Fixed On The Horizon.

2 a.m. Don and I seized the one last chance we had to recall the times, the places, people, the very events that have brought smiles to our faces before. It’s not something that happens all that often, in fact these occasions are so rare that they can become the very thing we reminisce about. But despite the many salient moments that fall naturally from the lips, the one thing we cannot recall is how we first met. “It was probably at a folk club in Preston”, I say. Don agrees, “Yes, I think you must be right”.  

It had to be something like 1970 when we did meet, Don moving up from his native Liverpool to study graphics at the Harris College in Preston, a time when many - not just we - shared a deep interest in all things acoustic. The term “Folk music” back then could apply to pretty much anything played on an acoustic guitar; it’s as though it hadn’t been around long enough for divisions such as “traditional”, “contemporary”, “blues” and the like, to dominate our evaluation of this inclusive genre. And it was mainstream then.

Since those earliest of days, I’d describe occasions such as these–finding ourselves back in each other’s company–as both fleeting and rare - in a span of over forty years, they really can be counted on one hand. Still, the regularity of encounter or contact, and an unspoken yet understood bond that connects two individuals, are by no means synonymous with one another.  

Don’s Wife, Linda, and Son, Thomas were at the airport to meet me when I arrived at Adelaide on the Tuesday afternoon. The plan is to have a couple of days in which I can familiarise myself a little more with a city I’ve twice visited before, but whilst there have only seen the venue, the usual hotel and the tour bus. To be more accurate, I’m going to see a lot more than just a city, Don’s eager to show me something about the route he’s chosen to take in life, and all that which has come to pass as a consequence. 

I hardly had time to breath before being whisked off to a rehearsal with his band: Bogaduck. Tuesday is their regular weekly rehearsal night, and as I sat, observed and drank wine, Don and fellow musicians, Thatch, Ken and Gus tolerated my presence gracefully. 

Bogaduck

For miles upon mile, the coastline in this part of the world is golden and expansive, something I couldn’t help noticing on my inbound plane journey. On Wednesday I forgot about the guitar, became a tourist, and was given a guided tour out along the Fleurieu Peninsula to Goolwa, a lovely area especially popular with surfers. We tried hard to do some kangaroo spotting on our way back, though not very successfully. Apart from one poor deceased creature lying by the road, there may have been a couple I caught the briefest glimpse of out of the corner of my eye.

Goolwa beach.

Port Noarlunga’s a good forty five minutes drive from Don’s house in Echunga, and is the location of the South Coast Folk Club where I’m booked to play tonight, Thursday. I get my soundcheck out of the way and we, five of us, go in search of food, fish and chips. 

It was this big!

It’s ridiculous really to consume such foods before a gig, but I did it anyway; they were heavenly, and I might’ve even performed better because of it. Perhaps the carbs that didn’t find their way to my waist provided a little fuel for my fingers to burn off! The excellent Ray Smith opened the evening. 

At the South Coast Folk Club.

Back home, at the end of a very good evening, Don and I sat, and we talked, and remembered, and laughed, and eventually we wished each other a good night … until next time, whenever that might be.

Friday afternoon, 1:40 p.m. and I’m bound for Perth, a journey of considerable distance. To say that Australia’s a huge country is … well … it’s stating the obvious, but let me tell you, it’s really bloody huge. And now that I’ve accurately described its size I’ll tell you about my time in Perth. After the 3 h 40 min flight I was greeted by John Ralph, an ex Brummy who runs the Wanneroo Folk Club, a club that’s not actually in Wanneroo anymore but once was … hence the name. After a brief introduction to my room, and to John’s Wife, Deb, we load up with PA and guitars and head for the venue. 

Perth from Kings Park.

This is all feeling decidedly strange - not this particular gig or anything, it’s just the dawning realisation that my time down here is drawing to a close … and I don’t know if I want it to end. It’s been hard … and it’s been beautiful. I don’t know which way the scale is tipping, if it’s tipping at all … there couldn’t possibly be exactly the same number of “ups” to “downs” … and I haven’t been counting, I’ve just been doing. I’ve been a traveller … a meeter … a hand shaker … and a leaver … but the leaving that’s imminent is on a different level. I’m about to leave the whole journey; before I only left within it. And this is too early for such thoughts … “Just tackle it when it happens”, I tell myself, knowing full well that’s not exclusively what I do. 

The Round House - historic prison, Fremantle.

Once, during a session with the Ouija Board (The Glass Chronicles), I was likened to the Captain of a ship who always had his eyes fixed firmly on the horizon, consequently neglecting the needs of his crew, and those aiding in the passage.

It’s very much about living in the moment, and that’s what happens most when playing and performing. On a more technical note though, for my liking I could’ve done with a little more level on the guitar at John’s gig here in Perth, but regardless, the night did seem to go well, extremely well. And once again I was privileged to meet with the most appreciative and generous people.