Hey guys, OK, so I think we can safely say that I've pushed the boundaries of suspense. I got back from Australia a couple of days ago, still a bit fuzzy from the flight. It was an amazing few weeks, insane, but so insane that became a real laugh. But anyway let's go back further first.
America, Denver and a day off. What do you do with a day off in Denver?...Yea, you guessed it. You go the South Park! I did take a photo by the sign, but sadly it came out all fuzzy. It was a spectacular drive up through the mountains on tiny, winding mountain roads, with hours for mind bending scenery drifting by. We ended up at Idaho hot springs, where you boil yourself alive for as long as you can, then jump in an ice cold pool. Then proceed to boil yourself again and again and come out of process feeling surprisingly good. Wicked gig the next night, then off to New York? At least I think it was New York, I'm sure there was somewhere in between...actually knowing me, there's probably a whole week, but New York was interesting so let's head there anyway.
So, I get there and get on with the usual stuff, radio stations, newspapers and strange gigs in peoples offices. Near the end of the day I start feeling a bit odd, shivery, cold and an ominous feeling creepy into my throat. I get as earlier a night as I can...but as I suspected, when I woke up I could barely breath. First radio station of the day, cold and sweating but scrape through, just! Next radio station, tune guitar a touch lower, move a big vocal note down a peg ( "down a peg" is not a technical musical term, just to avoid confusion) it was pre-recorded, so I got away with two takes. In a reasonable amount of pain, I started to feel a little apprehensive towards the gig that night. Next thing on the schedule is a gig for the international department of Sony BMG and the heads of the American office, five songs. By this point, I'm completely delirious, by the third song the thought of doing another two is like standing at the bottom of Everest in your pyjamas. Inevitably, my voice completely went, but I explained myself and everyone at least pretended to understand. A couple of hours later I'm at the doctor's, this is about five hours before a gig that I really don't want to cancel. I realise she knows what she's doing when I glance across at a signed picture of Pavarotti saying "Thank you so much for all your help!" So I'm expecting some special cough sweets and a lollypop...but what I got was camera shoved right up my nose and steroid injection in my bum and not even slightest hint of a lollypop. The gig, I must admit, was one the most satisfying gigs I've ever done. I was drugged up to my eyeballs which might of effected my judgement. Turns out it was a nasty chest infection, but I managed to shift it in a couple of days, with the help of prescribed medicine. The rest of the trip runs pretty smoothly by comparison. San Francisco's awesome! LA is fairly strange but entertaining. Tucson was cool as hell, with the stage for the gig only twenty feet from the bar and the bar only 30 feet from my bed, so the outcome was inevitable. Then I flew home.
THE END
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