So here I am. On my way. After a frantic week in the UK only made possible by some generous bridging and accommodation from a dear friend. I got to T-3 days and my head was spinning. I had new clothes, a decent haircut and a pocket full of tunes written over 2 years of lock down. My best solo work ever. I was hung up on heaven’s high reaching an all-time low. I start packing. Start budgeting. Start wondering how the fuck I am going to pay for it all. T-2 apparently I need a negative Covid test. After a week in plague island, staying with other people for the first time in 2 years would I be negative in a positive way? T-1. I am. Clear to travel that is.
First hurdle cleared. Covid checked. My suitcase is going to Nashville even if I’m not! Check in again at Amsterdam.
It’s lunch time it must be Schipol. Shopping list US plugs, a pillow, some safety stockings and a decent cup of coffee instead of that Nescafe crap.
Checked in, not chucked out (yet). Lunch TRIPLE espresso and chocolate croissant. No picture. All scoffed and munched.
And I have started writing my first Nashville song. Inspired by the barista. Who turned out to be a singer. Called Jessie. A sign. 2 verses and a chorus. Tune in my head.
Fully expecting to be turned back by someone for not having my name spelt correctly at any moment or to have my intimate parts inspected by US customs and sent back to Amsterdam surprisingly none of this happens. My last experience of US customs with my friend Mr Lovely Blackcab Mark was stressful. This time the stress came from an unexpected direction …. Enter day 1.