Gibralter - and Monkey Business There-in...

What a day! I’m exctatic.

Firstly, yesterdays gig was boss. I aced it fully for the first time. I didn't actually want to stop athe the end of my 3 hours and 45 minutes of sore playing!

Gibraltar is a beautiful island. From a distance it looks like a giant's split a box of lego down a mountain. From the midst of it, it makes even less sense, but this is what makes it.

Unfortunately, the place is clearly very wealthy and cosmopolitan, which comes with the usual Armani clad idiots with briefcases strutting up and down looking at watches like they're late for an appointment with an anal spoon removal specialist. Nevertheless, higher up the hill the streets get more ramshackle and interesting.

There's no pavements through half the town, and if a scooter scoots by you have to duck behind the nearest object with haste. It's like a cross between Cornwall and Turkey.

The best bit though were the monkeys. Sorry, Barbary Apes, as a gentlemen corrected me on last night. You see, monkeys have tails it seems. 'Have you ever seen a chimpanzee with a tail?', well, no, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a chimpanzee.

Anyway, I didn't think I'd see them without going up into the mountains, but there were a bunch just chilling in the city! I photographed a few, but I didn't get too close as my bag was packed with snacks. I’m gonna play with them properly when I go back!

I found some records on the way back – one by Feliciano! Another called the twelve greatest hits of the San Remo Festival 1966 (recorded in Italy). I think the girl on the cover must have been at the festival. Dropping her keys maybe. Lucky they caught that really...

Cadiz - Spain, oh you are so beautiful....

Olah Cadiz!

Oh how beautiful you are!

I can see why Jimi Hendrix wrote Spanish Castle Magic now. Well, he wrote it in Morroco. You're walking along the road, you pop out, and suddenly your next to a bit of Castle! Well some fortification anyway.

I found some more stickers for my guitar case here, almost straight away. Then I just wandered through the streets. Cadiz was less ramshackle than previous ports, this time it was stately and upkept. Unless we were just in a richer part of the city. None of Laurie Lee's Cadiz remains, from the book 'As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning'. But still, the giant stone statues and suchlike must have been there in his time – I wish I'd bought the book with me to re-read.

The city was so multi-coloured , bustling, busy and confident. The biggest thing that struck me were the Zebra crossings. No button to push, just stand and wait. Then, a countdown clock tells you exactly how long you have until the cars move again.

Mopeds were everywhere. I saw a beautiful girl in the middle of a crowd of parked mopeds putting her helmet on clumsily. It could have made a poster for a teenage boy's bedroom. Palm trees everywhere, and sudden green spaces jumping out at you from behind the tall buildings. Even the modern tower blocks had a kind of technicolour beauty.

I bought some lemons from a greengrocer for honey and lemon. My Spanish was pretty poor, especially as I thought I was in Portugal when I landed! Smooth lol.

Luckily 'Olah' is pretty universal.

I met some lovely Canadian chaps who led me to phone shop, where they might have an SD card reader, but it was closed. I still need to ask on the boat, but I doubt they'll have one.

I finally found diet coke! Or at least coke light. For the first time in four countries! I’m not looking on the boat, I’m pretty pleased I’ve stopped drinking it.

The last thing that really blew my mind, is I got so deep into the city, I became to doubt the direction back. I followed the road I thought led to the seafront, and boom! The most amazing view I think I’ve ever seen. The docks, the train tracks, the ships, the city, the ocean and the sky in one mad explosion of complexity. My camera just wouldn't do the justice!

Anyhow, gotta de-smelly before work.

Last night I got my voice back fully! Then it went again. Boo.

Adios lovely peeps!  

Casablanca... (play it Sam, play as time goes by...)

I have played it again Sam several times already on this cruise, and week! I’ve also got a recommendation to see the doctors, but I don't think bunnies will be happy if I have a day's rest. I'll also loose my pay. Lol, no sick pay here as you might imagine.

So yeh, Casablanca is absolutely nothing like the film. Initially all I saw was the docks, which were big and concrete. I followed the busy road into town, which was intersected by train tracks simply running through the middle of it. If a train came, the traffic stopped for it I guess, no need for level crossings here. Zebra crossings, as with all Morocco are a battle of will between motorist and pedestrian. I do recognize however that as a pedestrian I have more to loose in a game of chicken. I love the smell of four star in the morning!

Getting into the town was a fairly straightforward, although the sun beat down on the path, with no shade. My water leaked into my bag, nearly ruining my medical form, so I had to chuck it.

Casablanca, delightfully, is very similar to Marrakesh with its market stalls and ramshackle streets. I found a chap who was incredibly keen to be my guide around the town to get what was on my shopping list: A watch, Honey, Lemons and Argon Oil.

The watch was a breeze. I'd had a gentle bollocking from an officer for looking at my mobile for the time – it's meant to be under-decks at all time for crew. I was also sitting in chairs by the window which is also not allowed for crew. I’m guessing I’ve been breaking a whole shed-load of rules without knowing, but the officers instead of talking to me, talk to the entertainment manager. I’m really lucky this lady spoke to me directly and put me straight, as its far more the decent thing to do. She recommended that I bought a watch from the ship. 'They're like eighty quid though!' just kind of slipped out of my mouth. She raised an eyebrow and said 'Well?'. I forget that most of the people on board would drop eighty quid in a heartbeat, at least those above deck 2. Anyway, Casablanca yeilded the watch Portimao wouldn't, and a fine specimen too! Cheap, cheerful, but very pretty.

The argon oil was sold to me with great zest. Argon oil is unique to the Morroco, and has properties of prolonged youth. Its made from nuts grown in trees, which are climbed by goats to graze in the shade. Now you may laugh, but I’ve seen this first hand! I’m going to have some on my bread for breakfast.

Lastly, my guide, who was actually a Berber from the Atlas mountains (I’ve been there!) took me to buy some honey in a little pot. He promised it would cure my throat, and charged me ten euro for it. Any day I say, it tastes like liquid gold. My guide told me he moved to Casablanca because life is a little more dangerous, exciting I guess he meant.

Last night sets were pretty grim. It's getting harder and harder to sing. I’m praying to doctor will let me stop. I don't care about the money anymore, I want my voice back.

Au revoir!

x

Lisbon, Obridgado xxx

I was so down when life reminded me why I got on this boat. Lisbon reminded me.

I set my alarm early, but I ritualistically cancelled it until it was much later. The first thing I had to do was to get my registration card from the crew office. This would allow me to go ashore, which I was gasping for in my super ill state. I just wanted to see something that wasn't the inside of a boat. OK, I could go on deck, but then I had to smile and say hello to everyone and I wasn't feeling very much like smiling.

The crew card was waiting for me, and I strolled ashore. The first thing that met my eyes was the incredibly beautiful buildings. I’m not kidding, this place was stunning. The more I saw, the more impressed I was by it's giant marble sculptures and arches intersecting multi-coloured streets of beautiful architecture. There was graffiti everywhere, but there was art to it, and some of it was desperately beautiful.

I sat down on a bench by the police station army scary people place. I lay back and soaked in the Portuguese sun. I felt like I was breathing for the first time since I got on the boat. I could be on my own, get my bearing and settle. My whole body just glowed, and I took the chance to text my fam. They called me and it felt so good to be back in contact with the real world.

I set off towards the town, on a quest to find a Portuguese phrase book. This was a mission. I managed to buy some stickers for my guitar case, one saying Portugal, one Lisbon.

The biggest thing that struck me about Lisbon were the bottle banks. There was one on every street corner! All hand painted in a range of colours. A lot of buildings were dilapidated, with the paint sweating off the shutters in the gasping heat.

There were trams – yes, Lisbon has an amazing tram network – intersecting an incredible arched courtyard so big it was insane. In one of these arches I found a tourist information. It was here that I found my phrase book.

'Olah' – hello.

Obridado/Obrigadah – Thankyou

That's pretty much all I needed to know to be polite to the Portuguese. Immediately, everyone I spoke to was a notch more friendly. It's so true that just a little effort makes a difference, and I'll be seeing a lot more of Portugal.

The graffiti was amazing too. I snapped this piece because it moved me more than any other.

I went back to the ship feeling refreshed with a new confidence. For the first time I actually performed well.

First Day At Sea!!!

Oh my god I miss land. I can't remember exactly where the expression a 'curly head' came from, but I’ve never liked it. Unfortunately it completely suites my state of being.

I’m beginning to find my way around majesty. Basically, deck 2 is where I live, in a sort of Harry Potter, cupboard under the stairs get up. No, that's mean, it's actually got everything I need and is quite spacious, but I do feel bad for the Hungarian genius classical musicians next door who are two to a cabin. They are lovely men, brothers, and going through a very hard time. I occasionally hear gypsy scales dancing through the wall. I’ve not had chance to tell them yet what a privilege it is to hear their music, even if just through the walls.

My bar is called Rendezvous, and there is a bar literally built into my piano, where people can sit with cocktails and distract me from my playing with intense eye contact. I like this though. When people start to communicate with me, the music starts to get good. Sometimes I play in Polo Club and then for some reason people start requesting. Surprisingly the same songs I'd played an hour ago, to the frustration of the bar staff. Today though, I just played in Rendezvous, with a couple of sets in the Reception, who were stunned, and said that nobody ever played the piano in the reception and that they were thrilled it was getting played.

That's one of the weirdest things about this ship – there's grand pianos everywhere. Like if a drunken child had been given stickers and a plan of the boat, they crop up in the most bizarre places, like a stairwell. I think maybe the ships designers had some empty awkward corners to fill, and they just said 'Grand piano?', 'Yeh, why not'.

The hardest thing today has been keeping going for 4 hours and thirty minutes with my voice in tatters from yesterday. Doing these kind of hours is really bad, I’m risking nodules by not resting my voice, but I’m in a contract, so what can I do? If this persists any longer, I’m going to tell them I’m taking a day off, because I barely got through this set. By the end of it my voice was in tatters again, and how long can this go on for?

I had a drink on deck with the production manager. He's sound as a pound, and I met some other new people too. I’m not going to have a lot of time to socialize if I want to survive this insane schedule, but I want to make sure I get to know people before it's too late. Three months single is a terrifying prospect!

Oh one more thing, rules. They are soooo many. None of them seem nonsensical, except that even when your in down time and not working, you can't wear informal clothes on the decks. Thank god you can on deck 2. I get the impression I’m going to be spending a lot of time down here. I much prefer it down here in the 1950's caravan world, than upstairs in the polished chrome and glass world, where some poor guy is buffing his soul away, but still tries to smile and say hi to every passenger, in accordance to the rules. Maybe I’m seeing it in a bit of a down light through my curly head.

Anyway, I’m off to shower, dress, sound check and sing for three hours forty five.

Cyas!

Sam x

Farewell White Cliffs of Dover...

Hello there my wonderful friends who I’m already missing the living daylights out of.

I am now aboard the Thompson Majesty, and sick as a dog. The start of this trip has been as bad as it's possible to be, so I’m almost wishing I'd never come.

I’m sat in my cabin right now, which bears a striking resemblance to the inside of a 1950's caravan. That's cool by me, I like the 1950's, and caravans. I’m right over the engine room, so I can really feel what the engines doing – whenever we go up a few knots my bed starts to vibrate like a massage chair. I actually don't mind that either. It even gives me a bit of a rush when I feel a big wave hit the side of the hull and it runs a little shudder through my room. I love my cabin! Although it did take them a couple of days to make the shower hot...

The good news first!

Before I left, my records came! Finally I’m released on vinyl! That in my mind makes me a real musician, and I have pictures to prove!

You can hear all about it on Audiogumshoe here:
http://audiogumshoe.com/sam-harrison-ag176/

And read all about it here in Niji Magazine!
http://nijimagazine.com/2014/02/musician-sam-harrison-started-writing-songs-at-the-age-of-nine/

My flight from East Midlands left at six in the morning. 'That's OK, I wont sleep I thought'. You know that opera singer in Scrubs who jumps out and shouts 'MISTAKE!!'. Yeh, stick him in there. I grabbed a few hours on the plane. But when I awoke we were decending, and I had the biggest pain spreading throughout the inside of my head. I felt like I was gonna explode. I curled up, held my nose and swallowed again and again. I looked around. Everyone else was fine. As usual, just me. I must have missed the start of the decent.

I went through the airport feeling sick an dizzy, and desperate to find some water. I found non. I got my baggage, boarded the coach, by this point I felt like I was gonna die, my head was still exploding, my hearing was popped and I felt really dizzy. Luckily, then I met Adam, the entertainments manager, who rescued me and the other newcomers from the throng. He took us by a table of water, and I grabbed some as I went.

The next few hours were a whirlwind. Here's the ship, here's your cabin, here's your piano, here's your rota. In at the deep end. I was cool with that, I would have been fine with it all if I didn't feel like Uranium was frying my brain. I just wanted to be back home, and in bed. Preferably with somebody beautiful holding a cold flannel to my head, kissing my cheek, and... yeh.

So I head to my cabin at the nearest opportunity, set my alarm, and sleep. Glorious sleep. I was hoping I'd wake like the springtime, sweet and fresh like aloe vera in an April shower. I awoke feeling like a ninety year old on ket. For those who don't spend much time in Nottingham, that's bad.

My set was appaulling. I was a poorly back in England, but now I was gone. My voice went about half way through. Nothing I played sounded right, it was an unmitigated disaster of clashed notes, bum chords and a vocal that sounded like a cross between Tom Waites and a clanger. As the ship rocked I felt like I was going one way the piano the other. By the end, my voice was so shot I just played instrumental music till my time was up and then crashed into bed like a nervous wreck.

Lying on my bunk the realisation struck me that I had eighty more days of this torture. No escape. The only consolation was a little present I'd been given, with strict instructions to open it on the boat. Right then, it brought me so much comfort, its untrue. Thank you.

Then I turned on my ipod, and scrolled through – what would bring me back home? Just for a minute? The hitch-hiker's guide to the galaxy. My old friend.

Cya soon everyone, I hope it gets better!

Breakfast Club, Spanky Van Dykes, Sneinton Lights, Bunkers Hill and my hair 2% sexier!

Hey there!

Had an awesome weekend with the Breakfast Club, We Played three gigs!

Oh, and this happened a week ago, just for the laughs!

First was the Nottingham lights festival, in Sneinton:

The second was Bunkers Hill, for which we have no pics, we were a little drunk by this point!

Then the next day was Spanky Van Dykes, which was amazing! Our big gig with Redrox supported by Anywyn Williams, Ric Birtill, Bud, Adam Clarkson (of Captain Dangerous) and compared by Tom Stevenson of Youtube fame. It was AWESOMEEEE!!!

We don't have many pics because the camera ran out of batteries here! Everybody was amazing. Bud were beyond incredible, I think they will be famous pretty soon.

Ric sang his song about Putin being gay, which was shared by Pussy Riot on Twitter!

Here's Anwyn being amazing completely acoustic:

And Bud being just making everyone happy!

Sorry I couldn't post something by everyone, or I'd be here all night!

Anyway, now I'm home I decided to relax and use science to determine whether I should put my rent or a haircut first... It seems I look 2% better with short hair!

Thanks science!

cyas

xxx