Okay, I can admit when I’m wrong. In the previous entry I predicted we’d show up at the boat with too much junk and EVERYONE WOULD DIE. Turns out my lifelong dream of becoming a fortune teller must wait. It’s always painful to admit I’m no Nostradamus.
My prediction didn’t include snow.
The roads were getting bad. We pulled into a service station for fuel. Ahead of us, a lorry got stuck. There were trucks behind and…all stop. We were 30km outside Copenhagen, 300km from Hamburg and the stupid wee boat. The stuck lorry driver toiled and toiled, a man in fluorescent orange assisted, a Land Rover came, and after much smoking of exhaust and rubber, truckie got free. We pulled away at 11.15am. Eight hours gone.
Now it’s a race…or is it? Driver Paul said that ten years ago he would’ve been game to floor it and make the show. Now with a three-year-old daughter, he’s not keen to die for a showcase gig. None of us are.
I’ll be honest. I don’t want to do this gig. It’ll be a huge pain in the arse. But if we get there in time we have to pull out all the stops and make it happen.
* * *
Alas…cancelled. Me, sound, tour manager…all of us relieved. We don’t want to appear as if we’re jumping for joy – that would seem workshy-ish, but…you know. Pain in the arse. All the worry and discussion…pointless and academic.
But…but…the show must go on!
Nope. Physics. Time and space. Objects from A to B.
By the way, we did take a ferry today…from Denmark to Germany. And the run-of-six has been interrupted. Good thing too. Six in a row is nearly as crazy as a gig on a raft. And there was a hotel room up for grabs. Through the kindness of my fellow crewmates, I got a bed. First proper bed in a week. Thank you.