The old adage of Murphy’s proves itself an ever present force in our daily lives, the simplest of things, the most inane and miniscule of tasks, through whatever cosmic machinations of fate, destiny, kismet and karma become Sisyphean tasks to challenge even the mighty Hercules’ strength to conquer.
And yet no great labour given unto me by the gods in punishment for my misdeeds was my lot, no penance did I have to pay for any unintended act of hubris, ive given generously to charity, im a courteous driver, I give money to the homeless on the streets, im kind to strangers and have a healthy respect for all living things, even to the point of fingering a thirsty fly out of my pint the other day, knowing not a word of thanks would I receive from the misguided bug.
So why, oh why I beg of thee oh lord did you do this to me?
Last Saturday, stupid o’clock in the morning, half my street are still partying hard on the Friday night clock, but yours truly is well and truly ticking on tiempo sabado packing up her old kit bag for a road trip with the band to the Malmesbury Festival in Wiltshire where I was headlining that night. It was at this point, the fates conspired, chuckling amongst themselves as their will crossed into our realm triggering an ominous ring on my snackberry.
The transport is U/S with no possible replacement… unless!
Here it comes, the coup de gras, give me a second to compose myself, stuff a sock in my mouth to prevent the screams, lay it on me I say, I can take it, im ready, floor me with your last chance solution wrapped up all pretty like in stress and hassle. With not a white knight in sight, I wound my dressing gown tie round my melon in Rambo-esque fashion wasting no time for boot polish rouge on the cheeks and bounded out of the flat like a gazelle and into a cab.
Off to the car hire company I went in urgent need of a people carrier and since im the only one with the address to match the license, im the designated driver for the day, oooh the icing is so sweet, bring on the sprinkles u bitch!
Transport was secured, albeit ten miles away at another yard, so off I went with the guy to collect it. Halfway there he realises he’s in sole possession of a set of keys that have to remain at the other yard and so back we go to Brighton much to my dismay and protest, only after I bribe him with signed copies of albums and guest passes to exclusive London shows does he agree to have someone else deliver the van to me in Brighton. Pffft!
Finally, with me at the helm we set sail for Wiltshire, band, instruments, tour manager all neatly packed into this oddity of automotive design, lying somewhere between auto and manual, who knows! The TM takes the con eventually, he’s even more confused as to the cars spec than I am and slams on the brake thinking it the clutch pushing 50 round the corner of a service station. Murphy may I present Newton.
The first to meet the dashboard and windscreen unannounced was the blackberry, closely followed by my morning coffee, then a keyboard shunting my shoulder for good measure and bringing up the inertial rear and out of costume came a flying bass player. Soon after we recognised the importance of seatbelts and buckled up all concerned, instruments included.
Murphy’s Law is fallible, we improvise, we overcome, we adapt to beat the odds but there’s just no avoiding the laws of motion! Buckle up peeps!
