not a good start to the rest of my holiday, but as an intrepid traveler, I am not deterred. I pick up a bit, never did the fall cleaning I meant to do, and get into my car, and drive home. I haven’t packed yet, or made some hotel and train reservations, and it was time to get all this done.
Packing, reserving, showering, all done. I actually will have a few dollars, pounds and euros to spend, precious few, but yippee.
I begin my journey with a cab ride to the bus. Now a bus to the airport. Checking in, my bag weighs 10 kilos, plenty left for all those goodies I buy along the way, cant weight to see what it weighs on the trip home.
Waiting to board the plane, a snafu when another plane is late, and has luggage discrepancies, and refuses to share the tow bar. This info came from our pilot. British Airways, about the late plane, Virgin Atlantic. We were thanked for choosing British Air. We take off, hit turbulence white being served supper, I had chicken and rice, difficult with all that ups and downs, and then I had both a pain pill, and a wine, Following up with a massive hot flash. Two hours sleep before the morning sun over Ireland hit me in the eye, and I watched England greet the day from my window.
Monday, 20 September, 2010
Deplaning, Heathrow Airport, Terminal 5, so civilized. A tram to immigration, a quick Q&A and they let me in! Baggage, and then through customs, empty. Ah, all the contraband I might have brought, and no one to stop me. Pulling my bag, I could be almost anywhere, the new Terminal 5 is very generic Airport, and with all the people, all the languages and accents, I did not have that “I’m in England” feel. I did have jet lag and post hot flash hangover, though, was it just 8 hours ago I was home? This traveling through time and space is hard, imagine how the stupid people feel, me with my superior intellect, having trouble assimilating, after all I have been in this country for 30 minutes.
My bus to Oxford arrives, just as planned. I might be in England now, I board on the left, and have a seat belt. The hum of the tyres on the tarmac starts to lull me to sleep, precious sleep, but but but, fat English sheep grazing by the side of the road, sheep who Baaaaa with English accents, and I am on the left side of the road, I wake up, with a start, and look out the window. The hum lulls me again, I nod off, then we hit the road works, and slow down, and I look at the fat English cows, grazing in the fields, moooing with English accents. I will not sleep today. We arrive in Oxford, vaguely familiar, as I had been here before.
My hotel, actually a room above a pub is as advertised, right at the bus station. I look for the entry, and remembering I am in England, I go into the pub itself, and ask the bar tender. She politely tells me that check in is at 2, it is only 12, and that I may leave my bags behind the bar, so I hand over all my luggage to a stranger at a pub, next to the bus station, in a foreign country, and off I go.
Not a few hundred paces from my new home, I pass the New Theatre, advertising a concert tonight! What a coincidence, I have a ticket to a concert tonight. I also run into someone who knows me. A bright fellow, really, makes his living being bright, gives me advice about the city, and how to occupy my time until I can use my ticket.
I go to Boots, buy my favorite shampoo, a sandwich and a drink, then hit the double decker topless Tour of Oxford. What a place. I go round a few times, the bus actually stops at the bus station, go figure, which is where my pub is, but it is still soon, so I go round again. Finally I got off, and wander about, making my way to my room, at least I hope I have a room, so far I have only left my bags at a pub. I run into more friends, hugs, kisses, and me with my jetlag, but eventually, I make it to the pub. 5 men at the bar, looking at me. I am too tired to be paranoid, or worry about just what sort of place I booked myself into. I follow the nice lady, and we go up, and up, and still up, they fit a lot of floors into these old buildings, and of course I am on the top floor. I am always at the top, there must be a secret society of quirky hotels that passes my name around, encouraging each other to put me in the attic. The room is surprisingly charming. I get out my assortment of plugs and adaptors, start the charging of my electronics, and set my alarm, and pass out for two hours, blissfully ignoring BBC 1 on the telly.
September 19, 2010 Sunday.
I woke up in the morning, in my camp on the southern seacoast of Maine, after a rough night of sleep, having fallen into a hole while gathering firewood, straining my already touchy right knee. Not a fun way to end my glorious day of riding in a convertible with the top down, eating lobtsers and clams, and Not a good start to the rest of my holiday, but as an intrepid traveler, I am not deterred. I pick up a bit, never did the fall cleaning I meant to do, and get into my car, and drive home. I haven’t packed yet, or made some hotel and train reservations, and it was time to get all this done.
Packing, reserving, showering, all done. I actually will have a few dollars, pounds and euros to spend, precious few, but yippee.
I begin my journey with a cab ride to the bus. Now a bus to the airport. Checking in, my bag weighs 10 kilos, plenty left for all those goodies I buy along the way, cant weight to see what it weighs on the trip home.
Waiting to board the plane, a snafu when another plane is late, and has luggage discrepancies, and refuses to share the tow bar. This info came from our pilot. British Airways, about the late plane, Virgin Atlantic. We were thanked for choosing British Air. We take off, hit turbulence white being served supper, I had chicken and rice, difficult with all that ups and downs, and then I had both a pain pill, and a wine, Following up with a massive hot flash. Two hours sleep before the morning sun over Ireland hit me in the eye, and I watched England greet the day from my window.
Monday, 20 September, 2010
Deplaning, Heathrow Airport, Terminal 5, so civilized. A tram to immigration, a quick Q&A and they let me in! Baggage, and then through customs, empty. Ah, all the contraband I might have brought, and no one to stop me. Pulling my bag, I could be almost anywhere, the new Terminal 5 is very generic Airport, and with all the people, all the languages and accents, I did not have that “I’m in England” feel. I did have jet lag and post hot flash hangover, though, was it just 8 hours ago I was home? This traveling through time and space is hard, imagine how the stupid people feel, me with my superior intellect, having trouble assimilating, after all I have been in this country for 30 minutes.
My bus to Oxford arrives, just as planned. I might be in England now, I board on the left, and have a seat belt. The hum of the tyres on the tarmac starts to lull me to sleep, precious sleep, but but but, fat English sheep grazing by the side of the road, sheep who Baaaaa with English accents, and I am on the left side of the road, I wake up, with a start, and look out the window. The hum lulls me again, I nod off, then we hit the road works, and slow down, and I look at the fat English cows, grazing in the fields, moooing with English accents. I will not sleep today. We arrive in Oxford, vaguely familiar, as I had been here before.
My hotel, actually a room above a pub is as advertised, right at the bus station. I look for the entry, and remembering I am in England, I go into the pub itself, and ask the bar tender. She politely tells me that check in is at 2, it is only 12, and that I may leave my bags behind the bar, so I hand over all my luggage to a stranger at a pub, next to the bus station, in a foreign country, and off I go.
Not a few hundred paces from my new home, I pass the New Theatre, advertising a concert tonight! What a coincidence, I have a ticket to a concert tonight. I also run into someone who knows me. A bright fellow, really, makes his living being bright, gives me advice about the city, and how to occupy my time until I can use my ticket.
I go to Boots, buy my favorite shampoo, a sandwich and a drink, then hit the double decker topless Tour of Oxford. What a place. I go round a few times, the bus actually stops at the bus station, go figure, which is where my pub is, but it is still soon, so I go round again. Finally I got off, and wander about, making my way to my room, at least I hope I have a room, so far I have only left my bags at a pub. I run into more friends, hugs, kisses, and me with my jetlag, but eventually, I make it to the pub. 5 men at the bar, looking at me. I am too tired to be paranoid, or worry about just what sort of place I booked myself into. I follow the nice lady, and we go up, and up, and still up, they fit a lot of floors into these old buildings, and of course I am on the top floor. I am always at the top, there must be a secret society of quirky hotels that passes my name around, encouraging each other to put me in the attic. The room is surprisingly charming. I get out my assortment of plugs and adaptors, start the charging of my electronics, and set my alarm, and pass out for two hours, blissfully ignoring BBC 1 on the telly.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
July 9 part 2
July 9, Part Deux
Where am I ? The place is familiar, a marble and carpeted hotel lobby, a shiny desk, and someone trying to check me in, my funny accent competing with theirs, as we both try to speak good English. She did speak it well, I was talking English wicked good, too. No more Canadian for me, and I get to use green money again, no more blue bills, or coins with some queen on them, nice dead men for me.
I run into someone I actually know, someone I haven’t seen since we were in New Jersey, or was it Pennsylvania? I forget, but since neither of us are from any of these places, or even wherever we are now, who cares. We catch up an what needs catching up, compare notes and strategize our next move.
We decide that I can do all the driving tonight, as I seemingly do not mind driving in the rain all that much. The rain has followed me, turning into a right proper nasty night. Looks cool and grey outside, but it was sloony. Sticky. Drippy. Damp. YUCK, let’s stay in, better yet, lets go out and play.
Sludging thru the damp, and driving out to another lake, surprisingly I did not see any fingers there, although the signs insisted that I was in the Finger Lake Region. I suppose if I actually got to one of these lakes, I just might give it the finger.
Two GPS to get there, as the address and the GPS location were not wuite the same, but having been there before, three years , ago, I was an expert. Greeted by name by someone with a nametag, and wearing a lanyard, it was decided that we two were way too cool for lanyards, and welcomed out of the rain, and under the shed. You would never believe what we saw. A bus full of English tourists showed up, along with a few Americans, and decided that they were NOT going to judge another wet shirt contest. Dang, and I brought my bodaciousness with me. I tucked all that away, and sat and listened to funny accents tell funny stories. Turns out that my tall skinny English friends like girls.
Good to know, might use that information someday.
A few mildly familiar faces around, but none as much as me, or my travel companion. And we , had a fabulous time, even with sticky and filmy guitars. No new surprises, same set list, but being forced to sit in the front row center, by the poor person whose kidney stone stopped them from being there, put on a good show. I sang and danced the night away. Capturing their attention, preventing them from looking at anyone but me. Really, that is why I go, to make an ass of myself night after night. Actually, I sat nicely for the sitting parts, and got higher and higher when asked. Stand out songs? Most of them.
But after the over 40C heat of the night before, I felt a distinct loss of something vital, and noticed the same up on stage. A subtle change, but there. That heat the night before was so bad, the sweat dripping so copiously, it took a bit of the life force away. Some little bit that was not restored with a few hundred mile commute, and a nice shower and nap in nice bed linens, on a good mattress. Not even the wake up scent of the nice soap could restore what was lost in Ottawa.
At least tonight, at the end of the concert, no one up on the stage looked at me and mouthed “it’s over, thank god”. Some one might have done that in Ottawa, but not here, in the Finger Lakes. I might not need to show my finger to anyone after all.
Drippy rain again, brollies up, and a skipping run to find old Sturdy Gertie. She finally was close enough to hear a concert. The Smoke machine was not in overdrive, must not have known the car was so close, they can resume their affair tomorrow, if the bus doesn’t find out.
She got us out of the lot, and back to the hotel in record time, we were first. Plenty of time to get a few drinks, relax, and
watch the other hotel guests.
There was a sea of small decorated female humans paraded about by their mothers. Many in tiaras, and wearing sashes. All with more make up and hair spray than some mutant glam rocker.
Speaking of Rockers. I have a fondness for a few out there, somewhere, and they might hear my voice?
Sleep, I hardly remember getting to my room, and getting any sleep. I have a long day ahead of me, and I Haven’t recovered from Ottawa yet. Hydration.
Where am I ? The place is familiar, a marble and carpeted hotel lobby, a shiny desk, and someone trying to check me in, my funny accent competing with theirs, as we both try to speak good English. She did speak it well, I was talking English wicked good, too. No more Canadian for me, and I get to use green money again, no more blue bills, or coins with some queen on them, nice dead men for me.
I run into someone I actually know, someone I haven’t seen since we were in New Jersey, or was it Pennsylvania? I forget, but since neither of us are from any of these places, or even wherever we are now, who cares. We catch up an what needs catching up, compare notes and strategize our next move.
We decide that I can do all the driving tonight, as I seemingly do not mind driving in the rain all that much. The rain has followed me, turning into a right proper nasty night. Looks cool and grey outside, but it was sloony. Sticky. Drippy. Damp. YUCK, let’s stay in, better yet, lets go out and play.
Sludging thru the damp, and driving out to another lake, surprisingly I did not see any fingers there, although the signs insisted that I was in the Finger Lake Region. I suppose if I actually got to one of these lakes, I just might give it the finger.
Two GPS to get there, as the address and the GPS location were not wuite the same, but having been there before, three years , ago, I was an expert. Greeted by name by someone with a nametag, and wearing a lanyard, it was decided that we two were way too cool for lanyards, and welcomed out of the rain, and under the shed. You would never believe what we saw. A bus full of English tourists showed up, along with a few Americans, and decided that they were NOT going to judge another wet shirt contest. Dang, and I brought my bodaciousness with me. I tucked all that away, and sat and listened to funny accents tell funny stories. Turns out that my tall skinny English friends like girls.
Good to know, might use that information someday.
A few mildly familiar faces around, but none as much as me, or my travel companion. And we , had a fabulous time, even with sticky and filmy guitars. No new surprises, same set list, but being forced to sit in the front row center, by the poor person whose kidney stone stopped them from being there, put on a good show. I sang and danced the night away. Capturing their attention, preventing them from looking at anyone but me. Really, that is why I go, to make an ass of myself night after night. Actually, I sat nicely for the sitting parts, and got higher and higher when asked. Stand out songs? Most of them.
But after the over 40C heat of the night before, I felt a distinct loss of something vital, and noticed the same up on stage. A subtle change, but there. That heat the night before was so bad, the sweat dripping so copiously, it took a bit of the life force away. Some little bit that was not restored with a few hundred mile commute, and a nice shower and nap in nice bed linens, on a good mattress. Not even the wake up scent of the nice soap could restore what was lost in Ottawa.
At least tonight, at the end of the concert, no one up on the stage looked at me and mouthed “it’s over, thank god”. Some one might have done that in Ottawa, but not here, in the Finger Lakes. I might not need to show my finger to anyone after all.
Drippy rain again, brollies up, and a skipping run to find old Sturdy Gertie. She finally was close enough to hear a concert. The Smoke machine was not in overdrive, must not have known the car was so close, they can resume their affair tomorrow, if the bus doesn’t find out.
She got us out of the lot, and back to the hotel in record time, we were first. Plenty of time to get a few drinks, relax, and
watch the other hotel guests.
There was a sea of small decorated female humans paraded about by their mothers. Many in tiaras, and wearing sashes. All with more make up and hair spray than some mutant glam rocker.
Speaking of Rockers. I have a fondness for a few out there, somewhere, and they might hear my voice?
Sleep, I hardly remember getting to my room, and getting any sleep. I have a long day ahead of me, and I Haven’t recovered from Ottawa yet. Hydration.
july 9, part one
July 9
According to my calendar, it is a Friday, according to my itinerary, it is Leave Canada Day. My fabulous Canadian vacation is coming to an end. Hot Canada, warmer than my weekend in Florida a few months ago. Who knew? Who cares? Fun is fun, no matter what the weather. And I was the only one to do the Entire Canadian Tour. Well, except those who got paid to be there, I am still a volunteer. My week as an INTERNATIONAL Rock chick is almost over. I become a plain American in a few hours.
And as the winner of the wet t shirt contest, I can safely say I am glad I knew few of the 80,000 people there, but unfortunately, the few I know seem to follow me around, they pop up on stages all over the world.
I pack up an entire hotel room into a few bags, and stuff them into my car. My clothing from the past night was still damp, and I wrapped them in plastic to prevent the few remaining clean items in my bag from picking up the scent of Canadian Rain, and Bluesfest. Half a bottle of Febreze so far, to keep the car sweet smelling, but still, cooking under a hot sun brings out all kinds of upholstery odors, and I prefer my car to smell of lavender instead of cooking dashboard and foam rubber. And I did not want to add cooked luggage to the mix.
I easily leave Ottawa, a fun little Capitol, and plan to return some day, at least I will if “They” will. Having had a fabulous time, I regretted leaving, but a decent night’s sleep and I was ready to go forward.
MY GPS was set, I consulted a map, and off I went. I soon realize that my true vacation is to drive around Lake Ontario, on purpose. And I continue to leave microscopic bits of rubber on the lovely Canadian Road system. And dribble food and drink over myself as I drive. Love trying to decipher what exactly some of these stains are, when I return home, as in my car, neatness does not count, and ruins some of the fun.
So, so far today, we learn that my car and luggage smell, and I have spills over me, and crumbs in my car. And some want never to travel with me, and some do, I know this.
Onwards, we go, and as I close on towards Border Control, I am asked for toll money again. Either Canadian or American. As I gave 3.50 American to enter Canada, I decided to leave with 2.50 Canadian, and went over the narrow 2 lane bridge, and was welcomed to New York State, USA. WOW, no lines at the crossing, I should cross here more often, whoops spoke too fast, once again my little blue car with the Mass Plates is engulfed in a sea of Ontario plates. It is true, they do ring a bell in Canada, and everyone leaves for the US, I heard it.
I read the list of forbidden items and begin to fret. I might have a concealed weapon, but I hid it so well, I haven’t found it in three years. I then read about the foodstuffs, and fruit, and quickly ate the last of my fresh fruit, before my car got searched. I then remembered other organically gown substances, and panicked, and decided that they could consult my attorney, but then again, she made me Come to Canada in the first place, and foisted all this on me, it was all her fault, really officer, I had no idea.
I was asked two questions about the Boston Red Sox, and waved on after thirty seconds. I was so looking forward to the strip search, He must have heard about Bluesfest, a bus full of tourists came thru several hours ago, still talking about me.
I continue to drive south, then West again, around and around Lake Ontario, without really seeing it.
I run into the nastiest rain I have seen since June 2008 in Indiana.
The sky got progressively darker. I kept trying to remove my sunglasses, but they were not on my face. My GPS thought it was night, and displayed a starry sky, and then the heavens broke loose. The rain was hitting the car like bullets, and making fist sized splashes on the windshield, the defroster was having difficulty keeping clear. I had my lights, and flashers on, and , driving 20 MPH( yeah, no more k/ph) I followed the truckers 10 miles to the other side of the storm. I should have pulled over, but there was no room, the road was jammed with all the smart travelers who had sense to stop in a storm. Me, I kept going, I was on a mission. I had to prove that I am the most insane person out there, and will stop at nothing to get to the next destination. Like I haven’t seen it all before. But one day, it might be different, and I want to be there when it happens.
I finally make it to my Hotel, a Good one. Damp. Strung out on diet coke and pretzels.
According to my calendar, it is a Friday, according to my itinerary, it is Leave Canada Day. My fabulous Canadian vacation is coming to an end. Hot Canada, warmer than my weekend in Florida a few months ago. Who knew? Who cares? Fun is fun, no matter what the weather. And I was the only one to do the Entire Canadian Tour. Well, except those who got paid to be there, I am still a volunteer. My week as an INTERNATIONAL Rock chick is almost over. I become a plain American in a few hours.
And as the winner of the wet t shirt contest, I can safely say I am glad I knew few of the 80,000 people there, but unfortunately, the few I know seem to follow me around, they pop up on stages all over the world.
I pack up an entire hotel room into a few bags, and stuff them into my car. My clothing from the past night was still damp, and I wrapped them in plastic to prevent the few remaining clean items in my bag from picking up the scent of Canadian Rain, and Bluesfest. Half a bottle of Febreze so far, to keep the car sweet smelling, but still, cooking under a hot sun brings out all kinds of upholstery odors, and I prefer my car to smell of lavender instead of cooking dashboard and foam rubber. And I did not want to add cooked luggage to the mix.
I easily leave Ottawa, a fun little Capitol, and plan to return some day, at least I will if “They” will. Having had a fabulous time, I regretted leaving, but a decent night’s sleep and I was ready to go forward.
MY GPS was set, I consulted a map, and off I went. I soon realize that my true vacation is to drive around Lake Ontario, on purpose. And I continue to leave microscopic bits of rubber on the lovely Canadian Road system. And dribble food and drink over myself as I drive. Love trying to decipher what exactly some of these stains are, when I return home, as in my car, neatness does not count, and ruins some of the fun.
So, so far today, we learn that my car and luggage smell, and I have spills over me, and crumbs in my car. And some want never to travel with me, and some do, I know this.
Onwards, we go, and as I close on towards Border Control, I am asked for toll money again. Either Canadian or American. As I gave 3.50 American to enter Canada, I decided to leave with 2.50 Canadian, and went over the narrow 2 lane bridge, and was welcomed to New York State, USA. WOW, no lines at the crossing, I should cross here more often, whoops spoke too fast, once again my little blue car with the Mass Plates is engulfed in a sea of Ontario plates. It is true, they do ring a bell in Canada, and everyone leaves for the US, I heard it.
I read the list of forbidden items and begin to fret. I might have a concealed weapon, but I hid it so well, I haven’t found it in three years. I then read about the foodstuffs, and fruit, and quickly ate the last of my fresh fruit, before my car got searched. I then remembered other organically gown substances, and panicked, and decided that they could consult my attorney, but then again, she made me Come to Canada in the first place, and foisted all this on me, it was all her fault, really officer, I had no idea.
I was asked two questions about the Boston Red Sox, and waved on after thirty seconds. I was so looking forward to the strip search, He must have heard about Bluesfest, a bus full of tourists came thru several hours ago, still talking about me.
I continue to drive south, then West again, around and around Lake Ontario, without really seeing it.
I run into the nastiest rain I have seen since June 2008 in Indiana.
The sky got progressively darker. I kept trying to remove my sunglasses, but they were not on my face. My GPS thought it was night, and displayed a starry sky, and then the heavens broke loose. The rain was hitting the car like bullets, and making fist sized splashes on the windshield, the defroster was having difficulty keeping clear. I had my lights, and flashers on, and , driving 20 MPH( yeah, no more k/ph) I followed the truckers 10 miles to the other side of the storm. I should have pulled over, but there was no room, the road was jammed with all the smart travelers who had sense to stop in a storm. Me, I kept going, I was on a mission. I had to prove that I am the most insane person out there, and will stop at nothing to get to the next destination. Like I haven’t seen it all before. But one day, it might be different, and I want to be there when it happens.
I finally make it to my Hotel, a Good one. Damp. Strung out on diet coke and pretzels.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Steamy and wet Ottawa
July 8
I am in Ottawa, my week as an international Rock babe superstar continues. The weather continues more than hot, really hot, really really hot. I need a ticket to the show, and a way to get to the show, so I take off out of my lovely hotel room, and walk thru the market area. It is less lively in the heat of the day, the fresh fruits and vegetables wilting in the heat. I duck into the Rideau Center to get some relief, and come across the kiosk selling day tickets, and also the OC transo center, and learn my bus route. Walkeing back, it is a 15 minute slow stroll to my hotel. I spend the rest of the mid day contemplating what to carry to the show. I had my chair, and a blanket, but decided against the rain slicker, hat and umbrella, and refillable bottle, thinking packing light was a good idea. I did not pack light, in bringing all these items all this way, but I ditched them today. Wrong decision.
So, after packing light, I take off on my stroll thru the market again. I am the only on on my bus with a chair, and I start to rethink my decision. I am left off the bus at a stop, next to a desolate open space of urban renewal, or so the sign says, but there are piles of used concrete, and weeds all around. I Walk towards the venue, and I begin to melt in the fierce sun, the air more heavy with each step, not a breath of wind, the walk was ablout a half mile, to the main gate. No one around at all. I see one lady sitting over to the side, I ask if this is the line, turns out she is a local, who attends every show every year, and prides herself on being first. I had been told at the kiosk that the doors open at 4:30, but this lady assures me that they will open at a bit after 5. It is now 3. Hot, unrelenting sun, estimated temperature 35C. I had seen the stage set up, in a familiar pattern, and then a familiar sound, albeit a bit sharp toned and lackluster, lacking vocals began. A bit odd, hearing a song called The voice, without the Voice, but he did get out a few verses, and then it was over.
We continued to wait. Finally at 5:15 we were inspected, and let in. A short jog, and I set up in front of a fence, a few feet from a 5 foot high stage. The Warm up act did a 2 hour sound check, I politely suggested to myself that no amount of sound check would improve her sound, but talent might. Finally met up with the two other of the fans there, and wandered about the grounds. Also appearing that night were Renaissanse with Annie Haslam, at the same time as the Moodies, who planned that? And then Steve Hackett, and the B52’s, cool, and the Bacon Brothers. Hot, I am hot, dirty, sticky, and there is a large looming grey cloud overheard, talking to Someone Else I ran into, who voiced concern about the Band’s electronics, I was concerned that I would be soaked thru. These things happen. The clouds opened up at 7:30, the crew and roadies covering the Farfisa, and Alan’s keyboards with large plastic sheets, I huddled under the corner of a shared slicker, and someone elses umbrella, which tipped, and soaked me a bit more, if possible. I would have done almost anything to have been wrapped in plastic and duct tape with the equipment. I think that I would only get that treatment if I were also packed into crates and trucked from show to show. Since I pack and ship myself, I was also left on my own in the rain.
The clouds parted and the Band went on at 3 minutes before 8, a rare treat, as they had to be done before 9:30, so we knew it would be both an abbreviated and non intermission show. At least me and the Band did.
The Brown Gibson came out to play tonight. I had a bit of trouble arising out of my swoopy chair, using the fence to pull myself up after each song. My sore knee also complaining. They were in good voice, and played beautifully all night, a good effort, too bad that some people do not appreciate hard work. The man behind me was having a reunion with friends, showing off pictures of his girlfriend, eliciting a few dark eyed stares from the blond fellow on the stage. It go warmer after the rain, and being soaked thru did nothing for me, in fact, I learned that my shirt was a bit, well, I made interesting undergarment choices after doing a hand wash in my room, and I am sorry, it was not planned. Et porquoi pas? I have been making a spectacle of myself for years, why not continue? The curly headed one got curlier as the night wore on, the lights on the stage were mercifully less than usual, and it was daylight for most of the show, or as much daylight one can have with rain clouds around, and even with that, there was moisture glistening on everyone on the stage, drippage in some places, I worried about them, in this heavy almost fetid air, as the rare breezes the rain brought faded.
My hair even curled, and I do not have curly hair.
The show was a bit flawed, but in a nice way, they played beautifully, but the extra twiddly bits were missing. Mister Curly and his strut over to the girls in those black Zorro Jeans, Love those, and my view, has been having a bit of trouble getting back to his Mike after the “WHOO” in Singer, leaving the blond one to solos on the next line “How can we understand?” And the best wrong lyric of the night was during NIWS, “Snazing at people” You can snaze at me anytime sweetie, I still love you.
A few winks and smiles, and a nice wave from the blond at the end, but a rushed concert, the old fellow mentioned 69, Viagra and carbon dating, no one told us it was lovely to see us and welcome, but we were told to keep smiling at the end. It was not a concert you wanted to see go on forever, people looked spent, and I can imagine what they thought of me, a glance in the mirror later scared me, who was this tangled spangled mangled and spagetti haired old lady in the stretched out shirt and wet skirt?
The heck with it.
The skipped songs?
The day never came, there was no leaning on anyone, there was no other side of life, and no drifting of anything, wood or not.
The croud was appreciative, when not takling about themselves. I think when you pay a lot of money, you behave better, a casual atmosphere encourages casual behavior.
The facility was great, they offered free water spigots to refill your bottles, to discourage disposal and waste, and all plastics sold there were corn bases, and compostable, and recycle bins were all over the place.
All in all, Jazz fest in Montreal was sleek and sophisticated, and Bluesfest in Ottawa was fun, and both were not to be missed, I will remember them, and try to get back again some day, when my time is not occupied with the demands of being an international rock chick fan for a who are they anyway?
I am in Ottawa, my week as an international Rock babe superstar continues. The weather continues more than hot, really hot, really really hot. I need a ticket to the show, and a way to get to the show, so I take off out of my lovely hotel room, and walk thru the market area. It is less lively in the heat of the day, the fresh fruits and vegetables wilting in the heat. I duck into the Rideau Center to get some relief, and come across the kiosk selling day tickets, and also the OC transo center, and learn my bus route. Walkeing back, it is a 15 minute slow stroll to my hotel. I spend the rest of the mid day contemplating what to carry to the show. I had my chair, and a blanket, but decided against the rain slicker, hat and umbrella, and refillable bottle, thinking packing light was a good idea. I did not pack light, in bringing all these items all this way, but I ditched them today. Wrong decision.
So, after packing light, I take off on my stroll thru the market again. I am the only on on my bus with a chair, and I start to rethink my decision. I am left off the bus at a stop, next to a desolate open space of urban renewal, or so the sign says, but there are piles of used concrete, and weeds all around. I Walk towards the venue, and I begin to melt in the fierce sun, the air more heavy with each step, not a breath of wind, the walk was ablout a half mile, to the main gate. No one around at all. I see one lady sitting over to the side, I ask if this is the line, turns out she is a local, who attends every show every year, and prides herself on being first. I had been told at the kiosk that the doors open at 4:30, but this lady assures me that they will open at a bit after 5. It is now 3. Hot, unrelenting sun, estimated temperature 35C. I had seen the stage set up, in a familiar pattern, and then a familiar sound, albeit a bit sharp toned and lackluster, lacking vocals began. A bit odd, hearing a song called The voice, without the Voice, but he did get out a few verses, and then it was over.
We continued to wait. Finally at 5:15 we were inspected, and let in. A short jog, and I set up in front of a fence, a few feet from a 5 foot high stage. The Warm up act did a 2 hour sound check, I politely suggested to myself that no amount of sound check would improve her sound, but talent might. Finally met up with the two other of the fans there, and wandered about the grounds. Also appearing that night were Renaissanse with Annie Haslam, at the same time as the Moodies, who planned that? And then Steve Hackett, and the B52’s, cool, and the Bacon Brothers. Hot, I am hot, dirty, sticky, and there is a large looming grey cloud overheard, talking to Someone Else I ran into, who voiced concern about the Band’s electronics, I was concerned that I would be soaked thru. These things happen. The clouds opened up at 7:30, the crew and roadies covering the Farfisa, and Alan’s keyboards with large plastic sheets, I huddled under the corner of a shared slicker, and someone elses umbrella, which tipped, and soaked me a bit more, if possible. I would have done almost anything to have been wrapped in plastic and duct tape with the equipment. I think that I would only get that treatment if I were also packed into crates and trucked from show to show. Since I pack and ship myself, I was also left on my own in the rain.
The clouds parted and the Band went on at 3 minutes before 8, a rare treat, as they had to be done before 9:30, so we knew it would be both an abbreviated and non intermission show. At least me and the Band did.
The Brown Gibson came out to play tonight. I had a bit of trouble arising out of my swoopy chair, using the fence to pull myself up after each song. My sore knee also complaining. They were in good voice, and played beautifully all night, a good effort, too bad that some people do not appreciate hard work. The man behind me was having a reunion with friends, showing off pictures of his girlfriend, eliciting a few dark eyed stares from the blond fellow on the stage. It go warmer after the rain, and being soaked thru did nothing for me, in fact, I learned that my shirt was a bit, well, I made interesting undergarment choices after doing a hand wash in my room, and I am sorry, it was not planned. Et porquoi pas? I have been making a spectacle of myself for years, why not continue? The curly headed one got curlier as the night wore on, the lights on the stage were mercifully less than usual, and it was daylight for most of the show, or as much daylight one can have with rain clouds around, and even with that, there was moisture glistening on everyone on the stage, drippage in some places, I worried about them, in this heavy almost fetid air, as the rare breezes the rain brought faded.
My hair even curled, and I do not have curly hair.
The show was a bit flawed, but in a nice way, they played beautifully, but the extra twiddly bits were missing. Mister Curly and his strut over to the girls in those black Zorro Jeans, Love those, and my view, has been having a bit of trouble getting back to his Mike after the “WHOO” in Singer, leaving the blond one to solos on the next line “How can we understand?” And the best wrong lyric of the night was during NIWS, “Snazing at people” You can snaze at me anytime sweetie, I still love you.
A few winks and smiles, and a nice wave from the blond at the end, but a rushed concert, the old fellow mentioned 69, Viagra and carbon dating, no one told us it was lovely to see us and welcome, but we were told to keep smiling at the end. It was not a concert you wanted to see go on forever, people looked spent, and I can imagine what they thought of me, a glance in the mirror later scared me, who was this tangled spangled mangled and spagetti haired old lady in the stretched out shirt and wet skirt?
The heck with it.
The skipped songs?
The day never came, there was no leaning on anyone, there was no other side of life, and no drifting of anything, wood or not.
The croud was appreciative, when not takling about themselves. I think when you pay a lot of money, you behave better, a casual atmosphere encourages casual behavior.
The facility was great, they offered free water spigots to refill your bottles, to discourage disposal and waste, and all plastics sold there were corn bases, and compostable, and recycle bins were all over the place.
All in all, Jazz fest in Montreal was sleek and sophisticated, and Bluesfest in Ottawa was fun, and both were not to be missed, I will remember them, and try to get back again some day, when my time is not occupied with the demands of being an international rock chick fan for a who are they anyway?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Wednesday in Canada
July 7
In the real world it is a Wednesday, in Montreal it is Clean up after the Jazz Festival Day, in my world, it is Drive to Ottawa Day. I had thought about staying in Montreal for the day, but decided to go to Ottawa, I had never been, and it is a Capitol, I can add it to my statistics of places I have been.
I collect the few items I brought to my room, check out, and stumble down the steep hill, past the fire station, and down into the bowels of Montreal to where I left my car. All the instructions for using my parking ticket to enter the locked facility, and paying for the spot were in French only, and I was so proud to accomplish the task with little frustration. I then drove thru the city morning traffic, watching the scenery, I could be almost anywhere.
A short drive, only two hours, and I stopped to get gas while still in Quebec. The instructions were completely in French, nothing bilingual, but I was able to fill up, 40 liters, 41 Canadian dollars. Big numbers for a little car.
Found my hotel right away, a complete surprise for the price. A boutique hotel, with lounge, fireplace, outdoor terrace off my room, fine sheets, towels and smelly soaps and lotions. Nothing like the disinfectant smelling, sand paper towels place I had just left.
Working Wifi, working air conditioning, I might never leave the room. After a nap, I go out and explore the Byward Market Area. How nice, numerous restaurants and pubs and shops lining the streets, people out eating, drinking, enjoying life, despite feeling like we are in a furnace.
I decide between and Irish, Scottish or English pub, for libation, and I ended up in an Irish pub. Ordered Canadian beer, and fish and chips, lovely, met nice people while sitting at the bar, talked, and had a lovely night out. The market is similar to others, such as Faneuil Hall in Boston, and Covent Gardens in London, with street entertainment, I saw fire jugglers, sleight of hand magicians, artists, musicians, all asking for a few coins in return for the entertainment. It was twilight still after 9 at night, I made my way back to my room, and slept. Now freshly showered and dressed, I am ready to go out and do it all again.
In the real world it is a Wednesday, in Montreal it is Clean up after the Jazz Festival Day, in my world, it is Drive to Ottawa Day. I had thought about staying in Montreal for the day, but decided to go to Ottawa, I had never been, and it is a Capitol, I can add it to my statistics of places I have been.
I collect the few items I brought to my room, check out, and stumble down the steep hill, past the fire station, and down into the bowels of Montreal to where I left my car. All the instructions for using my parking ticket to enter the locked facility, and paying for the spot were in French only, and I was so proud to accomplish the task with little frustration. I then drove thru the city morning traffic, watching the scenery, I could be almost anywhere.
A short drive, only two hours, and I stopped to get gas while still in Quebec. The instructions were completely in French, nothing bilingual, but I was able to fill up, 40 liters, 41 Canadian dollars. Big numbers for a little car.
Found my hotel right away, a complete surprise for the price. A boutique hotel, with lounge, fireplace, outdoor terrace off my room, fine sheets, towels and smelly soaps and lotions. Nothing like the disinfectant smelling, sand paper towels place I had just left.
Working Wifi, working air conditioning, I might never leave the room. After a nap, I go out and explore the Byward Market Area. How nice, numerous restaurants and pubs and shops lining the streets, people out eating, drinking, enjoying life, despite feeling like we are in a furnace.
I decide between and Irish, Scottish or English pub, for libation, and I ended up in an Irish pub. Ordered Canadian beer, and fish and chips, lovely, met nice people while sitting at the bar, talked, and had a lovely night out. The market is similar to others, such as Faneuil Hall in Boston, and Covent Gardens in London, with street entertainment, I saw fire jugglers, sleight of hand magicians, artists, musicians, all asking for a few coins in return for the entertainment. It was twilight still after 9 at night, I made my way back to my room, and slept. Now freshly showered and dressed, I am ready to go out and do it all again.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
July 6, Montreal
July 6
Tuesday Morning in the real world. In my world it is long drive, no ticket and no hotel day. I was unsuccessful in my attempts to hijack and further corrupt my Canadian friend, who had the law on her side. I of course was planning on breaking several, and try not to get caught. Secure in my position with the organization I was not following around; I stayed in a private home, and did not make a comfort laden journey on to the next destination. I can not be threatened with loss of financial rewards for my efforts, as I am unofficial, and totally here on a voluntary status, and I can come and go as I please, and it pleased me to continue my efforts at driving all the paved roads in North America. I used the magic of the internet to fine a place to stay for the night, in walking distance from the well advertised International Montreal Jazz Festival. I was unsure why some of us were invited to a Jazz Festival, as were many others, but If they call, we will go.
I had a nice meal packed for me, and It was needed, as it turns out, as the journey was neither easy or short. The first few hundred kilometers went smooth, I missed most of the Toronto congestion, and drove at a pleasant 123kph. I really liked seeing the 123 part on my dash readout, but the 109K miles on the odometer was disheartening, as that was done over the past three years, and today is my Sturdy Gerties third birthday, and she is off to get to the promised concerts. I fill up with 29 litres of petrol, and do not plan to stop and stretch until I get to my destination. Somewhere outside of Kingston, the 401 is closed, and they detour us off the highway, and onto back roads. The official signage leads me one way, but the local radio station tells me to go another way. I stick with the official signage, and soon regret it. I was trapped on a small barely paved road near a junk yard, and a family of exotically dressed members, sitting and eating, and using a port-o-san potty by the side of the road, next to their parked camper van. I tried to avert my eye, but as luck would have it, the traffic was moving at the speed of 3, and my attention was needed, I had to look at that curve in the road, and watch grown women and men, sit, squat, and do number two. EWWW. My trusty GPS wants to lead me back to the ramp that we were diverted off, and I had to ignore him, and carry on, following the truckers, as they also diverted away from the signed detour, and followed the radio instructions. We got to another intersection, where there was a patrol car, and a sign warning that no trucks were to go down this street. I left my trucker friends, and ignored my GPS<, who had finally given up leading me back, and was urging me onwards, and I followed my nose. Onto a less then paved road, over a manned set of locks, and thru a troupe of boy scouts, and past farms, cows, goats, and summer cottages, and right to the 401 again. No one was getting onto the ramp, but there was no one stopping me either, so I entered, and got myself back up to speed, florious speed. It was now past my original arrival time, and I still had a distance to drive, and a room to check into, and a venue to find and a ticket to procure, not to mention that I was hot and sticky and hungry, and then I remembered my bagged lunch, I set the cruise control, and ate for the next 100 k.
Quebec awaits me. I now know I am in a foreign country, and the lovely bilingual signs all over Toronto have disappeared, and everything is in one tongue, the tongue of the Franks. I am glad that I know what ferme, arret, sortie, and poussez mean, as I could follow along the rest. I expected to arrive long before the evening commute began, but I plodded along, and turned down the road to my hotel, also a French word, and was surprised to see all the roads blocked off for the festival, I had to ignore my GPS again, and wind around the hills of the royal Mount, and check into my hotel. Next to a Halal butcher, and a fire station. After finding out that parking was a few blocks away, and looking at the clock, I had a serious talk with myself. Should I even bother to go? My answe surprised me, I wasthouroughly scolded by myself for even driving here, all that traffic, the expense etc, and now I needed cash for a ticket. What was I thinking?
I got dressed and went to the Festival.
Ice cream, face painting, lovely sitting areas, food, a full festival, but where were all the people going to see Band? There were rare few going into the doors to the venue, and none looking to sell and extra ticket. Now what, no people in the venue and the best fan left outside in the heat.
I walked around, down a flight of stairs, and voila the billeterie. And crowds of folk entering through the air conditioned and sheltered entrance by the Metro station.
This is what an argument with yourself can do, it can remove all my evil conniving and sneaky thought processes, that which allow me to ferret out all I need to know, and replaces it with common sense, that said to stand by the main door.
I met a nice local fellow named Vincent, gave him American Money for his extra ticket, and went in, sat down, and waited. A 7:30 pm show, with no intermission, as I translated from the sign in the lobby. I had an idea what would be skipped, and was only happy about one song, the others I like, at least enough to travel to strange countries, use funny money, eat odd foods, and absorb culture.
The Show was Fabulous, even better than the night before, which is hard to believe, without me in the front row. I think they knew I was there, though, they played all the songs they do just for me.
The tall one with the red guitar put in a lot of effort, lots of guitar faces, right knee bending, right thigh thrusting of said red guitar, and I thought he was going to go to his knees during Question, like in days of old.
The curly one also did a lot of stage strutting, thrusting and bouncing around, and that old fellow in the back put a lot into his performance as well.
Lots of little subtle extra twiddly bits in the guitar solos, a blistering one during TDWMA, and Singer, and one felt the teen angst during NIWS, really, a perfect perfect perfect show.
Omitted were
LOMT
NCTD
Driftwood
TOSOL was included.
Standout songs
TDWMA
Gypsy, without the blackout, just a red background,, very hot looking
NIWS, I really believed every word of it, up there, top 10 versions ever heard by me
Question
RMSS the crowd finally got on it’s feet.
Overheard talk in the lobby was that this was the performance of the Festival. Cool. I will tell the Band when I have the chance.
Met up with the few otheres of US that were there, at least those of US who know who we are, had drinks, and saw the tail end of the fire works after the festival, and I walked back to my Hotel, with my bad right knee complaining all the time, as It popped out somewhere between YWD and ILS, which might explain the tears in my eyes during that song.
The old fellow says it is still all about Sex and drugs and Rock and Roll, so I took drugs, after the rock and roll, the rest will have to wait.
Tuesday Morning in the real world. In my world it is long drive, no ticket and no hotel day. I was unsuccessful in my attempts to hijack and further corrupt my Canadian friend, who had the law on her side. I of course was planning on breaking several, and try not to get caught. Secure in my position with the organization I was not following around; I stayed in a private home, and did not make a comfort laden journey on to the next destination. I can not be threatened with loss of financial rewards for my efforts, as I am unofficial, and totally here on a voluntary status, and I can come and go as I please, and it pleased me to continue my efforts at driving all the paved roads in North America. I used the magic of the internet to fine a place to stay for the night, in walking distance from the well advertised International Montreal Jazz Festival. I was unsure why some of us were invited to a Jazz Festival, as were many others, but If they call, we will go.
I had a nice meal packed for me, and It was needed, as it turns out, as the journey was neither easy or short. The first few hundred kilometers went smooth, I missed most of the Toronto congestion, and drove at a pleasant 123kph. I really liked seeing the 123 part on my dash readout, but the 109K miles on the odometer was disheartening, as that was done over the past three years, and today is my Sturdy Gerties third birthday, and she is off to get to the promised concerts. I fill up with 29 litres of petrol, and do not plan to stop and stretch until I get to my destination. Somewhere outside of Kingston, the 401 is closed, and they detour us off the highway, and onto back roads. The official signage leads me one way, but the local radio station tells me to go another way. I stick with the official signage, and soon regret it. I was trapped on a small barely paved road near a junk yard, and a family of exotically dressed members, sitting and eating, and using a port-o-san potty by the side of the road, next to their parked camper van. I tried to avert my eye, but as luck would have it, the traffic was moving at the speed of 3, and my attention was needed, I had to look at that curve in the road, and watch grown women and men, sit, squat, and do number two. EWWW. My trusty GPS wants to lead me back to the ramp that we were diverted off, and I had to ignore him, and carry on, following the truckers, as they also diverted away from the signed detour, and followed the radio instructions. We got to another intersection, where there was a patrol car, and a sign warning that no trucks were to go down this street. I left my trucker friends, and ignored my GPS<, who had finally given up leading me back, and was urging me onwards, and I followed my nose. Onto a less then paved road, over a manned set of locks, and thru a troupe of boy scouts, and past farms, cows, goats, and summer cottages, and right to the 401 again. No one was getting onto the ramp, but there was no one stopping me either, so I entered, and got myself back up to speed, florious speed. It was now past my original arrival time, and I still had a distance to drive, and a room to check into, and a venue to find and a ticket to procure, not to mention that I was hot and sticky and hungry, and then I remembered my bagged lunch, I set the cruise control, and ate for the next 100 k.
Quebec awaits me. I now know I am in a foreign country, and the lovely bilingual signs all over Toronto have disappeared, and everything is in one tongue, the tongue of the Franks. I am glad that I know what ferme, arret, sortie, and poussez mean, as I could follow along the rest. I expected to arrive long before the evening commute began, but I plodded along, and turned down the road to my hotel, also a French word, and was surprised to see all the roads blocked off for the festival, I had to ignore my GPS again, and wind around the hills of the royal Mount, and check into my hotel. Next to a Halal butcher, and a fire station. After finding out that parking was a few blocks away, and looking at the clock, I had a serious talk with myself. Should I even bother to go? My answe surprised me, I wasthouroughly scolded by myself for even driving here, all that traffic, the expense etc, and now I needed cash for a ticket. What was I thinking?
I got dressed and went to the Festival.
Ice cream, face painting, lovely sitting areas, food, a full festival, but where were all the people going to see Band? There were rare few going into the doors to the venue, and none looking to sell and extra ticket. Now what, no people in the venue and the best fan left outside in the heat.
I walked around, down a flight of stairs, and voila the billeterie. And crowds of folk entering through the air conditioned and sheltered entrance by the Metro station.
This is what an argument with yourself can do, it can remove all my evil conniving and sneaky thought processes, that which allow me to ferret out all I need to know, and replaces it with common sense, that said to stand by the main door.
I met a nice local fellow named Vincent, gave him American Money for his extra ticket, and went in, sat down, and waited. A 7:30 pm show, with no intermission, as I translated from the sign in the lobby. I had an idea what would be skipped, and was only happy about one song, the others I like, at least enough to travel to strange countries, use funny money, eat odd foods, and absorb culture.
The Show was Fabulous, even better than the night before, which is hard to believe, without me in the front row. I think they knew I was there, though, they played all the songs they do just for me.
The tall one with the red guitar put in a lot of effort, lots of guitar faces, right knee bending, right thigh thrusting of said red guitar, and I thought he was going to go to his knees during Question, like in days of old.
The curly one also did a lot of stage strutting, thrusting and bouncing around, and that old fellow in the back put a lot into his performance as well.
Lots of little subtle extra twiddly bits in the guitar solos, a blistering one during TDWMA, and Singer, and one felt the teen angst during NIWS, really, a perfect perfect perfect show.
Omitted were
LOMT
NCTD
Driftwood
TOSOL was included.
Standout songs
TDWMA
Gypsy, without the blackout, just a red background,, very hot looking
NIWS, I really believed every word of it, up there, top 10 versions ever heard by me
Question
RMSS the crowd finally got on it’s feet.
Overheard talk in the lobby was that this was the performance of the Festival. Cool. I will tell the Band when I have the chance.
Met up with the few otheres of US that were there, at least those of US who know who we are, had drinks, and saw the tail end of the fire works after the festival, and I walked back to my Hotel, with my bad right knee complaining all the time, as It popped out somewhere between YWD and ILS, which might explain the tears in my eyes during that song.
The old fellow says it is still all about Sex and drugs and Rock and Roll, so I took drugs, after the rock and roll, the rest will have to wait.
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