Our short stay in Dublin was near perfect. We played a 25 minute set, consisting of White-mantled king, Smell of an artist, Astray, Borders of this land, Mesmer and reason, Higher Grounds and Draw in the reins. We started and finished on time and everything seem to have gone down well. The crowd was cheerful, the mixing guy was skillful and everything else ran along smoothly, so smoothly that we are now home again, happy.
By everything, I mean everything essential. Heathrow airport is a wicked, wicked place, were men are sheep and sheep are eaten alive.
And of course, our bagage wouldn't arrive with the same plane as we did. But we have it now, and there's no use in complaining about the poor aviation industry. We want more space for our legs, freely available veggie meals, less draconian security controls, shorter queues, but we don't NEED it, because in reality, we are spoilt. Still, airports are wicked, wicked places.
written by Mattias
Ah, Heathrow... the place that curbs my England nostalgia. So ramshackle, it's actually a bit embarrassing to think it's many foreigners' first experience of the UK...
posted by darcy