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It’s raining. We’re on the M5, a gray and sterile motorway that lets you traverse Britain quickly, unless a lorry has overturned. Shawn is driving, Kip navigating, Tony perusing today’s Times (of London). Your humble blogger sits contentedly in the rear, fortified by a cappuccino which has been additionally fortified by a shot of Bulliet bourbon, purchased by Rob W in Glasgow as a sentimental bookend to our summer’s touring. For it was Bulliet that we sipped in long ago and far away Phoenix, AZ, in the innocence of this tour’s first leg, in the 110 degree June heat.

All is cozy in our Peugeot on the M5. Two shows left, and then the great unknown: Heathrow and Gatwick airports. These are the weeks of the new terror, the arrest of the alleged second wave of air bombers, and this time it’s feeling personal. The bombers were purportedly targeting American Airlines flights from Heathrow to L.A., among others, Hey, that’s us. Most likely, instead of death in the skies, we’re facing possible crowd claustrophobia and delays on a new scale, and we’re worried about our guitars. We were able to carry them on board in soft gig bags in the pre-terror days of 10 days ago, and now we may have to put them on the conveyor belts that mangle baggage. Rumors of bags disappearing forever fill the British tabloids. Many flights are being cancelled. We’re nervous.

We’ve arrived in Leicester. It looks exactly like Worcester to these California eyes. Identical brick residences in long rows with the ceramic chimney stacks that seem to be made by the same factory. —–