dear fiendish ones
as promised a missive from honkers
just arrived
and am sitting beside a huge window watching planes land
in the distance the improbable city of hongkong
surrounded by mountains n ocean
4 hours before i drag my weary carcass
aboard the flight to siddley

well its been a test of nerves
yessaday i arrive at stockholm airport
and the lady checking me in
jus’ wasnt digging me at all
despite the ole sk charme
she was not taken in
first of all she wouldnae check my baggage thru to sydney
because i’d lost the bit of paper from my travel agent
secondly she hit me big time for excess baggage
about a hundred and fifty bucks
then although i had a tight connexion in london
the plane sat on the tarmac for an hour or so
due to technical problemos
sweltering in the airless cabin
thinkin’ i might miss my flight home
i became panicky n morose
anyway just when i’d given all hope up as lost
we take off
arrive in london
instead of a smooth stroll to reconnect
i gotta enter london
find my bag and bass guitar
re enter airport etc etc
so the lady at customs isnt sure if im the same sk
as the sk from 97 when mah passport pic was schnapped
due to fungal presence of ye olde white beard
eventually she lets me in
and i charge down to baggage reclaim
aware of each elapsing minute racing by
(aint it strange how fast time goes when you got none to lose)
oh gee golly gosh
my big grey suitcase with its jesus and ganesha stickers
is almost one of the 1st things off
oh well t’ings are looking up fer yer humble hero
i wait for mah beloved fender jazz bass
my 7, ooo dollar stradivarius of the bass world
my piece of wood which i have a symbiotic relationship with
my masterpiece of a bass, even on every note
a thing i love like a child
minutes go by
i see all other passengers slowly but surely
pick up their stuff n leave
no sign of my goode bass
i start to panic again
oh no
oh no
i go to the sas desk to report it
im almost in fucking tears
my bass, my bass guitar
is about all i can gasp
to a very disinterested dude
who evidently doesnt speak much english or swedish
he pushes a piece of plastic towards me
covered in different types n styles of suitcases
so i can identify what i lost
no no no im stammering
its not a suitcase
its a bass guitar case
a big oblong brown thing
all taped up where you lot have smashed all
the hinges off on the way here…
he tries to pacify the raving hippy in front of him
just wait…it’ll come
anyway im standing there thinkin’
how will i live without my bass
when a kinda asian lookin’ lady comes walking
across the floor with my instrament in a trolley
ah sweet relief
thank you thank you i say
can i have it
i gotta recheck in
i dont have to long
she wont let me have it
no no she says
you come with me
she pushes me towards the red “something to declare”
customs section
while i had hoped to quickly pop thru the green
theres a queue and sniffy beagles runnin round
and loadsa customs ossifers
(sks pet hate)
what are ya doing i ask her
i got nothing to declare
shes waving this form in front of my face
you didnt declare your gun sir
my what?
your gun
oh fer fucks sake
some idiot thinks my bassy is a fucking rifle
i queue up
its not a gun , its an axe i joke
with the uber”straight” custard officials
finally we unwind all the tape
and they all have a goode laff
when they see my battered but lovely guitar
lying in its case dreaming of our last tour
“dont point it at anybody” says a dour lady officer
that musta been the funniest thing she ever said in her life
even the sniffy beagles stop sniffin’ to have a giggle
i try to tape up the case again n i rush on thru
LUCKILY for me
my cathay flite is from terminal 3
the same one i landed at
im a blur of motion pushing my trolley
that wants to go in the opposite direction of wherever
i want it to go
pushing thru the crowds come to welcome their family n friends home
i go careening outside
into the smoggy londonistan air
back inside
knockin’ people (carefully) outta the way
i get to cathay airlines
more queues
eventually get to the desk
weigh mah stuff
more excess baggage
thatll be 65 pounds sir
sk has no credit card
is there a cash machine round here
yes sir
i race upstairs
luckily theres sixty 5 quid left in my accnt
after having maxxed out my daily withdrawal allowance
that morning in stockholm
buying presents for doodles and mrs nk
(hope she likes what i got her!)
i go back down
pay the money
watch as my poor olde bass disappears down into another chute
its nerve wracking fiendss
i couldnae replace it
A) i dont have the cash
B) its irreplaceable

anyway i get a tomato bagel n a raspberry juice
and jus board my plane in time
christ what a strain on my nerves
im sweating panting n groaning as i sink into my seat
at last some good luck
the plane is half empty
and theres no kidd sittin’ behind kickin’ mah seat
(you ever had that???)
and no obese person overflowing into my space
ah…
i strap on ipddy woddy
to listen to the treasure trove of stuff
ive downloaded from marcus’s record collexion
bonus grace disc
(love kanga roo)
all kindsa stuff
emmy lou harris
sixteen horsepower
plus some eno
dylan
“sister lemme tell ya
about a vision that i saw
you were drawing water for yer husband
you were suffrin’ unda the law”
right on
i pull out my book
if on a winters night a traveller
by italo calvino
which im re reading after a long time
its brillyant fiendsss
do yerselves a favour…
talk about a different approach…
check it out if ya getta chanse
the flight aint too badde
my veg food is pretty unappetizing
but who cares
im on the plane aint i????
anyway that leaves me here in honkers
at the big window
my flite so far off it aint even on the board yet..
i wonder if linda wong is still out there somewhere…?
or what??
i wouldnt mind doing some yoga
but i dont wanna draw attention to meself
or get arrested as a member of falun gong or sumpthing
my coccyx is as sore as all get out
and its hurting just sittin here
but ya know what
you fiendss come 1st
and i promised ya a letter
n here it is
the airport vibrates slightly
or is that just me
backs aching n valium hangover
wow
how do people drop that stuff all the time
feels like i been clobbered…all groggy

also very happy that i can get on the net here fer free
unlike greedy london n stockholm
where ya need a credit card
and i think that my credit rating
is slightly worse than charlie manson or pete doherty
(busted in oslo a day ago with a gram n a half of smack)
actually listen to baby shambles off minnas ipod
what a tepid weak little goose ball
if he wasnt smokin kate mossys crack
he wouldnae getta gig anywhere
spineless little voice
thats the best song says minna
fuck!
i’d hate to have heard the badde ones…
only a matter of time till this boy goes down for a while
everybody braying for his blood
wouldnt be surprised if the swedish snuten
(the cops…literally the snouts)
dont pay him a visit in his campervan at hultsfred festival
the biggy in sweden
which the church have played twice
anyway i cant understand all the furore over this guy
when gw n his merry men continue their outrages
terrorists
communists
drug addicts
we gotta have an enemy, fiendss
just like in orwells 1984
jus’ gotta keep the fight going against someone
so ya dont notice that the ruling classes are fucking us over but goode

any way
any how
im gonna log off me blogg
see ya all back at my kitchen table tomorrow sometime
im gonna wander round n see what mischief i can get up to
at this airport
i love ya
i love ya
ilove ya
sk (jetsetting hippy turkey)