The art of travel.

Phoenixairport  is a buzzing hive of spiky intercom bleeps and indecipherable tanoid announcements. It  is South Park  on hallucinogenics.  The problem with the post-performance   drink is it invariably starts late at night.  I have a hang over.   I can
just about keep a handle on what’s in each of my five bags. And doing a good
impression of a vagrant I spend half an hour exploring every single pocket in
every single case  until I find the   ticket.  The check in lady –  I’m   sorry sir only two bags allowed on the plane and two bags in luggage. You have  five. The number five echoes through my head. Sesame streets famous purple   caped Dracula character The Count appears behind the check in counter   five cases of luggage he says with  slight reverb Hahahahaha har. I spend another  half  hour  squeezing zipping pushing and harrumphing to    get to the requisite four. Please let it end.

Excuse me surrrrr  enquires the polite customs officer.  The next half hour is spent discussing the    weight of toothpaste and shaving gel. I  wave goodbye to my toiletries  the comfort   zone for any traveller and reach my gate to a broadcast  announcement from a man stood one yard away   from me  ladies and gentlemen US airways apologises… Blah blah flight….blah blah   lat..e blah blah inform you…. Blah as information comes in… blah blah.  Must drink water. Mouth sticky.  Finally, finally,
 I’m  on the plane. The public address system is   turned  up too loud. Somebody sat behind   me complains. It remains at the same.   I am going to heave.   Please
let it end. Please.  I am just a poor boy   from England.  Mommmyyyyyyy.

From 100 degrees  in  Arizona  to the freezing temperatures of an  autumnal  Calgary,   Canada. My internal   temperature plummeted.  My ears have gone into shock. My eyes freeze over.  After   plying me with much needed coffee the festival organisers take me to the Fairmont   Palliser hotel in Downtown Calgary.  Calgary  is  built on oil. The city  is spreading so fast that there is a shortage    of builders. I’m here for six days. It’s a four and a half star hotel with grand chandeliers, large mirrors, art deco.  My   room is facing a  building site.  The Purple puppet The Count   appears again in duplicate  on each exposed  floor of the   adjacent building site   Twenty pneumatic drrrrills  and with slight reverb    hahahaha har.

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