cookie’s Random Jottings
cookie’s Random Jottings
I’ve always maintained that at midnight on a Friday night, in every Indian restaurant in the land, there is a man face-down in his vindaloo. I’ve also never understood the British mentality whereby the young man’s perfect night out seems to consist of as much beer as they can physically drink, a very hot curry and, if they’re lucky, a fight on the way home.
Why am I banging on about the shortcomings of my fellow countrymen? Well, festival season is upon us and I’ve once again experienced first-hand how much more civilised our European neighbours are when they ‘enjoy themselves’ with alcohol. We’ll put aside my views on the way our culture treats alcohol differently from other recreational drugs but, if you’re interested, click here.
I played the Breda Jazz Festival in Holland a few weeks ago and it really reinforced my view that it’s now easier for London-based musicians to work in Northern Europe than Northern England. The festival was just a couple of hours drive from Calais, and it had taken me nearly six hours to drive to a gig in Manchester the week previously. Breda is a really popular festival and its 11 open-air stages plus marching bands attract thousands of punters, nearly all of whom drink rather enthusiastically – see photo at the head of this piece. Now my point here is that, despite the size of the crowds and amount of alcohol consumed, I saw just four police officers all weekend.
Never eat anywhere that has ‘Golden’ in its name...
I always jokingly maintain that you should never eat at any establishment with the word ‘Golden’ in its name. I was ribbed about this when we went to the festival’s central feeding station for artists and crew at the Golden Tulip Hotel. The staff members were unfailingly polite and efficient and all wore a name-tag bearing the name of the establishment above their own name. On leaving the restaurant, one of the guys said to a waitress, “That was lovely – thanks very much…” and, looking at her name tag, “Golden.” It took him a while to realise what we were all laughing at.
On arriving back at our own hotel after work somebody asked “When’s breakfast?”
“Breakfasht ish from sheven a.m. to eleven a.m.” replied the receptionist in perfect (yet heavily accented) English,
“I can’t eat for four hours!” exclaimed one wag amongst our number.
At 10.30pm the following Tuesday I received a panic call from a band asking if I could go abroad with them a mere thirty-something hours later… and with no pad available I just had to drop everything and learn the stuff. Well it’s amazing what you can do when the chips are down, and I think I ended up doing a pretty decent job of it. Despite that, I still felt like a bit of a lemon during parts of the show. I realised that this group is actually a good old-fashioned vaudeville act rather than a straight-down-the-line band and so it was, in some respects, a humbling experience from my point of view.
The little tour had gigs in Switzerland, France and Italy, the guys in the band made me feel welcome and the gigs were enjoyable. One of their number even went out of his way to make sure I had a single room – Thanks Ken.
The downside was that the trip was subject to what I’ve come to call ‘budget airline syndrome’. In fairness, it’s not a band that are used to having freelancers in their number. The upside, however, was that I got to hang around in Verona for a whole day doing tourist stuff, and attempting to break my ice-cream-over-eating record.
How apt – Cookie-themed topiary – Hotel Terminus, Porrentruy, Switzerland
I never thought I’d wear this costume – Jive Aces, Delle, France.
Juliet’s balcony, Verona, Italy
Verona’s impressive colloseum
In contrast to this, last weekend I played a festival in Italy and was put (by a very astute bandleader) on a non-budget flight from Heathrow, while the rest of the Essex-based band flew from Stansted. The check-in lady didn’t bat an eyelid when I told her my hand baggage was a musical instrument and, when I arrived at the crowded gate, the lady there called me through alone first so I could stow my instrument before the other passengers got on. They even fed me a free in-flight soggy roll into the bargain. The name of this fantastic airline? BRITISH AIRWAYS. Yes BA folks – I reckon it’s by far the best, most stress-free way to travel by air with a musical instrument, and often no more expensive. You can read more about instruments on planes in Road Rat’s Tips – click here)
The festival itself was most enjoyable, although we did have to spend a fair bit of time ‘waiting for the hanging about to start’. This did, though, facilitate another attempt on my ice-cream-over-eating record. The Italians certainly know how to do ice-cream. The audiences were noisily enthusiastic, and the hotel really comfortable. I was fascinated when I was driven back to the airport by a nice young man who spoke English really well but with a London accent almost as strong as mine.
And finally… I’m writing this as the Tour de France (see Vive le Tour) leaves London for the European mainland. It’s the biggest sporting event on the planet and the great thing is, you and I can actually ride the same route as the professionals do in the race. In what other top-level sport can you do that? It’s certainly not easy to drive your car at Silverstone or play football at Wembley. Watch out for my first grazed knee since childhood in a vélo-themed blog coming soon.
I normally announce new blog entries with an email. If you’d like to be included on this mail, or if you know someone who might, please let me know by clicking here.
Or why not follow me on Twitter @RoadRatstips
‘Til the next time…
Festival Season
Tuesday, 8 July 2014