A Dreamers Dream

Leaving on a Jet plane. Heathrow, London.

Why on earth did I let him talk me into this? I ask myself for what is probably the hundredth time since Harry called me on Tuesday afternoon. Asking me if I'd like to join him and the band on their flight to Perth instead of going a day earlier with the crew.

Maybe it was the lure of first-class that did it... free food, comfy chairs. Or the fact that the flight that they are taking is direct and only, (haha only!) Just under seventeen hours instead of being twenty-five hours plus with a three-hour layover somewhere in Dubai like the crew flight plan was.

It goes without saying that it has nothing at all to do with the fact that I am somewhat inexplicably drawn to the tall man with the messy hair and luminous eyes and want to spend more time with him. Nope, absolutely nothing to do with that at all... Honestly.

Whatever my brains fucked up reasons for agreeing to this were, it's too late to start second-guessing them now. The rest of the crew are already halfway around the world and getting on this flight is my only option if I plan to keep my job.

So that's how I now find myself sat in the back of some stupidly posh town car in the early hours of Thursday morning heading away from my tiny little flat in London. Where I managed to grab just under twenty-four hours of semi-peace and quiet whilst binge-watching a considerable amount of Friends re-runs on Netflix, and towards the bustling terminals of Heathrow airport.

As we're going to be in Australia for a week before heading straight on to the Philippines, then Singapore and so on and so forth to more countries than I can possibly remember before hitting the US, I had to pack a little more luggage this time around and leave my tarnished old pink suitcase at home in favour of a boring old black one that Michael was kind enough to drop over to me yesterday evening. Or was it earlier this evening? God, I hate being up and about at silly o'clock. It totally confuses my brain.

At least this way, though, I should have enough underwear to last me for a couple of weeks before I have to search out a laundrette or beg a hotels cleaning crew to wash them for me. Who am I kidding? When I run out, I have every intention of just going shopping and buying more to save myself some effort, #LazyCow.

Also left behind was my precious guitar, it felt so bizarre to leave the flat without it, but it is just pointless paying the excess baggage fees to bring it along with me when I can't even play it at the moment.

My hand is finally starting to heal at least. I squeezed in a quick trip to the hospital for an X-ray yesterday/earlier/whenever-the-fuck-it-was, and the doctor informed me that the bone is doing exactly what he wants it to be doing, good bone! However, I still need to keep the splint on for at least another fortnight, and even then, it'll be a week or two until it'll be strong enough for me to pick up my guitar again. Hence, it just seemed stupid to drag it all around Australia and South East Asia with me.

A choice I will no doubt regret once we reach the US and I'm still without it. But its hardly like I won't be able to find one to borrow for a few minutes if I'm really desperate. I swear Harry travels with about thirty different guitars, not to mention all of Mitch's...

I might have snuck into the instrument storage van one night after a show and ended up just sat on the floor for nearly an hour. Idly running my fingers over the pristine instruments, all in their different shapes and sizes. I swear each, and every one had its own personality, and they seemed to call out to me to touch them, to play them, it almost seemed like a crime not to. But I behaved myself. Mostly cos I know how fucking clumsy I am and that, knowing my luck, I'd end up breaking one that was worth more than the damn house I grew up in.

Harry may have managed to forgive me for crashing into him after dropping the barrier on my foot on my first day, then for smashing my drink at his feet back in the hotel in Birmingham, and too many other indiscretions along the way. Indiscretions that I would rather not dwell on just now, but I am pretty sure he'd be devastated if I damaged one of his precious guitars. Same as I would be if anything happened to mine.