::: Exclusive Feature :::

26th Feb. 2007
What can one say about the air journey to Australia? No matter how great the antipodean anticipation, the excitement has definitely receded after the first eight hours.
To shorten the massive distance between us, I have tried everything from reading, to watching every movie. From drinking everything available, to taking sleepers. From staying up later for the week preceding the trip so as to acclimatise and not going to bed at all for the day before.
Nothing works for me. My first trip in 1976 saw me spend the whole journey looking for emergency landing strips through the clouds between hopelessly tying to guess where we were whilst consuming large quantities of everything alcoholic while failing to attain sleep. The result was I was taken suddenly bewildered whilst waiting for the immigration man to process my admission visa. I was then met, taken to my hotel and my enthusiastic young promoters stayed up all night plying me with drink and jokes. After about four hours’ alcoholic collapse I went off to play the Sydney Opera House.
“ Them were days!”
This is to be my tenth visit down under and I am looking forward to it hugely. Unfortunately as usual fate has dealt me a blow, this time in the form of a virus that I have now had for five weeks. The outward signs are a wracking rattling wheezing cough. The inward ones are perpetual sinus head ache and a fear that the cough will induce endless vomiting. Neither of these symptoms bode well for a 30 hour journey. I am taking large doses of everything and have just completed a course of penicillin. My temperature soars and plummets at will beyond my control and I have to assuage my guilt of sharing the same air-conditioning with the other five hundred passengers on the grounds that I have never yet come off a long distance flight without some type of virus to bring into the country to which I am travelling. I believe I am no longer contagious. I do hope so. I have been advised that I must drink loads of water which I do. The number of times I stagger off to the loo must convince them I have a bladder complaint as well as every thing else.
I feel absolutely lousy but have been persuaded by my family and Donard to upgrade. This is my first time in business class ever! I am hopeful of sleep. Unfortunately I cannot fully stretch out on the way to Dubai but we change planes there and I mange much better on the never ending onward journey. I estimate between 3 and four hours over the following 16 hours.
The bloke next to me is taciturn and a fidget but thankfully not ready to chat, this suits me and I watch two of the many movies on offer. I first chose the Johnny Cash biopic and I have to say it was a passable pictorial essay on a man falling apart on drugs and success but not entirely convincing. Cash was an icon, at one time I think every Scotsman I ever met worshipped him. I think he wrote well but he sings even more out of tune than me and I don’t own any of his recordings except the one he made with Dylan called New Morning” in Nashville record. I think he saved the best till last and his last recording was great work. Something to aim for maybe.
"Little Miss Sunshine" was an absolute joy; I loved Alan Arkin’s grandpa. A real good feel good film. It got a bit silly in the end but a few great laughs.
My neighbour has been sleeping but towards the end of my movie watching gets up again and takes out a monster lap top from the overhead rack. He commences to watch a Bob Dylan documentary and interview. From the corner of my stereo eyeballs I watch Harold Leventhall, Dave van Ronk, Alan Ginsburg, Joan Baez, (all of whom I have met) and wonder if I should tell the fidget that I have met them all. Then he would want to know what I do and I would invite him to a show and he would not want to go but will say that he will and I will wonder what to say and I will get tense and spoil my performance and he won’t show up anyway … I say nothing but if anyone recognises who filmed this show (I think it was Spitfire productions) I would love to get it on DVD)

27th Feb.
After several hours more drag on, we are served a light breakfast an soon I am in the customs hall and all goes smoothly. I walk through and find Richard James my friend and promoter who grins warmly and we exchange manly hugs and I hope not my virus) before trundling off to the car and my splendid hotel overlooking the fantastic Darling Harbour.
The view from my room at night has to be one of the best in the world and just around the corner is another where stands the magnificent Sydney Opera House. We enjoy a coffee and then we are off for my first interview with the local ABC man Richard ? We wait patiently for five minutes for the lift on the seventh floor before panic sets in and we have to use the emergency stairs. Luckily a fiend of Richards’ is passing the hotel and spots us and gives us a lift to the radio station and we actually arrive early. My interviewer is a great talker and we get on well and the meeting is judged a success. I play live in the studio and notice my fingers are shaking as well as my voice but no one is judgemental although the interviewer is surprised to hear that I have just arrived in the country.
I have now been travelling about thirty four hours and hit the sack at about 8pm. local time. I wake at 10 pm 12.25.am 1.30.am. and finally 3.10 am.
In this state it is time for creative thought in as much none of what you think makes much sense in the light of day. During the flight I am quite melancholy at times and this early morning these threads tangle together and take me places I would rather not be.
One by one the main harbour lights close and eventual a light golden glow creeps up the massive buildings turning them into two dimensional silhouettes. I suddenly notice the crane is working on a building opposite. The morning has broken and It’s 7am. I get up, shower and wander down to breakfast. It is already full of bleary eyed Americans Chinese and the lone Pom from Putney.

Feb.
Today is the day Richard has been dreading. Today I decamp from the stunning view possessing Novotel to
“ The Paradise Backpackers’ Heaven”.
All this is far away however as I eat an early breakfast and gaze at the harbour and the crowds that are already gathering for the dragon boat racing finals that will commence later in the day. Their drummers began practicing at seven am but it didn’t worry me as I had already been awake for several hours.
After a walk and an attempt to get emails (unsuccessful) Richard calls me at my room and comes up to give me a hand with the luggage etc. We load up the car and go for a very long walk around the harbour and environs. Time is running a little tight for an important Nation wide interview with Paul Ford and we return to the hotel to collect the guitar and join others waiting on the seventh floor for the lift to the reception area.
I briefly return to my room for what is an almost fashion accessory these days, my plastic bottle of water.
After some five minutes it is generally agreed by the queue that there is a problem with the elevator.
Fortunately a lift that is on its way up stops at our floor and I suggest going up in order to go down. There is agreement except that the girl nearest the control panel inside the lift gets confused and presses the wrong button and the doors begin to close. Without pause for thought I reach forward and push my water bottle into the closing gap and it crunches and crackles but before bursting, has the desired effect of stopping the lift.
At the same time there is a gasp and a dull thud behind me. Richard has only been able to see my hand plunging into the door. He hears the crunch of what he presumes is breaking wrist bones and has all but passed out. The thud was him letting go of his case which is about the size of a small horse box. He explained his horror to me thus
“ I could not see why any urgency could prompt an early end to a promising career in show business.”
At the ABC studios the last guest interview was with Danny Thompson who is here with Eric Bibb. It is truly a small world.
The interview went very well and it is now time to move my gear to the Paradise Backpacker’s Hotel Heaven (or whatever the euphemism for this hell hole is).
After years on the road I travel light, it’s just as well as my new accommodation is on he fourth floor. and there is no lift. This is as nothing to me, a mere bagatelle. There is no air conditioning either. As Richard and I stand in the small room “with ensuite” the perspiration lashing off us both, the dreadful truth dawns on me. As I frantically look around I see there is no window anywhere in my space.
What can I say?
It is Chinese New Year and next week it is the gay and lesbian Mardi gras. This is the only room Richard has been able to get. He is giving it up for me. Tonight he is sleeping in the car in the car park. He tells me he has only laid on the bed and that the sheets are unused so to speak. He further assures me that once you lay down on the bed or floor the industrial ceiling fan makes a cool breeze. I tell him all will be well and we agree to meet later for something to eat.
I close the door and turn off the light, the fan moves industriously, there is a breeze. I stare into the total blackness. So this is what a premature burial is like.
I lie still.
I am close to the horrors but fall almost asleep.
I wake suddenly with a tremendous overhead crack of thunder and pounding of water on the roof. My thumping heart informs me that I live. I rise up and fumble for the light switch in the total darkness. I breathe on to the mirror. I am alive and I am also on the top floor. The heavens have opened but not to receive me.
I get up grab a towel (I have not brought a coat to Australia) and slip down stairs into the warm torrent of rain. I have no need of a coat as it is the Australian summer time going into autumn.
I meet Richard at the Crown bar where we order a steak dinner and sink a couple of awful Ozzie beers. The steak would have fed a post war family for a week. I manage most of it and retire early to my tomb on the fourth floor.