The written thoughts of a traveller.
Touring with Rock ‘n’ Roll bands; exploring Europe and the world; flirting in bars… and some naughtiness.
Oh, and all with a trombone. Enjoy..
Today commences with a mild interrogation over a two-hour breakfast. While his wife, Ursula, puts away the dishes, Grandpa John asks me – conspiratorially – if it’s easier nowadays to ‘get your leg over.’ He then proceeds to call me Barbara, yet I look nothing like his first wife. Oh, he’s insufferably English, and tells
You didn’t want a blog on Prague, did you? Hasn’t everybody been to Prague? Well, if you haven’t, you ought to go – the City of 1000 Spires is captivating. It is possibly worth avoiding at weekends, though; English men displaying their penises on stag weekends can be a little off-putting. So rather than exploring
Yesterday should have been uninteresting – simply a travel day across Germany and into the Czech Republic. But the police got us. No shoot-outs or roadblocks I’m afraid, just a gentle slap on the wrist and a manageable fine. No, I didn’t get caught making tea while driving. Nor was I caught red-handed at the
After the caves – and a friendly altercation with the “spaznav” – Sandra drives north. Fast. Speed always sounds swifter in kilometres than miles, but, even so, we really are hoofing it up the A45. But why not? – German motorways are renowned for allowing unlimited top speeds. Nowadays, though, these unrestricted roads are few
I’m afraid there’s a brief moan about tachographs again today; Namibian and I have been forced, through safety regulations, to struggle unsafely through the night. You see, in order to comply with a weekly rest period of 24 hours – as though we need it – we have to reach Dortmund by six o’clock in
Ooh, I haven’t told you what’s in the back of my lorry, have I? No, I realise you don’t care…but that’s not the point – this is all pertinent to a rounded rock ‘n’ roll education. Unlike Namibian’s ‘load of crap in the back’, I have ‘Rigging 2’ (the second rigging truck), and a laminated
Oldenburg is a healthy sort of place: residents travel on horseback, by bicycle, or jog like the clappers along its broad, leafy paths. A world away from Bremen, they say ‘moin, moin’ to each other, meaning ‘well, well’. Clara and Fenna, my cousins who will whoop with delight when seeing their names on the internet,
What is it with the Japanese? It’s a standing joke that their necks support umpteen cameras, but one would hope that the actual pictures might be rather good? Nope. I’d plump for them being dire. I base my obnoxious generalisation on today’s events: Seven Japanese men are standing around the famous statue of Bremen’s town
Extraordinary! Namibian and I have pulled out of a gig and gone straight to the next one – OVERNIGHT – even though it’s a travel day. It’s unheard of. This is, like, rock n roll, man. Goodness, I do wish he’d stop releasing the radio button before speaking when we’re in convoy; all I get
“Barnaby’s thoughtful musings on his voyage through life. You are not alone as you travel that valley my son.”
Father Pius Smith, Hastings.
