the kingdom is mad
Nearly seven in the morning at my mate Richard's in Sheffield, Yorkshire, UK, and his dead nice new house. Amanda is asleep in the attic up there and I can't so I'm up. It happens sometimes, y'know. I've just caught up with the past week's journals - Allie's especially ruled - and now I'm here doing this to let y'all know.
Been here since Wednesday morning last, after a welcome four hour delay in Greensboro saw off the worst of the intended seven plus hour leg in Philadelphia coming over. Arriving knackered in Manchester Wednesday morning (I was this close to falling asleep on the plane I swear) and discovered they'd lost our baggage so's all we had was what we stood in. First day was grim jet lag, tiredness like you've never known, rooms whirring slower than you move, fuzzy, fuzzy head etc, and bed was welcomed like a loving mother's arms later that night.
Our baggage arrived around noon on Thursday, with no compensation from US Airways, but it was alright. I was just glad it was all present and correct. The courier/delivery bloke said it was a daily occurrence in his line of work. "Damn security checks."
Thursday night was surreal, and featured a pub drink with David, the drummer in my old band, who brought along Damian, the bass player in his new band, who was coincidentally the same bass player from my old band. I hadn't seen him in over ten years or more. Later arrived Greg, the old band singer, and officially four sixths of the classic line-up became for me the closest thing to a reunion I'd seen in years, and am ever likely to witness in my remaining years. The evening later descended into a boisterous and animated 'staybee' at someone's house close to the pub, the same bloke who had a copy of the Soulies' LP on CD and promised a copy for me on Friday night coming up this week. God I hope he remembers. That would be the highlight of the trip by miles for me if it happens. My own copy of my own LP is on two battered and ageing cassette tapes. Touch wood for me please, you lovelies.
Friday day was spent pottering about and in the evening Richard from Sheffield - officially my oldest friend - drove over to take us to his new place for the night and then in the morning down to London with his missus Julie along for the crack. It would be Amanda's first visit and a frenetic whirr through the sights it was too, allowing her to take as many pictures as she would need. St. Paul's was first and my particular favourite city landmark by miles. Well, at least it was until I discovered the nine quid admission charge to gain access to it. Bastards. I declined and instead screeched around some of the town's other impressives for her indoors; Tower Bridge, Tower of London (from outside), boat trip on Thames, The London Eye (from underneath and not onderneath), Westminster Bridge, Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Downing Street, Trafalgar Square, all of that palava. Spent the night at Richard's wife Julie's mum's place in Edmonton, North London. That was Saturday.
Sunday morning we left Julie at St. Pancras for her to get back to Sheffield for work on Monday morning and we three then headed to Brighton, a hip East coast seaside town, 1) because Richard knew a bloke who lives in nearby Portslade, and 2) I'd never been, and each time I come home I like to do something I've never done to make it feel like a vacation for me too, y'know. Anyway, Brighton was officially full. Like, teaming with pink, speckled sweating people of all type and tolerance, from skateboarders to Hare Krishnas to gay men in leather pants on one of the hottest days of the year. I wasn't fond, and developed what I referred to later as 'people-lag' after London the previous day, and yearned for something a tad quieter. This I found later that night watching the sun go down on a deserted beach I forget the name of mere miles from the loud and bustling Brighton down the shore. Another highlight.
Monday morning was a non-stop drive back to Sheffield, Richard informing us that we had clocked close to four hundred miles in three days. I was ready to get off the road by this point. As of yesterday I had been here officially six days and had only seen two or three of my friends. I wasn't happy about that and can't decide whether I like that I had planned that first weekend for us a tad rashly in retrospect. This coming week as a result of it will no doubt be equally as mad a dash in trying to fit everyone left in. This sort of thing tends to get to me when I am here.
Which is why I couldn't sleep early this morning I suppose. In a couple of hours I shall be returning back to Widnes and to my mum's house. The first thing I expect I shall do will be to read the rough itinerary I had sketched out and left in her front room, because as of right now I can't recall who is up for what on which day, as my brain is a little scrambled from the previous three days of endless road. I expect it will all fall into place and make some sort of workable sense when I get to see it laid out in front of me, but right now I honestly can't see how I can pull it all off without offending at least somebody out there.
Greg very astutely pointed out to me on the telephone late last week that I have a tendency to over-analyze things, and to not just relax within them and take them for what they are. That comment has been periodically itching the inside of my head as I've surveyed the endless ribbon of road flying by for the last few days. It is what it is, right? You can't please everybody, can you?
But damn it if I'm not at least going to try.
Been here since Wednesday morning last, after a welcome four hour delay in Greensboro saw off the worst of the intended seven plus hour leg in Philadelphia coming over. Arriving knackered in Manchester Wednesday morning (I was this close to falling asleep on the plane I swear) and discovered they'd lost our baggage so's all we had was what we stood in. First day was grim jet lag, tiredness like you've never known, rooms whirring slower than you move, fuzzy, fuzzy head etc, and bed was welcomed like a loving mother's arms later that night.
Our baggage arrived around noon on Thursday, with no compensation from US Airways, but it was alright. I was just glad it was all present and correct. The courier/delivery bloke said it was a daily occurrence in his line of work. "Damn security checks."
Thursday night was surreal, and featured a pub drink with David, the drummer in my old band, who brought along Damian, the bass player in his new band, who was coincidentally the same bass player from my old band. I hadn't seen him in over ten years or more. Later arrived Greg, the old band singer, and officially four sixths of the classic line-up became for me the closest thing to a reunion I'd seen in years, and am ever likely to witness in my remaining years. The evening later descended into a boisterous and animated 'staybee' at someone's house close to the pub, the same bloke who had a copy of the Soulies' LP on CD and promised a copy for me on Friday night coming up this week. God I hope he remembers. That would be the highlight of the trip by miles for me if it happens. My own copy of my own LP is on two battered and ageing cassette tapes. Touch wood for me please, you lovelies.
Friday day was spent pottering about and in the evening Richard from Sheffield - officially my oldest friend - drove over to take us to his new place for the night and then in the morning down to London with his missus Julie along for the crack. It would be Amanda's first visit and a frenetic whirr through the sights it was too, allowing her to take as many pictures as she would need. St. Paul's was first and my particular favourite city landmark by miles. Well, at least it was until I discovered the nine quid admission charge to gain access to it. Bastards. I declined and instead screeched around some of the town's other impressives for her indoors; Tower Bridge, Tower of London (from outside), boat trip on Thames, The London Eye (from underneath and not onderneath), Westminster Bridge, Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Downing Street, Trafalgar Square, all of that palava. Spent the night at Richard's wife Julie's mum's place in Edmonton, North London. That was Saturday.
Sunday morning we left Julie at St. Pancras for her to get back to Sheffield for work on Monday morning and we three then headed to Brighton, a hip East coast seaside town, 1) because Richard knew a bloke who lives in nearby Portslade, and 2) I'd never been, and each time I come home I like to do something I've never done to make it feel like a vacation for me too, y'know. Anyway, Brighton was officially full. Like, teaming with pink, speckled sweating people of all type and tolerance, from skateboarders to Hare Krishnas to gay men in leather pants on one of the hottest days of the year. I wasn't fond, and developed what I referred to later as 'people-lag' after London the previous day, and yearned for something a tad quieter. This I found later that night watching the sun go down on a deserted beach I forget the name of mere miles from the loud and bustling Brighton down the shore. Another highlight.
Monday morning was a non-stop drive back to Sheffield, Richard informing us that we had clocked close to four hundred miles in three days. I was ready to get off the road by this point. As of yesterday I had been here officially six days and had only seen two or three of my friends. I wasn't happy about that and can't decide whether I like that I had planned that first weekend for us a tad rashly in retrospect. This coming week as a result of it will no doubt be equally as mad a dash in trying to fit everyone left in. This sort of thing tends to get to me when I am here.
Which is why I couldn't sleep early this morning I suppose. In a couple of hours I shall be returning back to Widnes and to my mum's house. The first thing I expect I shall do will be to read the rough itinerary I had sketched out and left in her front room, because as of right now I can't recall who is up for what on which day, as my brain is a little scrambled from the previous three days of endless road. I expect it will all fall into place and make some sort of workable sense when I get to see it laid out in front of me, but right now I honestly can't see how I can pull it all off without offending at least somebody out there.
Greg very astutely pointed out to me on the telephone late last week that I have a tendency to over-analyze things, and to not just relax within them and take them for what they are. That comment has been periodically itching the inside of my head as I've surveyed the endless ribbon of road flying by for the last few days. It is what it is, right? You can't please everybody, can you?
But damn it if I'm not at least going to try.