5:37AM: Bus en route from St Albans to Heathrow Terminal 5: It is getting lighter by the minute, but the tips of my fingers are still numb from standing out in the cold waiting for this bus. When I think of the jacket I didn’t buy yesterday, well, I don’t know, because it’s too fucking early to think.
Accordingly, you’d have to figure I must have gotten an early flight out for this morning, right? There’s only two things that would have me choose to wake up at the ungodly hour I did, and if there’d been a fire, I wouldn’t have time to stop and write about it. So yes, I’m going home.
After so successfully buying records in Camden, I cabbed it back to St Pancras rail station and took the train up to St Albans to meet Chris from Trippy Wicked, who as you’ll recall graciously offered to put me up for the rest of my stay here. I felt like a goon taking him up on it, but he and Pete from the band with whom he lives, turned out to be really cool, chill guys. This was a relief, and I honestly think a few days’ time hanging out there, going to a few pubs, seeing the sights, etc., would have been really nice, but when I called British Airways as I’d been instructed to upon booking my Monday flight, the guy told me he could get me on a plane this morning and I had to take it. What if there was another eruption in the meantime? Given the money it’s been costing me to be here, spent on records and otherwise, I had no choice.
If that sounds like I’m justifying a bit, maybe I am. After seeing the town center of St Albans, it looked like a decent place to spend a few days, and since upon my arrival Chris Wicked and I basically just shot the shit about music for two hours, I knew that getting along wasn’t going to be an issue. Their place was nice and the couch was comfortable (I did wind up sleeping on it for just a few hours), but I had to go.
They played an acoustic show in Reading hosted by Laz from Obiat last night that was a great time that I’ll write about when I’ve got my wits closer to somewhere about my person, and when we got back to St Albans, Chris and I walked down to London St. so he could show me where to the bus. It’s a good thing he did, because I’d have never figured it out on my own and I’d still be standing back there in the cold like an ass. Cold ass.
So there you have it. I almost can’t believe it, but I’m on my way home to my valley, my Patient Mrs. and – perhaps most immediately prevalent because of the circumstances under which I’m writing – my bed. I’m astounded by how lucky, all things considered, I’ve been on this trip, from the open space on the ferry to Hoek van Holland to get me to Roadburn to the CDs I found to the hospitality of Chris and Pete and making it onto this flight, it’s been a turbulent, but also really gratifying trip. I’m looking forward to looking back on it.
Tags: London, St Albans, UK