I am in Bristol at the Berkeley Square Hotel, room 39. Each room has a name. On my door it says Teach. This has no resonance for me. Room 40 is called Wesley. This is the boyâs name. When I think of him I hope he is thinking of me.
Channel 12 on the TV is called Yesterday. There is no channel called Tomorrow. Channel 22 is called Ideal World, but it is just selling stuff. This is far from ideal. Channel 27 is called Home. There is nothing on it. Channel 97 is called Partyland. Thereâs nothing on that either. Channel 107 is called Gay Rabbit. Enough Channel surfing.
I am out marching with my bag. Itâs like being at a festival without the boots. I see bars, a man dressed as a pink panther, some girls dressed as nuns, these are stags and hens, creatures that I do not understand. I discover a new musical genre in a doorway. Folk House. Nice.
I am on the train facing backwards to London. I forgot to take pictures of the people. I only have pictures of walls and words. No worries.
My head hurts a little. This is my fault. Itâs also, I suppose, a sign that last nightâs gig at Big Chill Bar was much fun and, in itâs own way, a success.
The the after effect of drinking of many bottles of Innes & Gunn, a fine beer brewed in oak casks in Scotland, is making it very difficult to write anything about the night. I know that I played some CDs for three hours in the bar, I remember a lot of house and One Step Beyond at the end. Before that I played some CDs for two hours in an excellent record shop called Rise. This is called work. And promotion.
Everything was friendly, smooth and lovely in that low key Bristolian way. I like this city and these people.