The last gig of this mini-Swiss roll was in Basel, where Erasmus, Jung and Roger Federer all lived. But alas we weren't going to see too much of the town as we were staying in Zurich all day, then driving over at around 5ish and then heading back to our hotel after the gig.
I would have liked to spend more time sight-seeing in this beautiful town and what was another scorcher of a day, but it was best that I stayed in my hotel room and worked on the book that I have to finish by this time next week. It is progressing well. I am approaching the half way point of the second draft and it's really zinging along I think. Admittedly the second half needs a lot more work than the first, but I think I have the momentum to get everything done in time. I'm having some real fun with it and as usual cursing myself for not working harder sooner, but also aware enough by now that this is just the way I work. The urgency of the deadline setting my creativity fizzing. Being a writer is both exciting and great at times like these. Even if a sunny foreign city waits outside your hotel window. Funnily enough I think I might have got more done here than I would have done at home, having to make the most of the limited time to get my head down.
Guy, our tired promoter managed to get a bit lost on the way from Zurich to Basel and the trip ended up taking half an hour longer than it should have done. But that wasn't too bad for us, because we ended up taking a scenic route which we wouldn't have got to see from the motorway. We traversed some of the foothills of the mountains and went through proper Swiss villages with wooden painted houses and a church or town hall with a bell half way along the roof, visible in its little tower. I wondered how long that bell had been there. Was it hundreds of years old? The hall looked like it might be. Had generations of Swiss villagers been called to prayer by that same bell? Or does a bell break every fifty years of so after all that banging and need to be replaced?
Either way I was feeling like Heidi.
A fat, tired, hungover 41 year old, male, English Heidi. But apart from that exactly like Heidi.
The gig in Basel was the worst one of the four for both Jon and me. It was fearfully hot in the venue and most of the Basel residents had sensibly chosen to stay out in the sunshine. Only about 30 people turned up and it was hard to rouse them into any kind of response. It is a long way to come to die on your arse in front of a tiny crowd. I had a drunken heckler who I could have ignored but who I tried to rip apart, but without the support of the lethargic crowd it was hard to make any progress.
It was a shame to leave it on a bit of a downer, even though I think I rallied a bit at the end, leaving with a claim that the Swiss would have helped Steve McQueen through that wire if they'd thought he had had some gold in his pocket. For once my offensive stereotype of the Swiss as Nazi collaborators got a few laughs. Just when I was starting to get it right I have to go home.
But that's probably for the best. Lots of work to do. Better get on with it.
