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                         So I leave for Italy via London to play two festivals-one in Rome,one in Parma.As the plane descends into Rome, the Mediterranean sea is immediately below me to one side, to the other, the Italian landscape looks beige and parched of the rain which gives the English landscape its deep green hue.Its 33 and its gonna be a hot few days.

            I am picked up at the airport and given a large bottle of water (they know all about my dehydration issues due to my lack of large intestine)-its a nice touch,necessary and very welcome.Emanuele apologises that the water has warmed slightly and I'm reminded of how easy it could be to turn into a diva "I said the water must be 2 degrees-TWO DEGREES!!"  I'm dropped off at a smart hotel.Once in my room I could be anywhere-I have a conspiracy theory that the worlds' hoteliers have a secret annual meeting,Bilderberg style,in which they all agree upon how their rooms will look.

            Doing shows and the travel it entails is tiring and I've learned that one part of the day I dig is that dead time between your arrival at a hotel at 3pm and the soundcheck at 6.You're free to just kick off your Converse, lie on the bed and relax away the miles you just put on.I throw open the doors to the balcony,strip down to me boxers (like I said-its bloody hot!) and get horizontal.The birds are singing.Its all good and I enter that pleasant half asleep mode.

            Picked up as arranged,I'm driven through Rome to the venue.As we pass a model of the Coliseum Emanuele jokes that "there you go,you've seen the Coliseum!' I laugh, I am, of course, fated not to, because as I intimated in a previous blog,I've been to Brussels/Paris/London/Rome/Amsterdam etc etc and all I get to see is a stage and a hotel almost every time!

            The Mojo Station Blues Festival is situated downtown beneath a suitably impressive (and unfeasibly high) Ancient Roman aquaduct.The heat is incredible.As I sit down to soundcheck I notice that my forearms are sweating and I havent even done anything.The soundcheck complete, I go backstage, taking note of the copious amounts of bottled water on offer-I'll be drinking them dry-I have no intention of letting my empty belly beat me.

              I walk around the festival as the sun goes down-the venue has things going on both inside and outside-the outside is wonderfully romantic, the climate allowing the organisers to place shabby leather sofas and mattress/couches and cushions in little alcoves,lit by candlelight.It is a mediterranean lifestyle most unlike anything the weather would allow for in England.I drink steadily to ensure success.

              Eventually it's showtime-Gianluca (the super nice promoter dude who brought me out here) introduces me and I take up position.As I strike up Jolene I notice that the guitar sound is completely clean-uh oh-a valve has probably blown in the heat-I desperately turn the distortion on full-nothing..just Fender twang.

trying to find some distortion!

                      I play on and notice the punters are digging it anyway.I decide to just plough on regardless.The audience are great-up for a good time.

At the end of my set I am joined by Angelo Leadbelly Rossi and his drummer who have expressed a desire to jam a few numbers with me.Its fun to play with others for a change and we jam out three numbers before I retire.I get to my room in the early hours and sleep.I have a long day ahead of me..

             In the morning I'm dropped off at the railway station,having been provided with tickets to Parma.Its a bit of a trek-like going from Southern to Northern England say.I board the train.Its so hot its a little like being slowly cooked as you travel.I can feel telltale signs that its beginning to effect me adversely,so I walk down to the buffet carriage and order a coke and some bread (I missed breakfast).I look out the window as the Italian countryside passes by me like Van Gogh is painting it,the pallet is warm beige,greens and a pure, azure sky.Ancient villages cling to hillsides as they have for centuries,defying the passage of time.Only the Italians can make shabby look oh so chic.I still feel rough so I purchase another drink and ponder how I might survive a summer tour in these conditions..I'd really have to rest up during the day in order to perform at night,vampire style.Mind you,I had to do that on tour in Northern Europe anyway.The second drink makes me feel better.

                After 4 hours or so I disembark and am met at the station by three lovely Parma Festival organisers.They put me in the front seat-perhaps they know I get carsick-anyway,I'm grateful, because me and cars dont get on at all-never have.The sweat trickles down my temples-as we drive they point out a bridge the Mafia have had built-a bizarre structure-like a metal and glass bubble wrapped around a bridge-its construction has caused scandal in these parts and one can see why simply from an aesthetic viewpoint,aside from any dodgy backhanders-it stands brash and incongruous amid the otherwise understated historic vernacular it resides in-a brutish monstrosity of modernity.

                        They take me to a nice cool restaurant and I down a big bottle of cold water-fabulous.There is a cool breeze and I really feel ok now.I am dropped off at a hotel in a sleepy town (yay-rest time comin!) but whats this? this hotelier clearly doesn't attend those Bilderberg hotelier meetings..this is pure mediterranean-beautiful adobe walls,rough hewn wooden beams,planks making up the ceiling,wooden shutters on the windows..lovely..things get even better-it has air con! I turn it up high,strip off and enjoy a few hours pre-soundcheck rest.Sigh.

                        Arriving at the Festival site is something else-situated on the banks of a wide,slow moving river,which someone refers to as the Italian Mississippi-his metaphor is rather apt-it really does have that feel.The whole thing is outdoors-the stage is huge and the setup is,once again,very pro.I soundcheck and the amp is clean-uh oh.Is this Fenders' revenge? Determined not to repeat the clean guitar sound scenario, the harp player from the other act comes to my rescue with a distortion pedal.Sweet.The sound dudes are polite,enthusiastic and really helpful.The soundcheck is sorted in about 2 minutes flat-cool.

                       The organisers hand me a festival tee which I immediately put on to show respect.I eat the best pasta I have ever eaten in my life (unsurprising given my location).I'm called to do an interview on the banks of the river-

The guy has really done his homework and knows more about my life than I do! I then relax,chat to the other band and have a little wander.People,a lot of them,arrive and I get the 10 minute call.I pace around.I hear myself getting introduced in Italian-I am stood at the foot of the 5 steps that lead up and onto the stage.A stagehand hands me 2 fresh, crisp white hand towels.Up I go,high fiving the mc as we pass each other onstage.We are off.

The crowd is responsive,I tell little between song stories and jokes,slowing my speech slightly so most can catch it in English.I tell them about cbg's and cigar box nation.

It goes great.The crowd is so large I have to  bow centre left and right when I'm done, and wave to those at the back.They want more so I ask the stage manager if he wants me to do one more (see pic).

Encore played and I come off.Job done.My cd they're selling on my behalf sell out.Less to carry home :) 

       The punters are happy,the organisers are too-and therefor so am I.I feel excited that I will be returning next month to Pontinia rock and blues festival.I am whisked away to my hotel at 2am as I am being picked up at 7 to begin a journey that will take me 17 hours.(No flights from Parma on a Sunday so I must return via Rome).

       13 hours later I'm sitting on a Westbound train back in England, on the final leg of my adventure.I sit adjacent to two young lovers,who watch a film on a laptop together-she curled around him with her shoes off,he stroking her hair.I remember how that felt when I was their age.I smile to myself,feeling a sense of warmth and loss in equal measure.I look back out the window but its dark and all I see is my reflection-people used to say I had angry eyes as a young man, but now they look so much like my late mothers..theres a sadness about them.I cup my hands so I can see through the glass.In the inky darkness beyond only two things are visible-the lopsided smile of a crescent moon and the street lights.The warm beige glow of the moon reminds me of the Italian landscape I travelled through just hours before-its natural sunlit beauty is juxtaposed with the garish electric street lamps-mans crude attempts at light creation.

      My wife is due to meet me at the station and when I disembark we catch sight of each other on the platform.At exactly the same moment the same thing happens to both of us-two invisible hooks pull at the side of our mouths and we break out into involuntary superwide smiles.I realise that time has not,after all, robbed me of what those young lovers have-I'm home and its all good.

                    Cheers HB

Get up 5:30am and satnav my way north toward Birmingham for the largest UK arts festival.I pray it doesn't rain cos my rusty car roof leaks and I dont want my gear getting wet! Arrive at Chickenbone Johns' 1960's bohemian split level gaff nice n early.After a quick coffee we convoy into the city centre and set up the cigar box nation stall.It's another example of just why Chickenbone John is the Godfather of the UK cbg movement-with the stall emblazoned with cigarbox nation backdrops, his homemade cbg's and flyers.I set up my gear.Over the next 6 hours, we alternate doing short sets to the passing festival goers,selling cd's and handing out flyers for the 2nd UK CBG fest next month.

Its a long time since I played on the street and I'm reminded how different it is to playing to an indoor captive audience.I find it harder to build a relationship with the mercurial masses-they do stand and watch, but stop playing for more than 4 seconds and the crowd will soon dissipate as the river of people flows,naturally enough, along to the next stall.You have to be more aggressive in the way you interact, pulling them in and keeping them there.I see John working the crowds doing just that.I unfortunately do the opposite and give up trying to talk to them and simply resort to playing the tunes.I'm still harbouring secret doubts about my abilities-due largely to not having had the type of positive feedback that only comes from a live audience for a few months.Playing in amongst a line of stalls doesn't particularly assail my demons.After I overhear the nth person hissing Seasick steve to their partner I seriously consider having a shave.On the other hand, as John sagely points out-its really the only point of reference the public has to what they are witnessing on the stall.

Around 5 we break down the gear and dash across the city to load for the gig at the CBSO. (City of Birmingham Symphony orchestra)Damn-this place is one serious venue.We are directed through massive manned steel security gates.Not the usual parking down a dark alley behind the club.There are staff on hand to help in any way they can-its all very pro.Me and the Godfather load via the stagedoor, down a corridor lined with huge double bass cases-the effect is funereal, they stand like gleaming white Sarcophagus against the wall.We pass the Ancient Egyptian sentinals and enter the concert hall-holy smoke-the ceiling is like 3 stories high and its all polished wood floor.I throw down my grotty carpet and set up-it looks tiny but kinda cool-the addition of the cd flightcase left open toward the audience makes it look like a set-the final addition of a bottle of beer and I'm good to go-I like the way it looks and I'm learning fast about selling.The soundcheck is painless-the acoustics are the best I've experienced (but they would be given its home to an orchestra!) I dont even have monitors, yet I can hear everything.Fantastic.It might sound pretentious but I feel at home.

So I'm on at 6:15pm-opening act for an evening of blues.I think to myself "who the hells gonna turn up for a gig at this hour" but I'm wrong-the place fills-the Godfather grabs a radio mic and tells the crowd about next months festival and introduces me-I cross the expanse of polished wood and strap meself in. "its dead posh ere innit?" I say and they all laugh.I tell them I can always tell posh venues cos the toilets still have the plastic seat bit attached to the loo.More laughter.Launch into Jolene and it all goes gr8.Its so good to feel that ebb and flow between the audience and the performer-its like being psychic-you can feel what they're feeling, tell what they're thinking-gauge their level of enjoyment.This is what I like.Theres no bull-its immediate,its all out in the open.I tell them if 3 of them buy my cd I'll be able to get enough petrol to get home.Its over all too fast but the reaction is gr8 and a good number of people line up and buy the cd.It's exactly what I need and the doubt demons flee to bother someone else for a while.So thanks to Chickenbone John for providing me with the opportunity to get back in the driving seat.It felt good.Oh yes.