by Ian Hunter
Here we go. A new urgency in the engines. A sweeping left turn and the big ones start to roar. My back presses the back of my seat; we are off American soil. Straight up at a 30 degree angle (that's what it seems to be) and I wait for the ‘No Smoking’ signal to go off – C’mon you bastard. Yippee! They're off, fags out. I sit like a lord, feet out, headphones, menu and writing tools on my seat, the piece of wood with the Magee poem on it, Winston fags, a Chesterfield Zippo lighter and The Hobbit book on my left. I think I'll order a beer.
In fact, I ordered two beers and had what I found out to be steak and not the chicken. There’s about an hour to go and we cruise into an Irish dawn at a leisurely 600 miles per hour. It's a rainbow. The clouds are still black. then the sky deep red through lighter shades into old gold, yellow, pale green and finally royal blue. The lights go on in the plane and I raise my weary head and decide to shave and wake myself up. The film was Ginger in the Morning, I went to sleep half way through even though it looked pretty good.
Hostesses appear again and morning orange juice is served. I get 200 Winstons for $3. The ride's been smooth so far, apart from a couple of bumpy spots, and Mick's faring well. Ritchie, Phil and Dick are on the flight with us so it's the old gang all on the way home. The sky gets brighter as you watch it and everybody awakes now. Sunday, the 24th of December - England, football and chips. I feel like it was years since I’ve been here.
Through the clouds and there's London; no messing – straight down and into Heathrow. Nothing quite like the feeling you get when the wheels touch old England. I've felt it every time I've been away. We ‘deplane’ and straight away it’s quiet, even in the tunnel it's quiet. None of the mad jiving rush, shouting voices, general melee of a hundred mixed bloods that there are in America.
Which is best? You’ve got to do the one to appreciate the other, and right now England feels like a private bedroom. I’m through the customs easily - a miracle for a musician! - and only Phal and Buff are detained, and not for long at that. Trudy waves, Nina’s there and I can see Sue, Elaine, and Pam. Hugh’s there from the office and me old mate Miller has been hauled from his bed to give us a lift home. It's 9 a.m English time and the old ladies are having morning tea and lightly boiled eggs, and working men are checking the Sunday papers and nursing hangovers, and I've got to check the bills and pay the rent, and Trudy’s got to fix my pants. Colin York's got to pick me up for Christmas and I've got to write some songs. But this tour’s over now and me thinks the ‘times they are a-changin’ again’.
See you later.............
Table of Contents
Introduction
Preface
Tuesday, 21 November 1972
Wednesday, 22 November 1972
Thursday, 23 November 1972
Friday, 24 November 1972
Saturday, 25 November 1972
Sunday, 26 November 1972
Monday, 27 November 1972
Tuesday, 28 November 1972
Wednesday, 29 November 1972
Thursday, 30 November 1972
Friday, 1 December 1972
Saturday, 2 December 1972
Sunday, 3 December 1972
Monday, 4 December 1972
Tuesday, 5 December 1972
Wednesday, 6 December 1972
Thursday, 7 December 1972
Friday, 8 December 1972
Saturday, 9 December 1972
Sunday, 10 December 1972
Monday, 11 December 1972
Tuesday, 12 December 1972
Wednesday, 13 December 1972
Thursday, 14 December 1972
Friday, 15 December 1972 10a.m.
Saturday, 16 December 1972
Sunday, 17 December 1972
Monday, 18 December 1972
Tuesday, 19 December 1972
Wednesday, 20 December 1972
Thursday, 21 December 1972
Friday, 22 December 1972
Saturday, 23 December 1972
Sunday, 24 December 1972