Here Goes 01.03.16


Heathrow 01.03.16

Half an hour before I head to the gate. Brother peter text me to tell me your on a Class CIV Boeing 747.004 and a lucky boy. Brother Peter knows these things.

Painless so far, though I had woken last night worrying about getting the car at the other end that would do the distance though it would only be 9 weeks the time is precious. I have a tendency to do that and its worry that gets in the way of the flow isn’t it, second guessing that first instinct. It would be good if I can stop that or at least put some reins on it. I can’t remember if that is something I’ve always done or if I leaned it over these last few years. I don’t remember doing it last time in the USA. Maybe I did but from there right then it seemed a long time ago.

I had seen a car on but then of course curiosity killed the cat and all that, I’d looked again a few days later. And there were so many other choices and so many other possibilities, choice meant that it could all go pear shaped at the other end. I think I’ve always done that. Sometimes it’s roses and sometimes pears

It had been 1.30am sipping whisky at the kitchen table in Limehouse. The phone rang, I paused, picked up, Jeans voice, “listen” she said “I have to be quick its costing me to call you from the cell. I’m coming to meet you and that’s that ok”.

I had been stewing and churning on whether to call her.

“So that is that ok” she said again. “Thank you Jean that would be great” I said. It felt much better, a safety net from an old and dear friend. Feelings had crossed the Atlantic as feelings tend to do, and they had been felt, whispers had been heard and instinct followed. In retrospect that’s a good start.

“See you tomorrow” she said warmly but firmly. “Email me the time and flight ok” click

I sat back, the chair creaked, knots unraveled and the whisky now released trickled down and warmed my belly, sleep stepped closer again. I climbed back into bed, Orsi felt warm and wonderful.

London today was light grey, the district line green and Orsi’s eyes were red when I left her at the DLR junction down in the depths of Bank Station. We waved till the escalator took me up out of view to the platform and the train west.

The Metro had flames on the front cover, the camps at Calais are on fire. Refugees storming the Macedonian border. David Cameron is suspected of being a bully. 20,000 smokers have quite by using e cigarettes oh and Leonardo Dicaprio won an Oscar. The Staff at Pret a Manger were bright and cheerful, a kind word for everyone in the queue. The Heathrow was a muffled hum, I tried to listen for footsteps. Have you ever noticed how polished marble floors seem to smother any sound, you’d think the opposite.

I was glowing that BA allowed my guitar on as hand luggage. The round tired looking check in guy said ‘Yes you can take that on with you, they tend to be quite fragile don’t they”

So boots and belts off and back on and there I was 9am on the dot. Wow. I was looking around for something I’d forgotten but remembered that was it. I was through one bag checked in and my guitar on my shoulder. I am travelling light this time.

Even though things were going smoothly I still had a tension in my stomach. I supposed it wouldn’t go untill I got some wheels sorted and stretched my wings

There were things to do in Santa Cruz, Jean had plans to visit the coast, Michael her husband is pretty sick with colon cancer. It was the reason for not wanting to ask anything from them. But Jean is not somebody who is easy to say no too. I plan to work with Michael doing Hypnosis to help strengthen his subconscious. If he lets it happen he’ll recover much faster and be much stronger for it. That will be my focus whilst I stay with them. Well that’s the plan

A stewardess on the plane asked of I was in a band. I told her I was the singer in The Fits (technically I still am) her boyfriend is a big fan of Britsih Punk bands. Every time she has passed by she smiled. I was glad of it.

I didn’t sleep, I watched the films The Martian, Fury and Nebraska. Managed to write a little. I’d moved seat because a little baby sat on her mothers knee in the next seat began crying as soon as I sat down. She had good strong lungs and though her mum and dad were trying their best to shield me they were obviously uncomfortable. I wasn’t rude, they felt better I am sure, and though I had to fight my way past a miserable and hostile young woman who thought she had a spare room next to her for the journey, I got another seat and settled in.

The Hispanic customs guy At San Francisco Airport blinked at me when I answered I was going to buy a car and drive to New Mexico.

“I’ve missed it” I said.

After he checked my return ticket on my phone, he said in a melancholy tone “Have a good trip”London Heathrow 01.03.162016-03-01 10.47.27

I cannot tell you the contrast between the English morning and the Californian sunshine. California is startlingly beautiful, straight out and onto highway 1. The glittering Pacific Ocean and endless blue pastel skies combined with Jeans laughter everything came flooding back. Here goes.


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