But none are as literally astounding as what I did the other day, travelling to France.
Monday arrives. I'm ready to go. I've got my ticket. My sticks are packed. The change of clothes are stashed away. My mobile phone is with me. After leaving the house, I remember my passport... so I go back and get it. I've left in plenty of time. I am the World's Best Traveller.
I embark the train at Derby. Change at Leicester. Alight at Stansted. I enter the airport.
I am a day early.
This is something that everyone in the band spoke about when we left the next day, in tones of mocking and shock. By the way, the gig was fine, although they'd given me a Musser [humbug]: I was quite looking forward to playing a Bergerault in France. Vienne was lovely—a gorgeous Roman town, with gently preserved features and a serene character. With luck, I will be back...