Going Mobile

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5345837331344524410.post-65626367560738744902008-05-22T14:12:00.010+02:002008-05-22T14:44:14.592+02:00Going Mobile<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_gY4aSIsw9Es/SDVnDzVxFhI/AAAAAAAAALQ/l6QjP3ilVkw/s1600-h/out+here+in+the+fields.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_gY4aSIsw9Es/SDVnDzVxFhI/AAAAAAAAALQ/l6QjP3ilVkw/s400/out+here+in+the+fields.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203178259515250194" /></a> The garden is completely overgrown, the car is filthy and making a hideous racket and both Eric and I are decrepit shells of the dewy-faced newlyweds we were a mere three weeks ago. But I guess it’s the fairly typical end result of touring. At least we’re still speaking to each other. The only time we fell out was when he insisted we go to Little Chef instead of Costa Coffee for lunch. And the shows were for the most part well-attended, and a lot of fun. Except for a Sunday night in Swindon. But that seems appropriate. <a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_gY4aSIsw9Es/SDVm8TVxFgI/AAAAAAAAALI/BektPa7_SQY/s1600-h/we+accept.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_gY4aSIsw9Es/SDVm8TVxFgI/AAAAAAAAALI/BektPa7_SQY/s400/we+accept.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203178130666231298" /></a> When we started the tour England was experiencing the warmest, sunniest weather in a year or two, or more. Lovely for strolling around Southend or Walthamstow or Bristol, but impossible to appear attractive or in any way dignified on stage. I don’t think I have ever sweated so much in public. I still find it hard to take in exactly how overcrowded and expensive it’s become. (Or maybe it’s always been that way and I’m just gathering perspective?) How truly hellish the motorways are, with surveillance cameras everywhere. How I can’t help but devour every newspaper, magazine and tv show in sight, and I end up feeling better informed about all the latest news, music, books, movies, etc but somehow emptier. How vans have become traveling websites, with as much type and information as possible crammed onto the sides and back (so you never have to stop reading, what with the heavy traffic and all). How it’s easier to make myself understood in a shop or restaurant in France than in Essex. How half the female population is now sporting the Posh Bob. How, even though you hear so much about the best food in the world being in Britain these days (hell, the French mention it constantly) there is so little good eatin’ to enjoy, if you’re on the road anyway. <a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_gY4aSIsw9Es/SDVnLDVxFiI/AAAAAAAAALY/MhTtDcw5Mto/s1600-h/son+%26+father.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_gY4aSIsw9Es/SDVnLDVxFiI/AAAAAAAAALY/MhTtDcw5Mto/s400/son+%26+father.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203178384069301794" /></a> But another thing I forget is how a good audience in England can add so much to a show - the shouts, the comments, the appreciation. Maybe because it takes more nerve, somehow, for the English to express themselves in public (Americans can’t ever stop. In France, I’m not sure - it’s so difficult to book gigs here...but that’s a whole other post I guess). But one thing I never forget is how deep the vein of rock runs - it’s what’s attracted me to the place since I first heard the Dave Clark Five. Listening to Who’s Next while driving through Lincolnshire is profound in a completely different way than hearing it on say, I-80. Deep, rather than wide. <a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_gY4aSIsw9Es/SDVm2TVxFfI/AAAAAAAAALA/U1JuE_nO45Q/s1600-h/jethro.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_gY4aSIsw9Es/SDVm2TVxFfI/AAAAAAAAALA/U1JuE_nO45Q/s400/jethro.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203178027587016178" /></a> We ended up on the north Norfolk coast before returning to France. Don’t tell anyone, but it is one of the most gorgeous places in the world, with charm and beauty everywhere. And no gigs or driving for two whole days. You could almost call it a honeymoon. <a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_gY4aSIsw9Es/SDVngTVxFjI/AAAAAAAAALg/MaM5YGFuxVQ/s1600-h/wells+sunset.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_gY4aSIsw9Es/SDVngTVxFjI/AAAAAAAAALg/MaM5YGFuxVQ/s400/wells+sunset.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203178749141521970" /></a>amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08330763519601938989noreply@blogger.com