My first time at 2000 Trees: Playing UTB Manchester & Camp Turner with Frank Turner. 

I rolled into the carpark at half past two, cursing the fact that my phone had died overnight and I’d missed all my alarms to get up at a decent enough time to make it down for the early acts of the day, and to meet Johnny and George from Pet Needs before midday like I said I would. Oops.
As the ETA on my map gradually diminished, it slowly got more and more real. For the first time in a LONG time I think I was actually nervous (a healthy amount, not paralysingly so) about the shows that night. It felt good to feel alive.
I followed the signs along the road outside Cheltenham and finally found the entrance. As I was ushered to the back of a carpark, a cacophony of car roofs reflected a chorus of chrome, light and heat directly into my eyes. Once I found a space, the view was something reminiscent of the parking scene in Itchy & Scratchy Land with Homer’s golden words ringing in my ears “Now remember; we’re in the ‘The Itchy Lot’” — finding the car was Tomorrow Blake’s problem.

I just knew this was going to be a special day - and I was very quickly proved right. As I walked past a few areas of camping tents, I saw people of all ages sharing tents, blasting punk, jamming songs, people walking in and out of the front gates with their beer cans, wine cups, whisky drinks, you name it - and it hit me; this festival is BYO - this would be SO illegal in Australia. But the sense of freedom and respect for our own autonomy as humans provided to us by 2000 Trees overwhelmed me with gratitude and serotonin.
It didn’t take long looking around like a lost soul before I was spotted and told where the afterparty stages are (I think the guitar in my hand gave it away). Up along the path I was peppered with conversation from people I’d met on the last tour or just recently leading up to the 2000 Trees. My people, I’ve found my people. Quite literally.

Shortly after visiting both stages I’d be playing later on in the night (11:35pm at UTB Manchester & 12:30am at Camp Turner) and getting some snaps of my name next to some other incredible songwriters, I found my crew and my tent and was very quickly joined by Mexican Dave (who had graciously supplied me with my tent for the night) and we were off to see some music with his crew, weirdly enough I had quite a small degree of separation between then and some Australian friends I soon found out. 
Interspersed throughout Into It. Over It., Amigo The Devil, Frank Turner and Skinny Lister was a barrage of new smiling faces to lock into conversation with and talk about each other’s music and how great this damn festival is. Albeit the guilt of not arriving earlier was still weighing on me heavily.
Amigo is possibly my new favourite act and it was confirmed for me when I saw Danny solo in Sydney back in April — the lyrics, the stage presence, the banter. It was the complete package. The perfect show. Finally seeing them in band format was the cherry on top - can’t wait for more from them.
Then of course Frank, my favourite songwriter, was incredible. It’s no secret of mine and he seems to have this effect on many, many others - some moreso than me. It was a very special show for most of us there and to see him perform in front of his people, and not in Australia or LA was just incomparable. 

Once Skinny Lister wrapped (whom it was my first time seeing and they were incredible!), it was time to race back to my tent to acclimatise my guitar to the rapid chilling of the Gloucestershire air before catching the worst kept secret of the entire festival - Frank Turner’s solo set on the Camp Turner stage at 11pm. Once I arrived, it was packed with people eagerly anticipating the show, spread out and spilling through the tents areas, blocking the main artery for foot traffic that allowed people to move freely through the camping grounds. I remember being told that the stages are 100% unplugged, no amplification and I immediately thought “how in the world is he going to be heard by anyone past the third row?” and I was right. But we sang along in a hushed but purposeful way, an orchestra careful not to overpower their orator as they were guided through all the songs they knew, loved and had rehearsed so hard for decades in the making. Unfortunately I had to leave a little early to catch Kyle from Pay The Man on the UTB Manchester stage — Kyle, who was playing just before me has some amazing songs so I made sure I got there in time. Being a Manchester stage, Kyle finished with Don’t Look Back In Anger; apt. I briefly contemplated finishing with Wonderwall but quickly realised it was an intrusive thought that was not to be trusted.

Ok; Showtime. 
No mics, no speakers - just one voice, one guitar and a stage to say what I think and convince the passers by to stop for a while and take in some story and song. The nerves had started to creep back in and, honest to god, I was loving it. I’ve done this thousands of times before (literally), I was in my element and these kind of shows remind me of why I do this in the first place.
I took the stage with my adhoc set list (every song of mine that I remember in a note on my phone) at my feet and ploughed into a loud and fast one first. In all honesty, they ALL had to be loud and fast, I had to CONVINCE people to stop and stay to listen to my show, there had to be like 100 people by the end of my set here and I had no microphone! 
With so many friends and even more strangers before me, it flew by in the blink of an eye which I’m bemoaning. I told them my stories; about Rocky, AD/HD, friends back home, lockdowns and everything they need to know about my new song Roots (it’s unreleased, so stay tuned on that one). Rebecca capturing some moments for me because she’s an absolute legend, Jo, Henry and Jamie flaunting my merch and parading before the stage in it without me even asking them to — it was truly a special moment that I wish I could have squeezed more time out of, alas; onto the next stage. 

Pushing to be heard I noticed the warning signs of strain and tiredness in my throat and began to rue the decision to play two stages in 60 minutes — I wasn’t going to just let myself give a half assed performance simply because I had to do a second show in half an hour and swiftly remembered that if I can sing nine 3-4 hour shows, with four of them in the space of 24 hours, I knew I would be able to do two 30 minute sets in the space of 2 hours… Grow up Blake. 
Camp Turner here I come!

I distinctly remember strolling down the hill and hearing B-Sydes slamming on his guitar and seeing the crowd ardently hanging off every plosive that rolled off of his tongue — you just bet I was taking notes. I took the stage shortly after him with Jo’s gracious introduction setting the tone and took off into my first song. I cruised through my set with Mexican Dave yelling out “do a shoey” after every song. Upon seeing many familiar faces from the stage before that must have followed me down to the next stage, I decided to mix it up. You beauty! The surprises kept coming, even for myself! I threw in some of my old band’s songs and some tunes I hadn’t yet had a chance to play on this UK run, once again the show flew by and inevitably had to come to an end at some stage — before I knew it, it was 1:15am and I knew I needed to step down and find a chair in the dark to process everything that just happened that day.
But in true 2000 Trees fashion, I wasn’t afforded that luxury and had a pair of silent disco headphones shoved into my chest, more drinks than I had fingers dumped in my hands and was led off into the festival grounds to dance the night away.

The camp pack down was brutal but hey, live by the sword, die by the sword.
Returning to Bristol from 2000 Trees with Mexican Dave the next day was the perfect way to experience the Euro’s Final. With Dave being Mexican and me being Australian, we were two red fish out of water cheering on the Spanish in a sea of white jerseys and golden pints. A great way to end the weekend. Beers, banter and the best festival I’ve ever been to.
Over and out.

This blog part of my page always was and always will be free. If you feel entertained, educated or any other adjective or verb in the realm of language, please feel free to support it here:

Ironic that the only time I make to continue my blog is when I'm on the other side of the planet 11/7/24

The UK leg of my Rearranging Deckchairs On Tour is well and truly underway.

The past seven days have been a bit of a whirlwind. As I write this, I lie in my Airbnb quite spent, I should be sleeping but I have a whisky in my hand and a bloated beer belly from all the pints I’ve inhaled over the past 7 days.

I landed at Heathrow 7am last Tuesday, dropped my stuff with my mate Ian and went off to reacquaint myself with the city until he finished work. By a stunning coincidence, Josh from Fortune Of War  where I play every week back in Sydney was in town for his birthday and, needless to say as someone who worked in hospo for a stint in London, his birthday left me with a stubborn hangover the next day.

Friday was the first show. With Jess Silk, Mary Lorraine Moden, Sally Pepper, we going forces at the The Station in Ashton under Lyne for a We Shall Overcome fundraiser - this pub feeds hundreds of homeless on a daily basis. What a wholesome evening with great people and a pure privilege to be a part of such a great initiative.

Unfortunately the show in Eye the next night got cancelled, something about it "cOmInG hOmE”. No bother though, I went straight to Colchester to hang with my mates Fraser Morgan, his partner Mia and bass player Chris with a wonderful night out; having to pretend I wasn't Australian trying to get into a pub that was already locked in so it didn't look like we were lying when we said "we come here all the time!” was a great way to start the night and it ended ever so perfectly by trading favourite Australian and UK songwriters between us. That night the gang learned that I’m terrible at pool and I learned that I’m terrible at Magnet Chess. I still think about Fraser’s generosity in getting some dinner all ready for me as I arrived, it was the sweetest thing!

Sunday in Sudbury was beautiful. Beautiful town, beautiful people. Daniel Stephen Turner putting on a great songwriters event called Create More, Worry Less held in a beautiful church-turned arts centre, we traded ideas and songs for feedback and encouragement. Seeing Henry Inder and finally meeting Georgina Buckland to get a sneak peak at their new material and onto a killer afternoon & evening of Sudbury songwriters at Jason's Acoustic Events from 2:30pm through till 9pm.

Last night in London meeting and playing with Mexican Dave and Paul Henshaw at Aces & Eights in Tufnell Park was another great show and damn do both of those guys have some great songs! |Just like last time, this is a tour where everyone I’m playing a show with is an exceptional writer and I’m taking notes and learning more every step of the way. More shows with Dave this month and hopefully in the future, more shows with Henshaw too!

Today I hit the road to perform as part of the highly esteemed Narrowboat Sessions and joined the team of Mark, Sue and Catrin at their current location. Afterwards, with Mark being the absolute legend that I very quickly learned that he was, he offered to drive me round the area for some sightseeing and history lessons as a bit of a treat for coming all the way from Australia, then also throwing me plenty of suggestions for my time in Wales tomorrow! Making connections like this and being showered by such glorious acts of kindness is a beautiful feeling.

Over the few shows so far, merch has been moving quite well and I learned that here they call stubby holders “Koozies” — which I initially thought was “Cozy’s” and I was hearing an accent that wasn’t there.

I also got news and confirmation that Throw Down Your Weapons was accepted in it’s very first store back in Australia!! So, if you’re in Armidale or nearby, please go to the Reader’s Companion and peruse their shelves for your next favourite book, or just buy mine.
Obviously a lot to do before I need to head to Dudley for my next show with Nerys John at The Chapel House tomorrow if I hope to catch some Welsh castles, stop by the Wrexham FC store and whatever else is in these Wrexham tourist pamphlets that I’m about to go through in my Airbnb!

I thought I'd have more time to write some blogs and work on words but it has been a lot of moving about and being present with my present company so I guess this is my new blog post!
Hopefully not this long of a break between posts in future.

Do main character shit. - 11/7/23

Let me begin this entry with a slight throwback to my first blog post. I received a lot of feedback about it and how crazy the experience was, I was even told that there was no need to hide the fact that the company culprit was Lufthansa as it isn't a fictitious story, but an actual recount of my experience with them. So there you go, if you live under a rock and couldn't tell, German Air was Lufthansa all along.

But the craziest thing is that I sincerely doubt this is the craziest thing that has ever happened to “customers” - as the captain on a British Airways flight once affectionately referred to his passengers recently. Not that he’s wrong, but the lack of humanity in his outlook was less than appealing. 
Upon landing at Heathrow at the beginning of the tour, a bag came out just before mine with all it’s locks broken and zips undone with clothes spewing out of it from every angle, the girl was absolutely ropable and fair play to her! 
In another situation a few weeks ago, a performer friend was relocating back to London with all her equipment and props only for her custom-made juggling rings (not easily replaceable) and a custom-made manakin (the entire premise for one of her routines worth $2500) had just disappeared off the face of the planet with zero communication from the airline, airport or transport company. The only two things missing were pieces of equipment that directly halted her ability to earn a living. Two things from inside her bag and not the whole bag, meaning it was opened and she was robbed… 
Two friends recently jet-set off to Europe only to have none of their luggage arrive with them, a week later a package meets up with them and it only contains one person’s baggage and nothing else with no explanation. 
There are more, like that viral video of the guitarist filming his guitar and equipment being abusively thrown around on the tarmac before being put on the plane, but you get the point… 
My blood is beginning to simmer just thinking of how helpless we are in these situations and how little is done or can be done to stop them. 

I digress! To move onto less negative dwellings of thought, I am here to gloss over a few things worthy of delving into from the past few months. (I will try very hard to not make future blogs so lengthy). 

The 14 date tour of the UK was prodigious, Ed and I put a lot of effort into preparation so that we barely had to think about admin once we stepped onto the plane, the hard work was done. For us, by US. Many new friends and memories were made and thanks to the miracle of the internet, we are able to stay in contact with all of these inspiring people at the drop of a hat. 
Ed Barnes, I really couldn’t have done it without you so, thank you for your friendship and your patience as I relearned how to drive a manual through the cities and countryside of the UK. 

As I write this, I have just wrapped up an epic 6 days playing 9 shows around Sydney & The Blue Mountains in which felt remarkably more intense than any of the rigours of the recent UK run. A regular feat in my occupation is feeling like you’re perpetually on tour with weekends being primetime for work - playing anywhere from 4-9 gigs a week, I fit about 350 odd performances into the last financial year. 
It’s been a crash course in learning how to look after my voice so I actually have one the next day, how much (if any) I should drink and how long I’m spending shouting at people in a bar - all the boring things that even most singers don’t pay attention to until their first trip to the ENT because of nodules. 
But it’s not all work and strict self-care, there’s a line that slowly becomes less blurry as you learn more and more about your body and voice which affords you to know how far you can push the boat out whilst knowing you have a safe return just to do it all again in a few hours. The banter between crowd and performer can be a thing of beauty at times, or the kind words from strangers about being the perfect accompaniment for their date night, wing-manning people into one-night stands, gorgeous old couples in their 70’s that swing dance in front of you to Van Morrison and Elvis, invitations to post-show swingers parties, or my seeming ability to resonate with some of the rougher venues around town by soothing punters with the gentle vibrations of Australia’s golden era of pub rock classics. This side of the music industry plays a big part in my life and has taught countless valuable lessons that I carry over into my songwriting life. 

In my early twenties as I made the transition from a ‘day job’ to the high-risk endeavour of a full time life in the music industry, I would tell myself often “if you want something bad enough, you’ll find a way to get it”. As someone who has their hands in both sides, (if I have to capitulate and acknowledge that there are sides…) the songwriter life and the cover artist life, I was unfortunately met with condescension from both parties: “oh you write your own songs? That’s cute, good luck with that” or “oh you play covers? Good for you…” as if one path was right and the other was wrong. I was too often met with comments like “you’re part of the problem”. Problem?? A very toxic mentality right there, I had no idea you had to pick a side in all this? 
I enjoy what I do and would be deeply unhappy if I hadn’t taken the road less travelled by. Even by playing covers, I’m well aware that the success rate for a sustainable career is extremely low and I feel blessed to have made something of it so far as an artist and furthermore, to not feel merely like 'The man at the piano' as Bukowski woundingly puts it but to feel fulfilled and grateful for my life, my love of music and my freedom to do so.
And for this, thank you to all the businesses & agents, people and loving husbands looking to spoil their wives for their birthdays that believed that I was worth something and hired me through it all so far. Equally too, I apologise to all the employees that have heard my shuffled up song list a few too many times!

Alas, I recently read in Paul Coelho's ‘The Alchemist’; “every blessing ignored becomes a curse” and this gift of tunnel vision can often come at a price. I sacrificed a lot, including the safety, security and financial stability of other more well-worn paths, to achieve this goal of earning a living from music despite ‘doubt’ building a fence around it and dressing it up as “just a pipe dream”. Living hand-to-mouth for many years, I persevered and the longer I did so, the more clear it became of what that success was going to look like. 
Forever attempting to establish a healthy work/life balance is something I even have to work on with a therapist. And losing focus of the bigger picture in turn for the carrot dangled in front of me has become a recurring trend in my life. 
Nothing fills me with greater pride, gives be a greater sense of fulfilment and purpose than doing main character shit with this one fickle and fleeting fanfare of an existence - to make a genuine connection with people either through conversation or song. Consumed by my pursuit of the right to stamp “Performing Artist” on my tax return, it’s funny how life can surreptitiously guide you down a path you never expected to take when you took that first step but here I am, a full-time musician. 
Damn. Achievement unlocked. 

Next on the agenda is my own story - and if there is any possibility of me cultivating that into a sustainable way of life for myself other than just the luxury I am afforded thanks to my work as a travelling jukebox, I will take it. 
To find a way to balance my work, experiencing the genuine human connection on offer every single second of the day and carving a creative and fulfilling path out of every obstacle and opportunity is the new goal. 

Things to look forward to: 
- I have a book on the way! It consists of little bite-sized braindumps and pieces of poetry that will stimulate imagination and conversation - judging from the feedback so far, I should be more proud of it than I’m currently allowing myself to be, which is very encouraging. 
- I have a handful of song ideas being fleshed out, I am really happy and inspired by the words I’ve been working on and slowly bringing them to life. 
- I have an EP to fully release sometime this year (date TBA) as well as something amazing that was recorded whilst in the UK to show the world. 

As I reread what I wrote last night at 7:30am on a Tuesday morning with a coffee, making slight edits here and there, I think to myself that I am so damn grateful for what I have done with all the strengths and flaws given to me and the life I have been afforded to live thanks to them. 

Remember: the best time to plant a tree was ten years ago, the second best time is right now. 
Be kind to yourself, do main character shit, and, if you want something bad enough, you’ll find a way to get it.

- Blake


This blog part of my page always was and always will be free. If you feel entertained, educated or any other adjective or verb in the realm of language, please feel free to support it here:

That time a German airline lost my guitar on tour - 5/5/23

After an German airline (let's graciously refer to them as German Air from now on) delayed my connecting train to Cologne three times leading up to the flight, I was afforded the opportunity to sleep alongside the homeless overnight at the Airail terminal. The following morning only one of my two pieces of luggage show up and it takes them two hours to realise they’ve left my guitar in London. The lady at Airail Terminal was a fellow Greek, recognised my surname and went into Greek mother mode going turbo on the phone calls. Born in Greece, moves to Germany, speaks English on top of Greek & German and is on the case - what a bloody legend. Still, the Hellenic hellfire spat over the phone where I’m only understanding every 5th word of Greek-accented German is not enough to get a straight answer and she tells me I have to go to the unclaimed bag office in gate C of the arrivals terminal and then in a clear as mud attempt, she gives me directions on a piece of paper as to how to get there. More walking! Great. It feels like a kilometre away but after 20 minutes of disorientation I find it and get let in.  

I explain my situation, old mate at the desk makes a call in German, 5 minutes later goes “we have no guitars but here, you are welcome to have a look in the room for it”. Right… I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this. I walk in and there are columns upon rows upon columns of unclaimed baggage. What seems like 200 bags in this room and not one a guitar case, let alone my guitar case. 
I walk out and sheepishly ask where my guitar is and they reply “if it’s not there then it’s not there”. 
Profound. Thanks mate. 

Then as I’m leaving one person suggests going to German Air's baggage tracing in the carousel section, I will need to buzz at an intercom to get clearance to re-enter. Sounds fancy.  
I walk all the way back to gate A (where I landed) and find the intercom where you have to buzz for entry, I get let in and walk through to some weird room where the first door shuts behind you before the second opens in front and it eerily feels like an airlock scenario where I’m about to be shot out into the suffocating vacuum of space. If only. But get this, the next door is stuck and scores of passengers are building up outside behind me. I call intercom to alert them to the problem and they tell me someone will be down in a few seconds to fix it. I’m nervous about how much of my time is being wasted chasing my guitar as I’m only in the country for a few days. 
No joke, 28 minutes later (because I’m counting), some guy shows up and fixes it and I’m finally through allowing the amounting crowd to all get through via the same process. (But I’m in too much of a rush to look back to see if they had the same experience). 
After I fill out a lost baggage form, they promise my guitar will be put on the next flight to Frankfurt that will be landing in 3 hours... Cool, so I’m going to miss my train nach Köln. That’s ok, I can handle this. Not the end of the world, at least we have established where my guitar is. 

Three gruelling hours of pure boredom pass - keep in mind I’ve finished my book on Jim Carrol; a dark insight into the bi-curious sexploits and dope-fuelled descent of a 13 year old boy in 1960's NYC - a very light read if you’re interested. I’m too stressed to work on any words whatsoever and I don’t have an EU charger yet so my ageing phone’s battery life is more valuable than a peaceful night’s sleep in the life of the father of a feline. 
Back to the saga… 

Heathrow flight has landed, I mull about frantically drifting between the carousel & the two oversize bag drops (on the other side of the gate to each other…) I watch passengers collect their bags for two whole hours before finally calling it and finding Bag Tracing again. 
I ask what gives (albeit more politely than that, my sanity and guitar are at their mercy), they say there is no sight of the guitar getting on the plane from London and I need to fill in a SECOND lost baggage form… “but you just told me it was going to be on the flight? Meaning my guitar didn’t make it onto your London to Frankfurt flights twice in a row?”  
“Yes that’s correct” 
“Well can you tell me why?” 
“We are not sure.” They replied frankly. 

Just as I’m about hit pen to paper they get the call and as it goes, my guitar was checked in three minutes ago and is heading up to the Airail terminal now. So it WAS on the flight. What the fuck kind of airline is being run here?? 
I’m too excited to complain about the fact that I requested it be sent here to Bag Tracing and that they promised they would make sure it was sent to the baggage claim so I could physically pick it up myself - weird flex that your airline’s communication is such a mess but ok we’ve done it! Everything’s gonna be alright! 
I race up there and eagerly await. Bag after bag after bag is dropped for people’s connecting trains and no sign of my guitar, I question the Airail staff, they make a call and say it should be another 30 mins… ‘what the!? Ok fine, but it’s coming so we’re good’.  

30 minutes pass and I tell them to get on the phone again. Surprise! It hasn’t come through and they’re not sure where exactly in the airport it could be but they insist it’s definitely here, by this time, it’s 4pm and I’ve been at the airport for 19 fucking hours… I’m starting to think I will never see my guitar again.  
My pride and joy, the beautiful piece of Australian wood that I’ve channeled thousands of hours of music through, that I love dearly and the entire reason I’m still playing music and probably also the reason I haven’t topped myself.  Just… gone…  
Disappeared off the face of the planet thanks to the incompetence of German Air. 


At this point, I feel like Tom Hanks in The Terminal and but I decide against having a shave in the bathrooms because there are too many people coming in and out. 
I start to get pushy, but not too pushy. I just make sure I force the issue: how can you, German Air employees, not have a direct line of contact with German Air bag tracing to sort this out, how come I have to keep going down to talk to them? How the fuck did this guitar not make it upstairs (literally just an elevator up for baggage employees) to the Airail terminal??? How have you been thinking it’s coming for 90 minutes and not have any idea where it is?  
The pin drops.  

They look at me with the kind of ‘how do we break this to you’ look and go “oh we are not with German Air, we are with Frankfurt Airport, we are separate entities and cannot call German Air bag drop down stairs, you have to go back down if you want to talk to them”. I shit you not, these guys have just been calling their mates down in the unclaimed baggage transfers and not actually making any contact with German Air. This. Whole. Time.  
Jesus H Christ… what a nice piece of information to withhold for 19 hours after first talking to them. With German Air signs all over the Airail terminal and on the front of the desk that they’re sitting at ensuring my German Air baggage will be with me in time for my train to Cologne in the morning.  
My blood is starting to boil and the stress of broken sleep from test evacuation alarm bells sounding every hour on the hour between midnight and 5am, being kicked awake by airport security who mistook me for a homeless person merely seeking shelter from the cold & the thought of losing a big piece of my identity and the cracks in my patience and composure are starting to show. 

I’m told to go back down, through the airlock doors and speak to Bag Tracing again, you’re fucking kidding me. By now I know this airport better than Sydney’s where I was born and raised and have taken a plethora of domestic & international excursions for business or pleasure. I cop the re-entry to baggage claim and I get stuck between the doors AGAIN and crack. I throw my passport, boarding pass and baggage ID’s as hard as I can at the wall, and scream “FUCK!” and for a split second, 5 years of voice training go out the window as what feels like a hundred needles begin to pierce my larynx - think the scene from 50/50 where Joseph Gordon Levitt loses his shit - My arm hurt afterwards too, I forget that I probably haven’t used any of those muscles since I stopped playing cricket 14 years ago.  
Then I realise the man on the other end still had the intercom on and goes “uhhh, we will be with you as soon as possible. Please be calm.” 

Lucky this time they were literally there as soon as possible, it only took three minutes. So I get over to the German Air bag tracing and lo and behold, there’s a change of the guard and I have to completely retell the entire story, I’m about to ask them to just send it to my home address in Australia and just as I say that, the guy on shift finds my guitar in the system and says it’s on the way to Cologne Airport via Munich.
Umm, WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK? MUNICH???? THEN COLOGNE AIRPORT? I’m not going to EITHER of those places! My ticket to Cologne is a train ticket to their central train station (inside the city) Cologne airport is shared with the city of Bonn and is therefore outside the city and a 1 Hour return trip on train. What the Cunt!? 
“COLOGNE? WHY IS IT GOING TO COLO…” I yell and cut myself off and apologise. This guy has nothing to do with it I remind myself. “I’m sorry I’m not angry at you, I’m angry at German Air.” 
He graciously and appreciatively accepts my apology and insists my guitar is safe and writes down all the necessary details for reconvening with my guitar. The plane lands at Cologne Airport at 10:55pm via Munich. It’s now 5pm and I decide it’s best to head to Cologne to finally meet with my family friend that I’m staying with who agrees, through a three part split of being amused, outraged and unsurprised sentiment for German Air, to come with me and help me retrieve my guitar later tonight. 
Beauty. Light at the end of the tunnel. 

I fly down the tracks on the Frankfurt nach Köln express, known as the ICE, at 250kmph. The fastest I’ve ever moved on the ground. Pretty damn cool. 
Considering how damn big Australia is, how we haven’t done something similar baffles me. 
I’m picked up from Köln Hauptbahnhof an hour later by my friend and we walk the beautiful streets of Cologne back to his place, picking up a .5L bottle of Reisdorff Kölsch for $2.50AU on the way for the walk known as a “Wegbier” and I’m swiftly reminded of why I love this country. 

But the fat lady has only hummed a few bars yet… 
Later, we arrive at Cologne/Bonn Airport at 11pm, a little after the plane lands but that’s cool, bags always take forever to get from plane to carousel. We make it inside and find the bag tracing for the airport, a dank, stuffy little room with bright fluorescent lights (the ones that are just so conducive to low stress and good creativity), we are greeted by a man that helps us with our request and tells us to walk through the door to baggage claim and that the guitar was on the flight and will be on the carousel. I don’t believe it, they said we’ve never make it! 
We eagerly walk through and wait. Not even 5 minutes later a representative comes out to find us and tells us that unfortunately the guitar was not put on the 2nd leg of the flight and is currently still sitting in Munich. 


I stand there shattered. 
Once again German Air have lied to me and somehow managed to fuck up an otherwise seamless and everyday responsibility for an airline. If I had hair, I’d be pulling it out. 
“This guitar is going to see more of Germany than I am!” I thought. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it gets treated to a trip to Spain at this stage, great weather. It must be nice. 
What the fuck. We go back into the whimsical and inspiring bag tracing room and request that the guitar be sent to my home address in Sydney, Australia. The lady helping us seems to ditch her stern and somewhat reserved nature and excitedly jumps to help “oh yes, we can absolutely do that for you, please write your home address here and I will make sure it is couriered to your doorstep”. I’m cautiously optimistic but have no option but to hope and pray it makes it there in one piece. A hollow piece of wood, used and abused all over Germany by baggage handlers, I gotta be honest, I’m really not liking my odds of getting a functioning guitar back from them.  
My friend steps in to ask for a refund on my flight to compensate for the “inconvenience” and loss of limited time on my holiday. She looks shocked and even the colleague next to her stops what he’s doing and looks at us like we’ve insulted his mother, not an unreasonable request if you ask me… 
“Oh we are not with German Air, we just organise their baggage issues”  
“But the sign right here on the front of your desk says ‘German Air’” 
“Sorry but you must talk with the airline about such an issue.” 
Righto… convenient system you’ve got here mate. 

The two days later at 6am I get woken up by a Sydney number. “Hey this is Dnata calling from the our office at Sydney Airport, just letting you know that we received your baggage from German Air and it’s here ready to be picked up”.  
Mixed emotions right now, combined with my also struggling to comprehend the whacked out dream I was having.  
So my guitar is safe… -ish. But not at my house. 
“Oh amazing! Are you able to send it to my home address, I can provide it if you didn’t receive it from German Air.” 
“Sorry but once it arrives at this office, no one but yourself or a family member with written consent can move it from this office” 
“I asked German Air to send it to my home address and they promised me they would” to be fair, wtf is a ‘promise’ from these guys at this stage? 
“Oh sorry, they specifically sent it here and unfortunately it can’t be couriered to you now.”  
Unbelievable. But also not. 
“Oh ok well I’m actually in Germany right now and I needed it sent home because they really messed me around and never got my guitar to me” 
“Oh you’re in Germany? Do you want us to send it over to you?” 
“NO! No no no no no, please do not let it leave Sydney!” 
My heart just dropped through the floor, I’m well and truly awake now.  
“I will get my mum to pick it up as she lives in Sydney” I chuckle, “definitely do not send it back here”. 
Moral of the story, get a GPS tracker for your baggage and learn to speak German. 
And if you ever lose anything at Frankfurt Airport, message me and I’ll be able to direct you.


This blog part of my page always was and always will be free. If you feel entertained, educated or any other adjective or verb in the realm of language, please feel free to support it here: