We jammed ourselves, once more, into the BMW, and headed down that misty road in search of another show. And we could be any happier if we tried.
On tour, as John C said from the driver’s seat: “every day is just: another day, another kettle.”
I pondered that thought, looked at down at my orange
and remembered the great B&B, in Carlisle.
Not all kettles are born equal.
Then again, kettles aren’t born.
But if they were, I wonder which came first: the kettle or the egg?
At home (in Canada), today is Labour Day: a holiday in which people desperately try to cram in one more summer experience before resigning themselves the inevitability of autumn. It‘s one of the sadder holidays of the year- second only to Acceptance Of Mortality Day.
“Why is it that one day the coffee tastes better than the day previous?”
“Why didn’t I have this headache yesterday?”
Are we being followed?
Touring is lost time- the kind of time you spend on an airplane or commuting. Some people think it’s glamourous, but there are way more glam jobs.
I’ve had significant moments in pubs,
at the theatre,
making an unexpected friend of a cat or dog
But, like blogging: it’s casually significant.
Whenever anything different happens out here it’s like a foreign holiday: “What’s all this about? Free fried squid in the piazza?! Hooray for Free Fried Squid in the Piazza Day!”
– all of us- crossing paths, passing each other, giving way, mid-adventure, starting out, or heading home.
A whole bunch of hotel rooms. Trees, sheep, cows, and fences.
Lists of other things- not many variations.
It gives the impression that there’s only one road leading to the one and only city in the world.
Luckily for me, all roads eventually lead home- even though I live on an island (which you can’t drive to, per se).
Luckily for us, you are all so different.