Day Forty Four - Reminisces, and Near Misses

Greetings, salutations, etc.:

By the time you get this, we’ll be at home in Tacoma. Right at this instant I’m pretty worn out. I am at Heathrow London. We spent the night at an Ibis Hotel, and Kristi apparently didn’t sleep a wink. She has spent the last two weeks thinking bad thoughts about flying, and I think her obsession has caught up with her. To be fair, the last 24 hours have been intense. We drove from a town near Durham in No. England yesterday. We stopped for lunch with John Montague in Syston,nr Leicester, and stopped in Sawbridgeworth to leave the house keys with Jacqui Leeds. We were driving from 9:30 am until about 5 pm, and stuck in traffic on the M25, getting run in circles by the satnav, and getting stressed out about it. That was yesterday. Today has gone smoothly so far. It’s just a matter of getting on the airplane now. We played on Thursday night in Skelton, near Redcar at the Cutty Wren folk club. We got a nice email from one of the audience yesterday. He was a kind of new age guy, and really was into my nature/raven paradigm. That was nice. We said goodbye to Jimmy and Val, who were outstanding when they played their set. We went to Fred Brierly’s house, had whisky and cheese, and crackers with Fred, and his significant other, Sheila. We stayed up too late, and left too early. We were more, or less exhausted all day yesterday, and today things are even worse. Oh well.

Fred and Sheila

It has been an exceptional tour. We have good friends here who take very good care of us while we are here. We used to spend a lot more time alone on these tours, but no longer. We now tend to stay at one place or another as guests for longer periods of time. The entire experience can turn somewhat claustrophobic after awhile.

I didn’t write about the trip down to Hastingleigh, Kent. We played in Cannock the night before that, and to some extent the entire weekend seems dreamlike, a lot of it being played out on the motorways as in seemingly endless hours of driving. We were worried about the experience in advance as it was a long way to travel, and it seems we were never traveling in too rested state. We stayed in Wolverhampton at a Holiday Inn the night we played in Cannock. It was a nice enough room, small, but clean and with a nice bathroom. It was right next to a horse racing track, which I think must have been the main source of patronage. We found it on the internet.

We had played the Chase Folk Club another year, and so we were known a bit to the patrons, and certainly to the club organizers. It is a different club, which had no floor spots, but had a support act, one of whom had seen us a number of years ago at another club, and at another time. Usually I would think that an opening act would open for you, but these guys were “support”, not “opening”. They were essentially a duo who were into more or less modern country music, although they did some oldies too. One of them played dobro, the other only guitar. Both sang, and they were OK at singing, but were both pretty good with their instruments. Don’t take that lightly, as I’m often quite critical of Brits performing American music. Whatever I think doesn’t really matter though. The crowd seemed to like them fine, and I was damned pleased with their rendition of Steve Earle’s “Copperhead Road”. I worked pretty hard to try to please that crowd. I think they really are kind of a “country” kind of crowd (whatever that means). It was a long, narrow room, and I think the bar must have done pretty well. When we finished playing I asked Kristi to go down to the other end of the room and sell some CDs. The next thing I hear is the club organizer over the PA asking for an end to fighting, and then Kristi is down at my end of the room, scared off by being in the middle of a fistfight. Having worked in barrooms half her life, you might think she’d be used to all that.

We didn’t have to leave our hotel room until noon the next day, so we didn’t. Even after getting out of the hotel, we felt like we had some time to kill, and so visited a museum in the Wolverhampton area. We used our satnav to find the place, and likewise to get out of there, and onto the motorway down to Kent. In recollection I feel like most of the journey was spent on the M25, which is the ring road around London. In fact, it was a pretty long trek down the M1, onto the M25, and onward off the M25 down towards Dover/Canterbury. After we got off of the motorways there was a fairly long drive on little country roads. Someone asked me to compare English country roads with American. All I could say was they would think that American country roads were like a freeway in comparison. Even in the most rural conditions in the U.S. you don’t usually see single track roads.

It was a long drive, long day after a long night. Our first glance at the Bowl Inn inspired the impulse to just keep on driving. We even discussed the fact that the owner wouldn’t even know what happened to us. We were talking about this even as I was parking across the street from the place. The first time we saw the place we did drive on by. The second time we spotted it we drove on by again. It was the third time that finally took us to the door, and a totally charming evening at a country pub in Kent. The owner was sitting in a chair talking to some customers when we showed up. He got up out of his chair, introduced himself, and gave me his chair. He was a stout fellow, and had tattoos all up his arms. I had heard that he was into motorcycles from another singer/songwriter who plays the same venue. His name was Ron, and he was a genuine biker kinda guy with the same bluster, and braggadocio that I’ve come to expect from such characters. He was a proud owner of a country pub.

He was engaged in a conversation with a couple, and another fellow when we came in. The single fellow left, but the couple stayed around. I was immediately being questioned about my motives for being at such a remote location, and all the way from America to boot. At first I admitted that I wasn’t certain how I came to be there at all, but as we talked eventually asked them if a person shouldn’t have some adventure in his/her life. They acknowledged that yes, this would be a good thing, and I think that things went well after that. It turned out that “James” was a very wealthy guy who came out to his estate in rural Kent from central London, and slummed a bit at the Bowl Inn, fascinated with the biker owner, and his rural patrons. We got the information about James from Ron after James had gone home to his estate.

Eventually we set up our gear, and we had a little time after that so Ron showed us the place. He has an owl living in the “garden”. He calls it an “Eagle” owl. Ron was an antique dealer prior to his pub ownership, and still has antiques for sale. He keeps them in a building on the property that was built around 1668. Most of the antiques are newer than the building that houses them. The antique garage has two stories, and when we were upstairs, and you could feel the floorboards bend as you walked, he reassured us that it was no problem. There was a nineteenth century coat of armor there, lots of china, old recordings, furniture, and more that one would expect to find in an antique shop.

We started playing almost immediately after Ron showed us the antiques. While we had been talking to Ron, a number of people had filtered into the little barroom. They were talking with great animation, and volume. I had done a sound check earlier to an empty room, but now we could hardly hear ourselves over the din. There was nothing to do but turn up, so that’s what I did. Nobody said a word to us about being too loud. We played a real variety repertoire. Some of it was cover tunes, most of it was my songs. People were polite, and occasionally they’d all get silent while we were playing, and they would even applaud. It isn’t easy playing a bar like that. Well, maybe it’s easy if you’re really prepared with an appropriate repertoire. We played from 8 pm to 11 pm. There was a lady in red sitting down to our left by the front door. She was with a man and they were both quite attentive to us. When we were on break we sat down with her (he had gone out to smoke). When she opened her mouth and started talking I was reminded of the guys in Monty Python doing impressions of women. She really seemed like a caricature of herself to me, and of course that’s because I’m an American and unused to the dialects that you find in England.

Rick, Jill, and Sparky

We played until 11 pm, and when we quit, the bar emptied out quite fast. Ron had collected some tips for us, and between what he paid us, and the tips we made close to one hundred pounds. That paid for the gasoline we used getting there, and then some. Gas is about $5 a gallon. They sell it by the liter, so I’m not certain exactly what it is, but it was one pound 21 pence for a liter. After we finished playing we packed up the car and headed for Essex, and the home of Rick, and Jill Christian. Rick was a DJ the first time we knew of him. He played our recordings on the BBC back in the 80s. He is a fellow musician, and a congenial sort with whom we have a great deal in common. It’s always great to see him. We got up the next morning, and after breakfast headed back to Blyth and Jiva. It was a genuine adventure, and a part of our journey I’m sure we’ll never forget. Ron was very clear that we should contact him for a return engagement next time we’re in England. I think that will be 2011. Y’all come on down and give us a listen when we’re next at the Bowl Inn. Ya heah?

Steve Nebel, May 24, 2010

Day forty from Kristi

Charlie rested her front paws on the seat of the chair and waited. She could be patient because

she knew sooner or later some bleary-eyed drunk by the bar would walk over and lift her chubby backside up onto the chair. She was a bit worn out from a manic romp. She tore around a couple of circles in the backyard of the Bowl Inn, showing off her puppy spirit for my benefit. I like to flatter myself thinking she chose the chair because I had just sat in it, leaving my scent after some serious cuddling with her. She was not posing in this picture, but rather in repose. She removed her paw and replaced it with her jaw which then rested on the table by the radiantly grinning Buddha. Her eyes remained open as she listened to our music in the tiny barroom.

We drove to Hastingleigh from Birmingham on what could easily be seen as a fool's errand. We had played the night before at Chase Folk Club and had a winding, four hour ride ahead. I regretted the decision the moment I booked the Bowl Inn four months ago, looking at the ridiculously long distance, high fuel cost, and low pay for the tavern gig. But we had decided together that we'd rather be playing than not, every day possible on this tour. We wound around the one-lane backroads with high hedges where shoulders should be, fearing an oncoming car around a bend until finally the tiny, 350-year-old pub appeared, surrounded by big brick homes with large yards. This is the pinnacle of the British social climb, I'm told. When one arrives finally to a financial position able to buy solitude and space in the country; this is the top. So we drove past it, exhausted from hours of uncertainty and said to one another, "We could just blow this off. Nobody would miss us. I wouldn't feel guilty. We could keep driving." Then we decided to make the best of it and NOT mention our regrets. I have heard a musician say to me, the audience: "I don't know why I drove this far for this kind of money and so few people". So I resolved to NOT let on any of those feelings and make anyone feel bad for coming to see us. Steve said, "Forget it; nobody cares about you in a bar. Nobody will ask any questions so don't worry." We were a couple of hours early and immediately found ourselves in the company of a friendly couple. The first words out of the man's mouth sounded like the dialect of Clark Gable and I made stereotypical assumptions about his status. His wife sounded like Vivien Leigh without the southern affectation. I was right. They were the wealthiest couple around. He said, "What are you doing way out here? Where did you come from? Does this really pay enough to be worth your while? GET A MAP! This is madness!" Steve was wrong. They were very interested. He somehow decided our earnest musical endeavours were quite admirable though. In the end he invited us to stay at one of his properties in London and bought a CD.

The bar was packed with customers who had all the telltale symptoms of too much fun, as depicted in a Goya painting. Those scenarios show a charicature-like exaggeration of little tragicomic dramas in pubs, with predictable scenarios. From our position we could see them up close in this postage-stamp sized space stuffed with antiques. A middle-aged thick-waisted woman sits in a chair alone with red weepy eyes, occasionally standing up to be comforted by a man who thinks she'll feel better if he gives her bottom a squeeze. A beautiful blonde holds court, leaning alternately into two men as hours go by, until she nearly falls over. An attractive brunette listens intently to us, clapping, and encouraging me repeatedly to have another single of whiskey. Their volume obliterated any assumptions of egotism for artistic merit in our music but occasionally someone listened through the din to an entire song and applauded sincerely. I suspect the big difference between these patrons and Goya's creations is their status. They're not Goya's oppressed, ragged Dutch peasants, but rather more or less the same characters with money.

But we're safely finished with the most arduous stretch in this tour now, and relieved. We spent all of yesterday traversing the length of this island to return north for our last two gigs. I'm needing to feel welcomed home soon with the warmth of a luxurious Tacoma springtime. I still wear the wool coat I bought early in April every day here; it's cold.

On to Hartlepool

Greetings all:

It is day 35 of 44 days of touring. We went out to another folk club last night. Gee, it’s the department of redundancy department. They are not the same thing. That is to say that all folk clubs are a bit different from each other, given that it’s different people that show up at each of them. It was their singer’s night last night at The Forester’s Folk club. Coatham-Mundeville was the town where it was located, which is near Darlington.

It seems that our days are filled with activity of one kind or another lately. I refer to the male part of our hosting couple as “digital” Jimmy. There are plenty of computers around here, and the wireless connection is marvelous. All of us take pictures, and Jimmy has an HD video camera that he’s been shooting our shows with. The videos are a bit dark, as the lighting is unreliable, but the end result nonetheless is a fairly accurate representation of our performance, and I think usable in the end. I’ve been using the video portion of my digital camera to shoot Jimmy, Val, and a few others. It has been surprisingly nice to see the performances the next day after I videoed them. Of course it is low resolution, and the pictures are relatively small, but there you go.

Tonight we perform for money again, and we’ll be staying with another couple. We’ll have dinner with Jimmy and Val before we leave for Hartlepool, but after our performance there Jimmy and Val will drive back to Blythe, and Kristi and I will spend the night in Hartlepool, and we’ll return to Blythe on Wednesday.

This performance business is strange still. I suppose you think that it gets to be old hat after awhile, but that is not the case with me. Every night is different. We have different crowds, different venues in different locations, and I’m not the same every night either. I’m not altogether certain why I feel different every night, but I do, and I don’t know how I’m going to feel until I’m in front of a bunch of people. We’ve had some of our best shows ever on this tour.

It’s nice staying with Jimmy and Val, because we spend endless hours talking about performing, promotion, travel, booking, playing, stage presence, etc. I enjoy the opportunity to take a look at what we are doing, which is what happens when you talk about it with someone else. I have seen friends become distressed with me at one time or another when I have gotten off into the business of music. I don’t see myself as particularly well versed in said business, but we are involved on our own level, and it does take some interest to keep going.

I have felt lately that I’m at home here in the UK, more so at times than I am in the US. I have wondered why this feeling comes over me. Truthfully, the politics, and people are different, but at the same time the modern world infringes on them, and the similarities to their perception is scary at times. There’s just been an election here, with a marked swing towards the conservatives. They are the same lying, two faced sons of bitches here as they are in the states, but everything is more understated here. I see influences of the Americans everywhere. They had Prime Ministerial debates for the first time in this latest election. It gave great fuel to the media, and stoked up the conversation a big notch.

I am a singer/songwriter here. I am nothing more, nothing less. People regard me as they will, some with respect, others maybe not so much. On the other hand, it is a great pleasure to me to be seen this way, for better, or for worse. It is all I have wanted for myself for years now, as I have labored in obscurity recording, writing songs that no one hears, and singing anyplace I could find an audience. It is why I feel comfortable here.

On the other other hand, I’m an American songwriter. I have written a few songs about this place, and they are well received. Indeed, people are surprised that I can know their feelings in spite of the fact that they wear them proudly on their sleeves. It is satisfying to find people here, as at home who I can admire, and love. Sometimes I think I will stay, even though I know it’s unlikely that I’d be allowed to even if I were serious. Kristi always does her best to bring me back to reality when I say things like that. We’ll be home soon. Then we’ll be back over here in a year or so if we survive for another year. In the meantime, I have songs to write. Keep the home fires burning.

Steve N.

Day Thirty-four (from Kristi)

Day Thirty-four (from Kristi)

Gary is getting us around now, having married on the windshield of our Mitsubishi Colt. I have a love-hate relationship with him; Steve says I’m calling him by the wrong name which doesn’t help. Garmin calls him Daniel. When he was the American, Garmin called him Jack. I’m convinced Garmin is to blame for all his problems so I’m sticking with Gary. He has two settings, “FAST”, or “MOST DIRECT ROUTE”. I don’t think there’s an actual difference. We type in the postal code to our destination and every time he sends us into the winding, narrow, slow hinterlands as opposed to the motorways. American Jack kept calling A4028 “ayfordywendyeight” until we fired him. Dainel was in a fibbing spree while “recalculating” us as we roamed around the backroad routes to Kielder Forest. His little white arrow finally morphed into a sort of wart and stopped in the middle of the road as he said something like, “turn left on B-onemillion”. That would have led us directly onto a sheep pasture. I occasionally am quite relieved to have his help. Having at last got us to an ASDA in Livingston he directed us toward the exit of the parking lot through a brick wall. But he’s useful when we’ve come NEAR to a destination. At that point British roads have a tendency to send us in endless circles until we stumble upon our destination. So I’m cautiously making peace with his odd ways. Steve also says I’m jealous of him, having relinquished my important role as navigator. But within fifteen minutes of his purchase in Cramlington, which is north of Newcastle, Steve was ready to hurl him into downtown Newcastle, wherein we were slowly pushing our way through the dense traffic towards Croxdale, which is in the suburbs of Durham, south of Newcastle. We tried to find a Tesco near the airport in Edinburgh a few days ago. Gary got us successfully to an inaccessible backlot to an extinct Tesco, with the store logo barely legible having been painted out. Then he took us to a quickstop version of the super-store which was equally useless. Finally as we attempted escape from the heart the city, he wound us into a tight spot in heavy traffic with construction and a traffic policeman parked to watch, then Gary told us to make a U-turn. Every day with Gary is a big adventure. I continue to wonder if Tom-Tom might have been a better match.

The tour is going great. We’re continuing to have favorable responses from our audiences. I’m enjoying the comaraderie within this fraternity that shares their beloved tunes with one another. The level of appreciation and mutual respect is quite phenomenal in this “folk world”.
I’m looking forward to our return though. The comforts of home in a practical sense aren’t superior to the homes we’ve experienced here. Our hosts have been positively angelic to us. I’m just aching for the familiar. Of course that means you. Please keep in touch.

Newport Folk Club/Friday Folk, Orpington

Hello all:

Our last folk club that we visited in Wales, and environs was the Newport Folk Club. It was the closest club to where we were staying. It was the end of a day that had a bit of travel stress incorporated. We have had difficulties between the pilot and the navigator at times on this trip. We are seriously considering acquiring a satnav. They are available from about sixty pounds. We drove out to Avergavenny for being tourists, and wasted way too much time finding the road, which was a straight drive once we were on our way. Oh well, water under the bridge. Pilot, and navigator survived with nothing but a few emotional bruises.

The Newport folk club is held in the Lyceum Tavern in Newport, Wales. As usual, it was upstairs, and to the back. This club uses a PA for their singers night. That is fairly unusual. I'm convinced by this time that soft singing is a trait of singers on the west coast of Wales, and England. Among the songs from the first few singers were "Bad Moon Rising", "I'm My Own Grandpa" (to a rhythm from hell), and "St. James Infirmary" among others. I think they put the less experienced singers on first. Unlike the Nova Scotia Club in Bristol, this was predominantly a grey hair crowd. There were few under 60. They initially gave us two songs, but asked for another after the two we did. At the end of the night not everyone had had a turn at singing, but nonetheless, they gave us another song to end the night. I ended with "Big Floppy Hats".

There was a pair of brothers in the crowd, noticeable because they were like bookends. They were identical twins, and a couple of jokers as well. Someone got up and took his turn who was from Bristol, and one of the brothers asked him, "You're not from around these parts, are you son?". It was a typical southern sheriff's drawl he asked with, and I laughed out loud. They were full of this stuff all night long. When a very sophisticated guitar solo went south and the instrumentalist muttered, "Shit!" one of the brothers chimed in, "Oh boy, a chorus!" (everyone loves to sing along on choruses). One of the brothers was an acappella singer with a falsetto, and the other was an accomplished blues guitarist. I talked to them at the end of the night, and we all regretted that we couldn't spend some time together. They were really funny guys, with a sense of humor I could appreciate.

The next morning it was goodbye to Newport, Langstone, and the New Inn hotel. We were off to the Orpington Liberal Club, and Friday Folk. We have played Friday Folk four times now. It is organized by Sue Tuckey. We always stay with Sue when we play her club. Her partner Trevor had a heart attack about 18 months ago and only has 1/3 heart function, but other than that, he's doing pretty well.

Sue is 4'11" tall. As I type "tall", it seems ironic, as she is nothing near tall. She is as round as she is short, and has a round face that often is mirthful. I feel privileged to share her home with her. She and Trevor are a duo called Tone Deaf Leopard, and she really is tone deaf. They have nothing, if not a sense of humor. Trevor had a motorcycle accident some years ago that left him with a bad leg. Sue is epileptic, and has a misformed foot as well as being vertically challenged. Both of them talk nonstop, except for the occasional falling on the floor laughing as they quote one of their own song lyrics. Trevor has two sons, who Sue explains are of an age that they don't want to be seen with Trevor, or Sue. She understands them, and doesn't seem outwardly hurt by what she sees as their teenage inclinations. One of the sons, Ben (I've never met either) is an excellent guitarist, and both Sue and Trevor are way proud of his accomplishments.

Orpington is changing, like the rest of the world. The world's largest Tesco store resides on the corner across from the Orpington Liberal Club. Kristi and I had a meal on High Street shortly after we arrived in Orpington, and it gave us the opportunity to see that the town is all torn up, with barriers everywhere and change still moving in. It is a suburb of London. In 2004 Kristi and I took a train into London from Sue's to attend the largest anti-war march we've ever been to. It is a short trip by train to the center of London. Sue lives in a neat row of houses, probably about the same size as our apartment in Tacoma. The garden (read yard) is smaller than ours by quite a bit. Things are cluttered there, as there are more things than space to put them, once again like home to us. They have a leopard spotted cover on the couch, and Trevor has his should length hair tied around with a leopard spotted headband. Sue is wearing a shirt with a tiger on it. Tesco didn't have a leopard on any of their shirts.

We talk for awhile when we arrive, but I'm tired out from the drive, and I have had an intestinal bug bothering me so I lie down for a quick nap. Kristi, Sue, and Trevor continue to talk downstairs, and I drift in, and out of sleep. Finally I get up, get dressed in my performance clothes and we head for the club in two cars, us following Trevor. I parked wrong when I got there, and Trevor instructs me that there won't be enough parking for everyone if I don't park perpendicular to the building, so I move the car. The meeting room at the Orpington Liberal Club is quite a larger space than the bar area. You have to ring to get in, and the door hinges have quite a heavy spring in them that makes them difficult with a guitar and an amplifer, but I somehow manage to get in.

Trevor, and Sue are a flurry of activity. Trevor, in spite of having a cane, and a bad heart is moving tables. I try to help, but I'm busy trying to get myself set up as well, and not be in the way at the same time. Sue has mentioned how the folks moving up the escalator at the Tesco store look like automatons, and sure enough we look out the window of the Liberal Club, and there's the automotons moving up the ramp. There's hardly anyone there, and I'm worried that we'll have hardly any audience. We get all set up, and the MC lays down the rules for the evening, and plays a couple of songs. He has a sweet voice, and a fine arpeggio guitar style. People drift in as he is playing. By the time he finishes his two songs, we have 15 people there, including the area's premier singer/songwriter, Ron Truman Border. That's enough. There's another floor spot, who plays a mediocre version of Eric Bogle's "The Band Played Waltzing Matilda", which is such a great song that even mediocity can't kill it. There's the MC again, and it's now time for us to play.

I start with "Whistling in the Rain", which is a song I know I haven't over-played there in the past. If it was a club we'd been to less, I'd have started with " Birds of Winter", but this night it just didn't seem like the right song. "Whistling in the Rain" these days feels right, and I sing it in their faces, looking around the room at them as I tell them that I "left home half busted, If I was broke then there I'd be". They all look back with genuine belief in their faces, and I know I' ve got them. Kristi sings the second song, which is a new one for us "Alternate Universe". I often give her the first song, because I know how much folks enjoy her singing, but just tonight, I did things a little different. This is a fun song with lots of irony, probably influenced by Allan Watts.

Eventually there's a break in the night, and we all visit the restrooms, have a chat - those that drink get their glasses filled again. I chat with a guy who is familiar with Jim Page, and tells me about a blues guitarist from Seattle that he's seen. I tell him Seattle is filled with great blues guitarists, and that the blues bores me to tears. He, it turns out is a blues guitarist, something of a fathead, and playing the ukelele tonight, but I regret being so flip to him nonetheless. There is always a raffle at these clubs, and so it's raffle time before the floor spots start to play again. Sue gives away candy, a bottle of wine, and we hope there's enough money to pay us without breaking the bank at the end of the night. Fathead gets up and plays blues on a ukelele, and I am reminded of Martin Mull's blues on a ukelele with a baby bottle slide, "I got so low down deep inside I threw my drink across the lawn". This guy probably fits the bill. His name is really Roy.

It is election time here, and Gordon Brown is campaigning for his political life. Everyone's pissed at him, so I don't know if he'll get re-elected. The Liberal Democrats have always been the party that makes sense to me. That probably means that their candidate, Nick Clegg doesn't stand a chance. He is getting a lot of attention. After the first debate, where Gordon Brown was nice to him, everyone piled on him and I heard a national news broadcaster refer to him as a fag (quoting someone else). Then at the second debate Brown and the fascist candidate, David Cameron (oh, I'm sorry he's the Tory candidate) piled on and did their best to discredit Clegg at every opportunity. There was some discussion of this at half time. I more or less ignored them. Kristi hung around and told me that butthead, oh I'm sorry, Roy is a Tory. How nice that folk music gives us all a chance to hang out with each other. Hey, don't call me political though!

Sue and Trevor are introduced as Tone Deaf Leopard, and they play their own rock version of " Banks of the Ohio" while Trevor does his best to look like the psychopath that the song describes. Sue beats up a bodran, while Trevor plays impeccable rhythm guitar. Sue has no idea where the one of the measure is, smacking indiscriminately on the bodran. Once in awhile she is on the beat and it cheers my heart, but not for long, and before long I'm hoping she'll remain out of time because that can be funny.

We finish up the night with Kristi's version of "Johnny I Hardly Knew Ya". Sue sings along for a bit, and it sounds like she's singing fourths in her best soprano scream, but that fortunately doesn't last long. We get an encore, and I sing " Big Floppy Hats". I chat with the crowd a bit before they leave, and Trevor enlists Roy to help him out. We help a bit with the chairs and the tables. I am chatting with Roy in the parking lot. He is telling me how he likes China better than Japan as a travel destination, and his trip to Niagara Falls, etc., and Trevor and Sue are sitting in their car ready to go.

When we got back to Sue's, there was a bottle of whiskey there. I have been trying to go easy on the alcohol this trip, and have generally done pretty well. Trevor can't drink because of the medications he is on, and doesn't smoke anymore. Sue had a big drink though, and we stayed up too late, and it was fun. We talk about this and that. They don't really talk politics, but they have a political perspective. You definitely get some politics out of their songwriting.

We're in Blyth now. We're staying with Jimmy and Val, Jiva. You might have met them when they came to visit us last summer. We play at the Bridge Folk Club tomorrow night. That will be a good time I'm sure. Keep the home fires burning. Steve N,.

Welsh Village and Blue Flame Pub

Lion on the wall surrounding Cardiff Castle.

April 22, 2010

Hello all:

We took the night off, so-to-speak. We didn't go out to a club tonight. We started, but Kristi realized somewhere early in the journey that there was more than one town named the same as the one we were going to, and further, that we wouldn't make it on time. As things turned out, we came back to the hotel and watched a movie on TV. We were both disappointed in ourselves for not being more disciplined in our directions, and for spending an evening that would have been more fun at home in Tacoma. Oh well, so life goes huh?

The last couple of nights have been a hoot though. We had a great time in Bristol. I guess Bristol is our kind of town. It's interesting though that there are so many singers who sing really softly there. They speak really softly there as well. I guess in that respect I don't quite fit, but I never felt that way. The first club we went to was the Nova Scotia Club. Harry was the only one there when we arrived. He told us quite a bit a bout himself without us asking too many questions.

The club was, as is not unusual, in a room above a pub. The building looked uninhabited, and was advertised for sale on one side. We ignored the signs of urban decay, and parked our car, walked around the building, and found what we were looking for. I don't know what's wrong with U2. You just have to be driven enough, and have enough patience to not give up on first glance. Sometimes it's not there. There are little disappointments in life, but most of the time things work out OK. That would have an exception in the case of the Iraq War. Also, there's some disappointment on my part about the Afghanistan war. Well, there's also health care, but need I go on? We did find the club, and it turned out to be a nice night.

The Nova Scotia Acoustic Music Club was once just a simple folk club. According to longtime members, there has been some turnabout there, but mostly for the good. It is an exceptionally young club. That is not to say that it is a completely young club. There were a lot of folks there who were about my age, but there was a significant component 40 and younger too. This can be fairly unusual in folk clubs in England. When we first arrived there was only one club member there, Harry. In only minutes we found out that Harry had run away from home as a child, hade worked in the porcelain factories of Staffordshire, and was a huge Woody Guthrie fan. He is also a country music fan, and an independent kinda guy.

Bill, and Nicki showed up next. They, if not the club organizers, certainly were taking on that role for the evening. Neither of them was the MC though. That was Humph. I continually find the fascination with American culture here intriguing. The Nova Scotia FC is filled with people strongly influenced by American music. Throughout the course of the evening there was everything from accapella traditional singing to full on rock n roll with (of course) acoustic guitar. There were a few outstanding songwriters there, and a lot of not so outstanding, if earnest songwriters as well. There were 30 people who played, which is an exceptional night anywhere. This particular club uses an open stage format, as opposed to others who use the song circle format. We were given an extra song at the end of the night. The MC, Humph, had forgone a turn at performance, so I think it was a compliment to our earlier performance to get another song. Of course, we don't know what the usual procedures were for the club.

To get to Bristol from Newport one must cross the Severn River on a huge bridge, which takes a five pound fifty toll on the way back. We just wax philosophical about these kinds of expenses. At the end of the evening a couple of people gave us cards, and suggested that we keep in touch. This came in handy the following night, as Kristi looked all around on the internet for a place for us to play, I called Humph at his home and asked him for advice. He directed us to a small pub in West End near Nailsea. Nailsea isn't a huge town, but West End is anything but a town. On our way there, convinced that we were going the wrong way, we turned around and headed back into Nailsea. When we asked a passing pedestrian where our destination lie, she advised us that the very narrow road we had been following was the appropriate way to go, and would indeed land us at our destination if we were wary, and realized that the pub we were looking for was very plain, looking more like a house than a pub.

Kathy Rock n Roll- See Steve in the background talking to Humph.

The Blue Flame Inn lies at an intersection. Maybe it's the crossroads from the song where Robert Johnson meets the devil. Perhaps that crossroads is a place in time, that wanders from place to place. If so, this particular night it was on a rural road in Western England. The room where the sing-a-round was held had a bench all around, and a few tables with chairs as well. There was a tiny fireplace with a fire burning in it at the end of the room. There were mostly guitars, but there was a guy who played autoharp, and a woman who played the banjo (she must have been pushing eighty). There were all levels of performance, from extremely competent to not at all. There was a woman who had been at the Nova Scotia who sings rock n roll songs in a whispery voice, and you can see that she is struggling to find, and properly finger the chords on her guitar. I would guess that she was in her late forties. There was another couple who left early who performed a Cindy Lauper song (Time After Time), and a Cat Stevens song (Wild World).

Note the fireplace at the end of the room. This is some of the guys from the Blue Flame Inn.

Humph, who had invited us, sang mostly his own songs. They were all very good songs, and one of them was really funny. He also sang a couple of old 20's pop songs. He is a very competent guitar player, and he also brought along a ukelele, which he played on a couple of songs. As it was a small crowd, all of us got to play a lot of songs.

At the break, I exchanged CDs with Humph. He usually is part of a duo, so the CD is a duo CD. His partner has had a cold and didn't sing at the Nova Scotia, and didn't come along to the Blue Flame Inn either. The CD is more or less (mostly more) recorded live. It will be interesting to hear what he thinks about all of the accompanying instrumentation on our CDs. He bought a copy of "Big Red Smile" after we played "Big floppy Hats". I exchanged "Raven Speaks" for his CD.

The owner of the pub, Mick, was kind of an unkempt guy with a ready smile, a guitar, and a harmonica on a rack. He was an interesting songwriter, writing with basic chord progressions and singing his own point of view on life. He used two different guitars, and removed them to the hallway when he wasn't on. At the end of the evening he made a point to talk to Kristi and I,and be sure to know that we were always welcome at the Blue Flame Inn. Did I mention that the toilets at the Blue Flame are outdoors?

Has anyone who I'm sending this to ever heard the "Dalesmith's Litany"? It's a song. One of the guys at the Blue Flame sang it, and I thought it was a good song. It has roots dating back to the 1600s. That is, it is influenced by a song called "Beggar's Litany" written in the 1600s You can look it up on YouTube.

Oh yeah, we have continued to be tourists as well. We went to Cardiff, or environs a couple of different times. We went to a Welsh village museum near Cardiff that was absolutely fantastic. There were a couple of traditional Welsh farmhouses,

and there was a castle

there as well. There were also workers housing, and some small shops like you might find in a village. It was an opportunity to see how people on the high end, and the low end of things lived, and contrast them immediately. It's an amazing contrast, and not that long ago that people lived this way.

Yesterday we just went into Cardiff and walked around. We went to the part of town where the Cardiff Castle is located. They wanted 10 pounds 50 pence for each of us, which seemed a bit spendy, especially as we were a little late in the day, and we've seen a few castles by now. In the end we visited the National Museum of Wales, and there walked through an archeology exhibit, which was great. Driving in the city here is a nightmare, although I've driven worse streets than Cardiff, there were some moments of difficulty. I don't know yet what we are going to do today. We will probably go to the Newport Folk Club tonight, and tomorrow we play an entire show in Orpington where we've played almost every tour since 2002. I hope this finds you all well. Keep the home fires burning.

Steve Nebel

Day Fifteen

(photo is an example of the fine public art in Newport, Wales)

Bruges plans went up in smoke by way of the volcano. After congratulating myself on making all arrangements to ferry to and from, with motel reservations near the terminal and a mere ten miles to drive to that reputed "Venice of the North", I cancelled. As you no doubt know, those ferries are inundated with massive lines of British repatriates desperate to get home ASAP. We didn't feel assured of a timely return. On the up side, a natural disaster meant that travel cancellations were relatively easy. But if ever you're in England wanting to take that side trip, it would have only cost around $200 all told, for two nights lodging plus round trip transportation.

So I threw a dart at the map, so to speak, and we landed in the south of Wales for a week in a cheap but acceptable motel room. We're barely squeezing around a couple of twin beds shoved into a king-size, with almost all the amenities of our wonderful American motels (including, as you see, free wi-fi). We've made our way to three locations thus far for floor spots and a sing-around, and will get to two more before hitting the road for the rest of the tour. Last night we somehow stumbled onto a recommended song circle in a postage-stamp sized pub room outside of Nailsea. I say stumble because when we finally managed to get to the likely location our directions gave us, it seemed impossibly remote. We drove a hundred yards or so on a one-lane dirt farm road thinking we'd better turn around fast. So we managed to retrace our path, found a walker who gave us directions, and made another turn back down the tiny lane which indeed led eventually to the pub. We squeezed into a parking spot, entered, and found the place jammed with people in this farmhouse-looking place in the middle of freshly-sown fields.

my previous emails

I keep thinking I could put in my own two bits with this one-sided saga. Actually I find each and every contact we receive from afar to be much more valued than when I'm at home for some strange reason. It's grounding to me as we roll along these highways and byways to hear from the familiar links of home. I can't emphasize the comforting impact enough.

We're seven days into the tour and finally got to bed and to sleep at a reasonable hour, slept through the night and awakened before noon. That's a milestone. When in Japan the jet-lag was much less important because WE were much less important in the overall scheme of things and had no particular job to worry about. Here we have these niggling doubts as to our competency every evening we head out to play.

Thanks to all who have wished me a happy birthday. It was a pleasant day.

On day 1 I left my new stylish spring coat in Seatac Airport. On Day 2 we left our luggage cart in London Heathrow Airport. Things have been going much better since we've become ridiculously proprietary in our material habits. I quickly found a beautiful Italian wool coat in a department store for a price comparable to Goodwill and am very happy with it while still determined to retrieve the lost one.

Our hosts have been again spoiling us rotten, making me wish they could make it to Tacoma so I could reciprocate. Still I'll be happy to set out on our week-long vacation for some privacy and escape from the pressures of performances. We've decided to spend the first three nights in Newport, Wales, because it's close to nearby folk clubs we can explore, and fairly reasonably-priced. That still leaves four remaining nights for you all to send suggestions for travel. Most recently we're leaning toward the north of France as it would involve less travel time by car than the sunny south. So what can you suggest in that region?

Hello all. I've appreciated the replies received thus far more than you can imagine, from my previous email of our saga. We're on day nine now of our seventh saga in the U.K., having performed four of seventeen bookings and headed tonight for our fifth. We left the Southampton area this morning. Last night we played in the proud home of the game of cricket, Hambledon, for a uniformly typically sized audience of twenty. They seemed to remember and appreciate us.

A few days ago our hosts, Trevor and Jane, took us into the very richly historic maritime town of Southampton for a show put on by members of their Foc's'le Folk Club. In the 965-year-old St. Michael's Church they performed original songs depicting the sinking of the Titanic, as experienced by various individuals. It succeeded in pulling me into the emotional depths of the event while simultaneously the town celebrated the launching of a cruise-liner boasting to be among the biggest in the world. We took an intermission and darted outside to watch fireworks over the behemoth. There was some speculation over the decision to christen it on the anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic.

We're back in Lancashire, having spent a couple of hours in Blackpool. I understand it boasts the most money spent on any tourism site in England. It was well-conceived in Victorian times as a center for the amusement of young families whe needed well-deserved escape from hard industrial work in the area. Inasmuch as it retains that mission it's successful but by my estimation it manages to milk as much money in as little space from as many people as possible, while boasting as much garishness as can be stuffed onto one esplanade. But we passed the time agreeably and found plenty to snap photos of.

We're taking our holiday after tonight's gig. So far we've booked three of seven nights in Wales, with plans to possibly go from there to Brussels, because it's close to Dunkirk where the ferry lands (within an hour's drive), and I've heard most people speak English in Belgium. But suggestions are still welcome!

Britain's airspace is causing the world to speculate regarding the recent volcano. Where Steve and I are concerned, it's not a first. We've now experienced the effects of four volcanoes. In Alaska we waited for the soot to clear on Mt. Redoubt before flying over it; I recall smelling sulphur inside the plane cabin as we went over it. We also had to refrain from inhaling soot in our carburetor for a couple if days, I recall, when Mt. St. Augustine erupted near Homer. As far as flights being grounded here in the U.K., we've been there done that, too, on Sept. 11, 2001 the moment our plane landed. I clearly recall that no flights were allowed to the U.S. for what was at the time an indefinite length. It made me think two things: Could I live here? Because it occurred to me that if a world war were to break out, I might be stranded for life (and I immediately decided that I could). Secondly I wondered if this land could survive complete isolation. Then I remembered the Queen's Victory Garden in WWII with some comfort; they've been there and done that before too. In fact, the country is a bit concerned that if this volcano keeps spewing ash (which is not at all out of the question), a few foodstuffs may soon be in short supply. Of course that's a large part of the bad reputation England has for food. They had to live on their own sustainability for those years, plus several following due to rationing that continued beyond the war. So it could be done again, I presume. For that matter, I can't help thinking that it's a paradise of growth historically speaking, much like the coastal Pacific Northwest, where native Americans were so surrounded by food they didn't need to migrate in search of it. This island, so green, fertile, moist, and covered with game, brought successions of populations from surrounding areas, no doubt attracted to the same advantages. The Gauls, Vikings, Normans, and Romans, among others, duked it out leaving crumbling ruins of their various noble edifices of civilizations. I guess the lack of bananas and pomegranites didn't bother them a bit.

We're in Newport, Wales with beautiful warm sun on the blooming daffodils and tulips. We made our way to Roman ruins today as well as a crumbling castle in downtown which has a marvelous promenade on the Usk River. Our motel room is comfortable and we're enjoying the gentle rolling hills of the scenic countryside. Though it took all day to get here, in three days we probably won't have time to see all the castles and museums in this fascinating area. It was a good choice for some relaxation, surrounded with a rich history of Welsh culture and beauty.

Bruges is beckoning us next. Thanks for the votes. Keep them coming in.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Hello all:

It's a lovely day in Langstone, Wales. At least that's how it appears through the curtained window. I haven't listened to the news yet today, so don't know what the volcano is doing today. Yesterday it continued to erupt and disrupt flights in the UK. We are here long enough so that I'm not really worried about it. I suppose that I should be concerned about the economic disruption.

We are going to have several days off now from performing. Tonight we'll attend a couple of local open mikes, and see how that goes. After that, we will be footloose, and fancy free. It currently looks like we are headed in the direction of France. I don't think Kristi has made hotel reservations yet, so . . . who knows? I feel some anxiety at not having a performance to play in this period of time. I've never felt comfortable just getting out a guitar and trying to randomly entertain people, as I've seen some others do. Whatever we end up doing, I'm sure it will be an adventure.

Yesterday we visited a Roman ruins. Kristi tells me she saw a note somewhere saying this area has been occupied by human beings for 250,000 years. 200, or so of that was with Romans. They built quite a bit around here leaving an amphitheatre that holds 6000, and a large athletic water world, which has been dug up. The baths were destroyed during the middle ages, but it was such a substantial building with huge stones etc. that they apparently couldn't completely dismantle it, although they made a good try. The Archeologists found a lot of valuable stones, and artifacts at the bottom of the bath drains.

It is good to have privacy for a change. The hotel room is quite functional, clean, serviceable. It is a small space to live in, and perhaps these times on the road are a lesson in what a person can tolerate need be. The experience of staying with the people who we play for is always interesting, often less than optimal, and always there's a feeling of truncated behavior.

After the Roman ruins of Caerleon we went to Newport, the largest town in the immediate area. We just blundered around the city center a bit, ostensibly looking for a castle, or a cathedral to visit. These were in the tourist literature for the area, although the castle was slightly hidden in publicity for the area. I think that what is visually interesting is that which you haven't seen before, at least in a general sense. In other words, the things that the locals see every day are not necessarily very interesting to them, nor do they appreciate them as a visitor would. The Newport castle is in a state of decay. It is surrounded by a substantial fence, intended to keep people out of it's immediate perimeter. It is bounded on two sides by roads, and on another by the Usk River. It has been restored twice in it's lifetime, neither time recent. Just adjascent to the castle is a very large work of art, and a footbridge crossing the river that is, in my opinion, a substantial work of art as well. I'll attach some pictures of each. I took a video of the large piece of art. I don't know if I'll have the time necessary to upload it, but I have stills that should suffice to give the idea of what these are.

Another thing that we came across was a fashion photo shoot, although it was not immediately apparent that that was what we were seeing. There was a fellow dressed in tights with a large mohawk hairdo surrounded by women with outrageous hair as well. You could see the pro photo setup with the lights, and backdrop in the square. My immediate thought was that we were witnessing a video shoot for a rock group, which actually would have been a much more substantial layout than what we saw. It was in interesting spot, as there were several sculptures right in the immediate vicinity of where they were working, and in fact they retired to a sculpture further down the road for more pictures.

Eventually, as we were leaving, we saw a sign on a covered table that identified the group as a local fashion organization that will teach you how to be outrageous as well. I guess I spoke too soon about getting over jetlag, as Kristi and I are still having some of the symptoms, although not as severe as before. We just tend to wear out a little sooner than we used to. Maybe some of it is symptoms of getting older, and not enough exercise.

I thought that our last night playing in Fleetwood went really well. One thing I did was choose my songs more conservatively than I had been doing. I know that people can be put off by songs with politics too heavily installed in them, and this looked like a conservative bunch, although since I didn't really take any chances, couldn't say for sure. I can say that the politics of some of my songs go down really well with some, and not so well with others, but in the end, I think that a political stand on the side of human rights will get me more ardent fans than just playing my best songs. Well, I think that those songs often are my best songs. I ended the night, as I have been doing, with "Big Floppy Hats". At least the jetlag is gone enough so I don't think it will impact my performances anymore. Whoever gets us first . . . well it isn't us at our optimum. Keep the home fires burning. Steve Nebel

Shoving Off

Hello all:

We have played our third gig. Things continue to go well, although I must admit, I've been having a problem with jetlag. We have been carrying on in spite of this, and I think we're being well received. Last night we attended a guest night at the very first English folk club that we ever played. The club organizer requested a song that we played that year, which was 2001. The song was "The Crow".

The guest last night was very interesting. He sang everything accapella, and sang a fairly large variety of styles including English musichall, and a John McCutcheon song I'd not heard. He ended the night in top hat and tails singing a couple of very funny musichall songs. He also had a bag full of different objects from down the time continuum that were interesting. We sang "The Crow", and Kristi sang "Johnny I Hardly Knew Ya", and "Wish You Were Here Waltz". People sang along, and some people wanted us to sing even more, which of course would have been pretty rude, but it was nice to go down well.

It was Kristi's birthday yesterday. We took our friends here out to dinner at a pub, and they gave Kristi a gift. I had already done birthday presents for her, and this was her second birthday party, perhaps not even her last for the year. I think it was a nice evening for her. Just after midnight on the 13th we made Skype phone calls back to the states, and Kristi talked to a number of people. Skype really works well, and was a lot of fun calling people who knew we were in England, so it was a large surprise for them to hear from us.

I started talking at dinner about times in Alaska, and some of the moments that were notable. It has been interesting to me over the years which moments in my life stand out, as they can be seconds, minutes, hours, or particular days, but seldom larger increments of time. I've thought for a long time that most of our lives are forgotten. I mean we forget most of what happens to us, and even places we've been, certainly people we meet. On the other hand we remember the odd person, who in another circumstance we wouldn't even notice. I think there are a large number of criteria responsible for this selective memory. There came a point where it was obvious that the guests at dinner weren't nearly as interested in my reminisces as I was. That's interesting as well . . . maybe not so much to you. I was talking about a certain day in Cordova, AK. It was a fishing trip, and for me that evening is engraved on my memory vividly. I see the particular beauty of the place we were, but in describing it, it seemed I only alienated my audience as it seemed to them (I'm guessing here) that I was agrandizing myself by describing my experience. The decription was an attempt to bring them along on the journey, but alas, I did not succeed, and moved on to other topics more salient, the food at hand, and the evening coming along.

I suppose that the evening of our first UK folk performance was brought back pretty clearly by last night, but it isn't an evening I could easily forget, as it was a huge inconvenience logistically. I couldn't forget that we stopped in England briefly on our way to Paris to make that one performance, which involved renting a car and doing my first driving in England under the influence of extreme exhaustion, and in a slight state of panic. We met our first booker once again last night, and whatever possessed him to book an unknown American couple, who knows? At any rate, it was the beginning of a big adventure for Kristi and I that is continuing now.

Tonight we will play our fourth date on this tour at Hambledon. We played there in 2008, and were well received, so it should be a fun night. The night before last we played at the Tudor Folk Club in Chesham. We missed a turn on the way there and ended up out in the boonies of England. It's interesting to note that this is in the vicinity of London. The rural is maintained here, otherwise the entire island would undoubtedly be covered in concrete. It was annoying to get lost because we found ourselves in a lovely English country scene, but were unable to enjoy it as we were focused on finding our way, and that didn't allow us much enjoyment of scenery. I find that as the driver, I am not able to much enjoy scenery anyway as roads are often very narrow (and this one was exceptionally so), and the rules of the road are different, and require and enhanced level of attention. I think we got off on a bad tangent with this initial disorientation, as we continued to have difficulty finding our destination. It's a good think we gave ourselves plenty of time, and we arrived at just the right time in the end, but with ruffled dispositions.

The club in Chesham was very friendly, and although we could have used a PA, chose to play acoustic. I think it was a good choice as it very much more puts you in contact with your audience, not having a microphone in your face, and not having to worry about annoying someone with your volume. Of course Kristi is always amplified as she plays electric bass. She is usually too cautious about her volume as far as I am concerned, although I've had to contend with her drowning me out on occasion too. Either situation is untenable to me, as I want to hear us just so. I know that the people in front of us hear quite a different thing from what we hear. I recently had a friend pick up my guitar and play it. I was astonished at what a fine sounding instrument it is. I don't hear at all what those in front of me hear.

It is laundry day for us here in Southampton. Jane is teaching Kristi how to do laundry by hand. There is a machine they're using as well, but Jane insists that by hand is more efficient. Jane grew up early in a household that did laundry all by hand, and had an outhouse - no conveniences. Yesterday we listened to her talk a bit about the role of women in society, the dearth of opportunities that she has experienced, and you could hear the yearning for freedom. She doesn't complain about all of the things that she does around here. She keeps a neat, clean house, does major organization for their folk club, and I always find her charming.

Tomorrow we head off for the Fleetwood FC near Blackpool. We played a festival there in about 2004. It is reputed to be in a very small room, which will be nice for us. The people we met at that time were a friendly lot. I'm sure it will be great fun. We are being treated well, enjoying ourselves mostly having a relaxing time. Keep the home fires burning. We'll see you when summer is a little bit closer.

Southampton

Greetings.

We are in Southampton. It's a lovely day here on the harbor. We're seeing lots of sailboats out today, and the birds were lively this morning. I only had gotten about 3 hours of sleep yesterday, but 10 hours last night, which is a great relief. I somehow lost Thursday entirely. Friday ended up being a lot of chores to be here. I'll have to complete some of that today. We went to the grocery store, and then it was driving, driving, driving. We missed the exit from the M25 to the M3, and ended up taking the A3 to the south.

It was scenic, but that matters little to a driver driving in a place with which he or She is not familiar. I am the designated driver, although Kristi was the one who got the sleep. She is a chicken motorist anyway, so all for the better. I managed to not fall asleep at the wheel, and so arrived at Netley Village in one piece.

Jane and Trevor are wonderful hosts, and it is so good to be made to feel so warm and welcome so far from our home. Our rental car is a Mitsubishi Colt. It has an auxiliary plugin for my mp3 player, so it can easily be used as soon as I get this computer setup to download some podcaSTS FOR US. I did manage to listen to somethings on our way here, and it was nice, as I find BBC to be tedious for the most part. Well, that's not at all always, but there's a lot of pop music, and oldies, just like at home. I'll find somethings to listen to, but they have such regular programming that it means your favorite shows aren't necessarily gong to be on when you need them.

We drove to the club last night. Our hostess, Jane, rode with us. She knows the road so well to the club that she warned me when a corner was coming up, not to mention the necessary lefts, and rights, but mostly left turns to get there. I have taken to being the peacenik this time, although I try not to lean too heavily on that. My newest song "Doublewide" is going over great here. It brought a thunderous applause last night, and if I had recorded it would have sold a good many more CDs. Of course, I am enjoying the song myself, and that may be part of their enjoyment. Everytime we get an opportunity to play my songs on consequitive nights I get a golden opportunity to make the entire experience of us better. I love this.

It's now 2 in the afternoon, and Kristi is still sleeping. My understanding from our hostess is that she went to bed shortly after I did. That means she's had about 13 hours plus of sleep by now, or at least the opportunity. She should be enjoying this day, as the weather is supposed to turn back to overcast, and cool tomorrow. Today is perfect, and I'd like to get out and enjoy it a bit before it is over.

We have a couple of days here with Jane and Trevor. Trevor is a quiet guy. I think that's at a fairly deep level, because even when he's talking, he's quiet. When you look at him, he appears as a pond without a ripple on it. He does all the cooking around here, and Jane does the dishes. Their roles are reversed in our household. Jane taLKS NONstop, and has a large body of knowledge about what is going on around here. She is very concerned about everything, and will turn you in if you are misbehaving. She goes on about the speedboats, and the danger that they pose to the sailboats, the city profiteering off the property they own nextdoor, the expansion of

Gatewick Airport, and all I did was a small mention of property use in Tacoma. I was eating breakfast and didn't get a chance to get a word in edgewise, and I still am thinking about what I wanted to say. Perhaps I'll have an opportunity later. You think? I guess they are the yin, and the yang.

I should get on with my day, but it's nice to chat to you all. We'll be in Chesham near London on Monday night. It will be a new club for us, an opportunity. Kristi tells me she had to cancel them the last time we were over here, so maybe they will be very ready to receive us with open arms. We'll be driving around the M25 to stay with the Leeds in Sawbridgeworth after the show on Monday. Geoff Leeds is in rehearsal for a trip they are making to Germany with their theater group a few days after we are there.

I am surprised when someone here refers to us as "stars". I try to ignore it, but it echoes in my mind for hours afterwards. We are still far from a financial success, but having people for whom you have high regard hold you in high regard is worth something certainly, and I have needed that. Thanks to you all back home for the same. Keep the home fires burning. Steve N.

PS -- thanks for the European tour suggestions for our week off. Keep 'em coming.