I visited the UK in the summer of 1990.
It was hot in Blighty, but not as hot as Miami. When I left there it was almost 100 derees Fahrenheit, at 6 p.m.! As the Jumbo took off I had a slurp of JD from my Elvis hip flask, courtesy of Bridie, and looked down at the lightning in the clouds. Oh shit I thought, it's gonna be a bumpy ride and sure enough it was. Just as the Captain told us we could unfasten our seat belts and have a ciggy(yup, you could smoke on planes in those days)we hit turbulence, and as many people had the luggage lockers open, all manner of shite was flying about, and amongst women and kids(and no doubt the odd mans)screams the Captain tried to calm us. Yeah right, I'm totally fucking chilled, just cos the planes free falling a mile in the air, no probs. It literally felt like we were dropping from the sky, the ultimate tummy turner, I had nightmares about it for ages afterwards.
So when I got home I fought off the jetlag for a while, and what better way than a drink with my Irish brother, Mr Campbell. So after much beer and a little Morangie, it's nosebag time and a well earnt kip.
The next day we set forth for the Scottish Highlands. My third favourite place on the planet. Serene and breathtakingly beautiful, with the added bonus of my Scottish brother, Bridie.
He ran a beautiful old Inn by a huge dam. The rooms were cranky and small, but my window faced out towards Wevis and co, and after the first night there after imbibing much whiskey and black hash, courtesy of a fellow called "five finger Eddie"(can't figure the name really, he only had three fingers on one hand)I took to my room to discover a huge full moon hanging in the sky.
After a visit to Skye(a remarkable 50 degrees! Chilly chilly!)a misty magical Isle, it was time for me to head home, on a Greyhound type bus. I had a weekend of work with my band, and was looking forward to kicking some Rock'n'Roll ass.
And hey you know the journey back to London ain't gonna be normal.
The bus was pretty sparse and by the time a bright sunny dawn hit around 4 a.m. just outside of London, there was me, 2 girls with a guy that sounded Swedish and a firey red haired Celt chap. The Celt realising I was awake offered me a swig of his no brand liquor.
Being Americanised and socialable I had a hit. Or 2. And said Swedish chap and one of the gals imbibed too, tho' one of the gals remained in slumber.
Then suddenly the gal who was sleeping got up, looking kindof zombie like. I figured she was sleep walking, and what was the first thing she did? collapse into the lap of the Celt, with her head close to his crotch. Not QUITE the same as the lap of the Gods. I don't think anyway.
So the guy goes over and wakes the gal. The Celt looks delighted but anxious, the gal gets taken back to her seat and promptly resumes the "cousin of death". But not for long, cos soon she's up and about, and who does she land on this time but me.
Oh dear. Oh fuck. A blonde Scandi nymphet has just crashed in my lap, with her head mere millimetres from my cock. Well, don't blame me........
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