What a night. As if jetlag isn’t bad enough, feeling like the very thought of food is going to make you puke just adds to the glamour of this lifestyle. Waking periodically through the night with an angry tummy, my situation came to a head at 7.30am where again, fingers primed, a thunder of chunder forayed itself into the bowl before me. Unlike the previous boke, this morning’s delight is made even more enjoyable by the sun; yes, Mister How Do You Do had come out to illuminate my exits, a dark exorcism of last night’s soup. It was a small bowl at the time, and now it swims in a big bowl, swirling under the inertia of the escape’s triple charge. Surely this must be the end of it.
The best part of feeling this way is the moment of relative calm after the deed. For a time, the tummy doesn’t feel upset; the energy used in barf contractions is probably like running a hundred marathons, so getting back to sleep isn’t so hard. And behold, the next couple of hours were probably the best sleep I’d had since arriving in LA, go figure. All told, I still felt like shit when getting ready for work. I’d organised to come in a couple hours late and thankfully Saint Paul came to the hotel to get me; I would have walked, but once I took a few steps outside, my ginger condition was glad of the wheels. Armed with Gatorade, I might see the day through.
Work was relatively easy although even picking up a pen felt like an award-winning task. Thankfully, as the hours passed my condition improved. As stated in yesterday’s entry, there’s not a whole lot to do technically at this stage. Something we must perfect though, is the manifest — the official gear list. We must make sure that when we cross the border into Canada, the authorities have a complete list of everything we are carrying. Every case is , its contents known and valued, and serial numbers provided where possible. Should any border agent ever wish to prove a wee bit thorny and say, ‘Show me “Mitch Amp Main,”’ we have it covered. This sort of procedure is in place to thwart any would-be smugglers. In plain speak, whatever enters the country has to leave, to prove it hasn’t been sold.
Today’s rehearsal is pretty laid back, spent on polishing a few numbers and having fun with some well practiced songs, ad-libbing. They played Passing Through, a song I haven’t heard since I don’t know when. Leonard called the day early, around 6pm, confident he and the band were in a strong position.
When the band left the stage I opened up Mitch’s amps and checked some voltages and that was the end of that. I walked ‘home’ feeling much better than earlier.