Monday 5 October 2009

flying to Glasgow
I picked up the hire car at Dublin airport, learning a valuable lesson: never believe a car hire quote on the web without reading every single term and condition in the small print. A set of miraculous additional charges inflated the original quote by a factor of more than 3. I should have realised I'd chosen the wrong company when the woman behind the desk spent a minute or so being angry to herself about some unseen irritation, before even acknowledging that I was there. And I would have been charged an extra €65 for nothing if I hadn't insisted on being shown the final account before going for my plane this morning.

But I made good time on the way to Sligo, passing a tractor run and a vintage 70s car rally on the way. In fact, one of Ireland's myriad radio stations seemed to be playing late 70s disco hits interminably, so suddenly seeing a load of cars from my youth on the road as well really was like stepping into a time warp. On arrival I settled into the Tobergal Lane Café, downstairs from our venue, with a pot of tea and a cake, and said hello to the Sligo Baroque Festival's intrepid director, and organic farming pioneer, Rod Alston. After a trouble-free rehearsal and a huge bowl of beef stew in Molly's Diner, our audience arrived and a good time was had by all, I think. What an attentive audience they were - and DG managed not to be intimidated by the presence of two serious fiddlers: Walter Reiter, and Steve Wickham from the Waterboys. For the first time in years I wore shoes on stage, as we were playing on the dance floor which was, um, a bit sticky. The harpsichord was nice too: a copy of the Edinburgh Goermans-Taskin borrowed from Cork County Council. The rather crucial D below middle C was missing a string that had just broken: I followed Rod's suggestion to turn the jack around to pluck the other one, which was working fine until the plectrum snapped halfway through the second half from the strain. But my running repairs during Chris's intro to Dorrington Lads worked a treat.

DG played some tunes for us in the pub in Beltra before we retired to Paddy and Barbara's place: it's a shame I never got to see it in daylight, as under the full(ish) moon I could make out the outline of the sea and the hills.

After just 3 hours in bed, we were back into the hire car and on the road at 4am, kept awake by the myriad radio stations. Thanks to Barbara's sound advice to leave early and miss the Dublin rush hour, we made it to the airport in time for a very rare Vortex 3 band meeting in Starbucks. I've never bought anything in Starbucks that made me think afterwards 'that was a good idea, I'm glad I ate/drank that', and today was no exception. I ordered some 'perfect porridge' which turned out to be warm milk with a few oats stirred into it. It was better than anything else they had on offer, but perfect? I don't think so.  The band meeting was a great idea though.

a little later, still morning
I'm unpacking now, severely jetlagged despite not having changed timezones. It's hard to believe that yesterday morning I was still in London, and I've managed to fit in a road trip from the east to the west coast of Ireland and a gig, in less than 24 hours. No wonder I'm tired.