The Tour So Far, Saxmundham and BrixtonI am either sleeping or working. (Occasionally I'm hitting a drum. Mostly, I'm awake at these times.)
I've had exactly two embarrassing moments to date. The first was in Saxmundham, a Brigadoon-like town which I suspect only appears once every ten thousand years to snare unsuspecting American travelers with its charming stone-structured inns and open air markets. (Population: about 7000 hobbits, seriously this sh*t is the Shire - Median age of residents: Eleventy-hundred yrs.) My first such moment involved loading our instruments in, and it was just me being me - the chatty, loud Yank hauling in gear and multitasking (shudder) via the cell phone cradled in a free hand and an open laptop balanced on my shoulder while Steve and I discuss byte arrays, images, and our American right to rule the world and wipe our enemies free from its face. (The last part isn't so much real - but definitely seems presumed given my tenor and cadence.)
The second such moment involved a mix up with the drums involving misplacement, misunderstanding, and miscommunication. I shined here. There was much confusion, cleared up later by several helpful 15-year old boys. (This part is actually very much real.)
Brixton was not embarrassing in the least. Not for me. Only for the girl who tripped and nearly died trying to talk to us after the show. She was embarrassed but since she was slightly tipsy and pretty she was excused by the bar - as is outlined in various amendments to the 'Carta. (As I've been told it's known here...I think. Someone might've been "taking the piss" where that was concerned.)
Slang we've learned to date: "git, wanker, wally, dog's body, curling one out".
Slang we've attempted to teach: "No doy." (circa 1982)
Writing this while sitting in the Pig & Fiddle in Bath, UK. It's a beautiful day. Going to see more of the 'istory here and then load in. Bye.
Below: Loading into our van. It was hand-delivered via Gijs, our tireless helpmate.