It Tastes English

Goodbye San Francisco, for now.














I don't even mind that the last few days at home were spent hiding from the rain.














And the hail.















Because I'm in the British Midlands. It was a long day of being tossed into the non-stop world of international travel.



























I do sometimes enjoy the solitude that an airplane provides. I caught up on some reading, some crossword puzzles and some NPR podcasts. I also took a wicked nap. I may be turning into someone's parents, but I'm not sure.





























Manchester is a massive, grey city with factories laid out side by side. It usually rains and always smells of burning sulphur.















I checked into the jury's inn at 8:30 this morning, and promptly fell asleep. This is a wonderful thing as I'll be up at 7:30 tomorrow morning to set up a lighting rig and program the tour for the next two days. I am ignoring the fact that the hotel room is the size of my closet at home and smells a bit like burning shit. Travel is dangerous.
















I have had a growing obsession with the Manchester Hilton, which is across the street. It is an impossibly tall, awkward building that clashes dramatically with the rest of the city. Strange, really.




























































A few days here won't be so bad. I like the work. It will be endless hours of tapping away at a computer, programming cues for the show. This is essentially my chance to really be creative. It always comes out in a big flurry that I spend weeks touching up. Can't wait. I'm off to find something to eat that doesn't taste of gray sadness.