A Gig Too Far

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I think its midweek. Probably Thursday. But I wouldn’t swear to it! I’m in that no-man’s land, that space-time continuum known as “between gigs”.
I’m semi-recovered from my trip to the West Country in the UK for the 70’s festival last Saturday night. Four days growth of beard, unkempt hair, and I’m trying to get to this Saturday before I have to make myself presentable again. I’m still nursing a dodgy throat which I’ve been unable to shake off for weeks now. It usually just about recovers enough for me to hammer the hell out of it at each gig.

But this weekend…I don’t know if it’s because it’s at a venue I used to play back in the 80’s, or the fact that they want us to play 50% longer than we normally do for the same money. I am pretty sure it’s got a lot to do with the fact that it’s out on a wild and desolate storm-battered coast, somewhere off to the North West of Carlisle. I fly into Luton. The day before. It will take most of Sunday to get there, and I won’t arrive back home in Spain much before 8pm on the Monday night.

My joy of playing is currently a slender thing, stretched to breaking point at having to jump through these hoops. Which side will the see-saw come down on? How long before the minuses outweigh the plusses?
Only time will tell.

Kev Moore