Friday September 6, Enschede, Netherlands - Woke
up in Franks place in Antwerp with my boots on. Joined the artist/film
maker/musician Ludo Mich and Chantelle Strubbelingen for breakfast. A bit like
Kris Kristoffersons 'Sunday Morning Coming Down'. After a while I had a boiled
egg. We talked about the Hunters Moon Festival in Carrick on Shannon, and I flicked
through Karen Constances wonderful book with a 7 inch single hidden inside the
back cover. The postman delivered collectable vinyl LPs, the atmosphere
delivered heavy rain.
When the rain cleared we headed for the station and
a train to Enschede. Needed to change trains in Rotterdam but missed my
connection. Hung around for a while. Commuters were packed in like sardines, no
seats available, only standing room between carraiges. A man wearing a white
suit and white shoes did his best to make room for me to squeeze in. Looked
like an Angel. As I trundled on board he said "Welcome to Hell". I
nodded at him not sure what to think. Eventually I arrived into Enschede where
a street festival was underway. Played the gig, had a sleep. Nice folks to deal
with.
Saturday Sept 7, Dusseldorf, Germany –
The lady in the ticket office was of no help. She said “You can by a ticket on
the platform.” I explained I needed to go to Dusseldorf, which is in another
country. She told me to go to Hengelo and buy a ticket there. It was hot and
hazy. Outside on the platform the train to Hengelo awaited but I couldn’t see
any ticket machines. I asked a ticket inspector. “You dont need a ticket to
Hengelo” he told me in a no nonsense sort of a way. “So if the ticket inspector
asks me for a ticket what do I do?” i enquire. “Im the ticket inspector on this
train. No ticket!” Fair enough I think, and board the train. In Hengelo I
bought a ticket to Dusseldorf and when the lady handed me the itinerary I
noticed the first change was at Enschede. I said “I’ve just come from
Enschede.” She shrugged her shoulders, I took the ticket and found the platform
and waited....and waited.
Back in Enschede there was a long wait for the slow
train to Munster from platform 4B. Two ladies were deep in conversation on the
bench. I re-checked the details on the screen. I swung around to ask one of the
ladies if this was indeed the right platform and they were no longer there, and
neither was the bench. It was a bit early in the day for this type of spooky
stuff. Trying to rationalise this psychic event I became aware that my shirt
was soaking wet. I was sweating profusely. Maybe I had a fever, caught some bad
bug, my cup of tea was spiked, a drone had shot a micro poison dart into my
neck. A man of Persian aspect approached me “Do you speak English?”. I told him
I did and we discussed the train to Munster scenario. He had also been given
the runaround by the ticket office inside, as i had an hour earlier. I noticed
he too was sweating profusely as he took out a hankerchief and mopped his brow.
It wasn’t just me. It must have been 35 degrees and humidity was high as a
kite. I had to accept that people, and sometimes the benches on which they sit,
simply disappear. It never crossed my mind to ask the man of Persian aspect if
he was troubled by invisible people. Sometimes its best to keep your mouth
shut.
It was a long lonesome day. In Dusseldorf the rain
came down and I felt lost but made it to Solaris 53 in one piece. Greeted Uki
and crew before having Thai food in a small family run restaurant with all the
gods watching me. The same place I had
dinner last time I was in this town. Then I went back down to the dark end of
the street and played the gig.