Avoid the Rush Hour – Leave Home Early.
Ah
yes……..Here we go again…….Fun,fun,fun!
We
were to fly to Klagenfurt, Austria, to be met & then driven to a little
town called St.Veit…rhymes with “Ain’t Right” & it certainly isn’t right
that we should be subjected to the madness called Stanstead Airport, just to
get to work. Of all the places I have encountered in recent years, Stanstead is
the one guaranteed to quickly turn the most good-natured of souls into the
Devil Incarnate, in less than five minutes.
Unfortunately
it’s a Catch 22 situation. If it wasn’t for the cheap flights provided by the
likes of RyanAir/EasyJet etc. it’s possible the promoters wouldn’t be able to
afford to fly us out to their picturesque little towns, to practice our
respective arts – twanging guitars, pounding keyboards, bashing cymbals & howling vocals etc.
So we do what we have to do, ‘cos as far as I’m concerned anything is better
than spending another evening, being forced to watch such pap as “Big Brother”, by the
wonderful people, who allow me to sleep on their sofa night after night, whilst
I hang out in London waiting to do the odd gig.
Maggie,
Zoot & myself eventually arrive at Stanstead after about a two hour drive,
having achieved our ETA. that gave us the recommended 2 hours before departure
time to check in, go thro’ security & get to the gate. As we entered the
vast airport building I was almost sure I could hear the lowing of bovine
creatures but realized it was just the conversational hum of human creatures, probably
reassuring themselves that the nightmare would soon be over, & before long they
would be toasting themselves to a crisp on the “Costa del Sunburn”. We meet up
with Colin H & Miller, get in the check-in queue & start bitching about
the cattle market called Stanstead Airport. We spot fellow, aging muso’s, the
Yardbirds in an adjacent queue, also on there way to St Veit. & say Hi –
how’s your prostate etc.etc. I hadn’t seen Chris Dreja or Jim McCarty for
almost 40 years. The last time I had seen Chris was when he & I flew from
London to Glasgow together. He had just started on a career as a photographer,
& had been hired to take the first ever publicity pics. of “Stone the
Crows”, a new band I had just joined.
We finally check in after about 45 mins. & then it’s another queue – the dreaded security – what humiliation awaited there. I was to find out within the hour!
Unlike Zoot & Maggie I decided to visit the “Gents”, not because I was
busting for a pee, more because I actually knew the location of the toilet, which
at virtually any airport, is tantamount to knowing where the Holy Grail
I
spotted some of the Yardbird guys in another queue who seemed to be about 10
minutes ahead of me, & also saw that Miller was well on the way to getting thro’
but didn’t see Zoot or Maggie anywhere. I moved along at the going rate, but
eventually realize that time is a-wasting & take-off is getting closer
& closer, but my turn to disrobe & step thro’ the metal detector is not. So
out comes the mobile & I explain to Zoot that it is definitely not looking
too good as regards taking my seat on the Boeing 737. Well Zoot is quick to
tell me that I must be a daring young man for the flying machine, attack my
fellow voyagers from behind & force my way to the front. So……..I took a
deep breath & did just that, & was immediately confronted by “Steroid
Stan”, & told I was a naughty boy, & that he personally, couldn’t sanction my
safe passage thro’ security, even if I was Charlie Watts. The only way I could
jump the queue was to grovel to the rest of the punters - in other words ask in
a loud voice, “ Would you mind if I went ahead”.
So
I did, probably in a squeaky voice because I’m sure my vocal chords were not
operating very well, due to the stress of everything that had led up to this very humiliating moment.
Replies from the horde of “knuckle-draggers” varied between “No Way Ray, Naff
Off & What A Wanker”. So my valiant attempt to join my fellow “Silver
Shufflers,” at the departure gate went down the toilet, & with lowered head,
I beat a retreat for the main exit & a much needed fag.
Even before I had taken my life into my own hands & stormed the beaches, I had already been considering my alternatives - Plan B.
Long before I received text
messages from Zoot & Maggie informing me that the flight was delayed ( just
my luck ), I was on board a train trundling back to London & pestering Zoot’s
daughter Marisa, to get on the net & see what options I had regarding
flights to Austria for later in the day, regardless of cost …….Well the show
must go on.
I
arrived at Liverpool Street station, & called a number provided by Marisa
to book a flight, but holding my mobile to my ear in the noisy environment of the
station, trying to write down info. whilst holding the piece of paper with the same hand
you are writing with, & speaking to a guy who is probably in India &
has the local accent, proved to much for me in the state of mind I found myself
in, so I cut the connection & decided to wait until I’d had a cup of tea
back at Zoot’s place in Fulham, before I got on the case again. Originally I
had thought I should at least be on Austrian soil by midnight, so I would have
most of the following day to travel by whatever means to St.Veit, but the
idea of arriving in Vienna, probably close to midnight, without any idea of
where I would spend the night didn’t appeal to me, so I decided an early morning flight
was my best bet.
When
I arrived back at Zoot's, Marisa had the name & number of a girl I could call at British Midland
Airlines – her name was Lita. She fixed me up with a flight to Vienna departing
Heathrow at 7.30am. Then Vienna to Graz, the closest airport to St.Veit. I
thought while I was speaking to Lita, I’d test the India theory. I said “ Are you
in India”, Lita replied “Oooh yes”, I continued, “Is it warm there”, she replied
“Oooh yes, but we are having the monsoon”. So having got a weather update for India
straight from the horses mouth, I thanked Lita for her help & put the phone
down. I was traveling all the way in business class at a cost of around 450
pounds. What is it they say, ”The best revenge is living well” - I suppose I
would be for a few hours at least. The fact, that on this occasion I would, financially speaking be
operating at a loss was not lost on me, but frankly - I DIDN’T GIVE A
SHIT!....... I had to make the gig.
OK.
Initially the deal was a cab to the airport at some ungodly hour, but Marisa
elected to run me to the airport, what a girl - but then what are goddaughter’s
for, if not to get out of bed at three in the morning & get their godfather
on his way, in order for him to bash the tubs later in the day & make a
buck. I fell asleep in front of the telly at about 1am. after trying not to, but
thankfully woke up at about quarter to three, & as I was already dressed
for action, woke Marisa at the prearranged time of 3am. & by 3.15
we were off on the deserted roads of West London en route to Heathrow. At about
3.40 Marisa dropped me off & then drove back to bed – I will make a
provision in my will as payment for such devotion to familial duty.
So
I’m at the airport with plenty of time to have a fag, & take a leisurely
leak. I proceed to the nearest toilet, & was greeted with a sight not often
seen – a pristine floor - not one splash of wayward urine to be seen anywhere............
Well it was early!
Too
bloody early. It would seem that none of the check-in personnel appear much
before about 5.30am. Well, I had an E-ticket so as soon as the BMI machines
started to power up, I was in like Flynn & walked away happily holding my
tickets. With lots of time still to wait, I parked myself in a good position
for entry into the security area. I was determined to be the first traveler to run
the gauntlet. Well, I was about third, which was OK. I reach the guy who
inspects the tickets & would you believe it - he tells me I’m in the wrong
bloody terminal......... Jesus wept!
What
led to this balls up was that during my booking the flight thro’ BMI, nobody at
anytime said, “You‘ll be flying with Austrian Airlines”. Of course with closer
inspection of my tickets, it was pretty obvious which airline was involved. I
had been thinking - I booked with BMI - that’s who I’m flying with. It’s an
hour before take-off so I need to get from Terminal 1 to Terminal 2 rather
briskly, which meant I had to start running - & cursing as it
happens…..What a schmuck!
As
I jog up the ramp into Terminal 2, I feel like doing myself injury, perhaps a
little flagellation, because my old friend, the security queue awaits me, &
is looking quite healthy as well. Filled with dismay, & muttering "No, not again, I joined the line but
luckily for me, the queue moved along pretty quickly as they seem to in the BA
terminals. I made the gate in good time & sat down to await boarding,
savouring the idea of sitting, & more importantly – eating breakfast in business
class.
Of
course departure is delayed, the “slot time” syndrome, suffered on a daily basis
by foreign airlines operating in & out of Heathrow, possibly something to
do with the national airlines getting preference. We take off 30 minutes late
but I’m reassured by the pilot that he will be flying as fast as possible to
make up time, which he actually does, while I’m munching away on my “Full Monty”
fry-up. The Tiptree Farm strawberry jam was not used, so I tucked it away in my
bag for later consumption. Before I knew it we were on approach for landing in
Vienna, more or less on schedule, an important factor as I had a connecting
flight to make. In we go & things are looking good as we pass at about
a hundred feet over the perimeter track – suddenly Whooooaaa! Up
After
about 40 minutes we land - this time without any dramatic incident, &
eventually I spot the guy sent to meet me holding a BBQ sign in his hands. Don’t
remember his name, but I learnt later that he was a chauffeur by profession
& he did in fact drive well & at good speed, the last 100 plus
kilometers, of my epic journey to the little town of St.Veit. We pull up in
front of the small hotel, & I got out of the car to a round of applause
from the rest of the band members, who were sitting in the sunshine stuffing
their faces, probably with apple strudel & cream. I took a bow in
response.
I
checked in, got my room-key & within a very short period of time was safely
in the land of dreams having had, apart from nodding off a couple of times in the
car, about two hours sleep before leaving Fulham. I guess I did
the gig on about a total of 5 hours sleep, but managed not to fall off my drum
stool. We were well received by the punters. Some we spoke with were old fans
of Stone the Crows who had traveled from over the border in Slovenia to see
us.
Next day we are driven to Klagenfurt Airport, my original destination - had I not missed the trip on the flying cattle truck. I was under the impression, due to a previous trip to Belgium to play a festival with Mick Taylor, that if you didn’t use your outward bound ticket, you could not use the homeward bound one. This had happened to Mick’s bass-player. So before leaving London I had also purchased a ticket to get me back to Stanstead, with rest of the band, 'cos I didn't want any hassle at that stage in the game. Whether or not I had needed to do this I’m still not sure – & the check-in girl didn’t know either. So add on another 80 odd quid to the 450 I had already spent to make the gig, & it’s painfully clear that one should arrive about 3 hours before departure time from Stanstead, if one wants to stay in the black financially.
Going thro' security was not too much of a wait
but the Austrian X-ray machines spotted the Tiptree Farm strawberry jam in my rucksack but I was allowed to keep it. I had it on toast with a nice cup of Rosie when I finally arrived back at Zoot's place.So all’s well, that ends well. I made the gig as an old trouper should, & landed safely back in
Blighty. That’s all that really matters as far as I’m concerned.
