ANYTHING that can go wrong will go wrong!
The old law of Murphy’s proves itself an ever-present force in our daily lives, the simplest of things, the most inane and miniscule of tasks, through whatever cosmic machinations of fate, destiny, kismet and karma become tasks to challenge even the mighty Hercules’ strength.
But I’ve given to charity, I’m a courteous driver, I give money to the homeless on the streets, I’m kind to strangers and have a healthy respect for all living things, even to the point of removing a thirsty fly from my pint the other day.
So why, oh why, I beg of thee, oh Lord, did you do this to me?
Last weekend, stupid o’clock in the morning, half my street are still partying hard on the Friday night clock, but yours truly is definitely ticking on Saturday time, packing up her old kit bag for a road trip with the band to the Malmesbury Festival in Wiltshire where I was headlining that night.
It was at this point the fates conspired, chuckling amongst themselves as their will crossed into our realm, triggering an ominous ring on my BlackBerry.
The transport is on the blink with no possible replacement!
With not a white knight in sight, I wound my dressing gown tie round my melon in a Rambo-esque fashion, wasting no time for boot polish rouge on the cheeks and bounded out of the flat like a gazelle and into a cab.
Off to the car hire company I went, in urgent need of a people carrier and since I’m the only one with the address to match the licence, I’m the designated driver for the day.
Transport was secured, albeit ten miles away at another yard, so off I went with the guy to collect it. Halfway there he realises he’s in sole possession of a set of keys that have to remain at the other yard and so back we go, much to my dismay and protest.
Only after I bribe him with signed copies of albums and guest passes to exclusive London shows does he agree to have someone else deliver the van to me in Brighton. Pffft!
Finally, with me at the helm we set sail for Wiltshire, band, instruments, tour manager all neatly packed into this oddity of automotive design, lying somewhere between auto and manual, who knows! The tour manager takes the controls eventually, but he’s even more confused as to the car’s spec than I am. So he slams on the brake mistaking it for the clutch as we’re pushing 50mph round the corner into a service station. Murphy may I present Newton.
The first to meet the dashboard and windscreen unannounced was the BlackBerry, closely followed by my morning coffee, then a keyboard shunting my shoulder for good measure and bringing up the rear came a flying bass player.
Soon after we recognised the importance of seatbelts and buckled up all concerned, instruments included.
Murphy’s Law is fallible, we improvise, we overcome, we adapt to beat the odds but there’s just no avoiding the laws of motion!
Buckle up peeps!