(Untitled)
Ascending from Heathrow the executive lounge whiskey was having the desired effect and inducing a (relatively) more transcendental mood state.
I could see the Millennium Dome to the north from my window seat—it seems like a long time since we were on the stage there. Flight BA 0418 continued along the river past the Thames Barrier and the the Dartford Crossing, over the Isle of Sheppey—birthplace of the indomitable Kris Dollimore, by Margate and out over the forests of wind turbines in the Pas de Calais.
Minutes later we were over the Belgian coast. I was sure I recognised Ostende from the sky remembering a festival we played on the promenade there in 2022. Beaches stretched north to the horizon and The Netherlands, and to the south through France. (How long can it be before an oil tanker gets tangled up in those acres of turbines and trashes those beaches for a generation?).
Back down over green fields and snaking waterways of that now foreign land of Europe and on to the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. We had the luxury of a hotel that night and The Phoenix awaited us at the terminal building to transfer us there.
At the hotel, with the glow from the free-as-in-beer liquor fading and after an astonishingly priced round of drinks in the skybar (20 bucks for the drinks and 30 bucks for the view judging by the tab) a crack unit valiantly resisted the temptation to repair to quarters to pore over the pillow menu and left the premises in search of a more modest and accommodating servery. The Grand Duchy of Luxembourg seemed to be comprehensively closed for the Easter Holiday but a local hostelry that had a bottle of Laphroig was located without too much trouble and the evening continued in good spirits until the wee small hours. Mission accomplished.