Eighth Day in America

The first time we came to Salida we drove right through. But instead of keeping on going we drove round and through again. And this second time we saw a guitar being carried into a bar so we followed it in. And this bar, Hatties, turned out to have more malt whiskies than most bars in Scotland. So we went straightaway to the Woodland Motel and were booked in by a very bonny girl whose first name was Mackenzie. Andy and I, though not necessarily in that order, were so wildly enthusiastic about this that she told us straightaway that she was married, which must be locally, and even further afield, a continuous and cruel disappointment to many people. We walked back to Hatties and Andy played that night after the featured band but I have no re-collection of reading any poems. That doesn't mean I didn't, just that I can't remember doing so.

Hatties in Salida was where we first met Irving. The next day, wandering around, I went in to an Art store where the singer from the band the night before sold me a bottle of ink (Andy and I went into a music shop on another day and he was there too and sold Andy some guitar strings: Everybody was everywhere in Salida). Irving was in the Art store as well.

He said to me, "How'd you like to come on my radio show on Sunday afternoon, we'll just hang out, have a few laughs and play some British pop for a couple of hours?"

I said, "Great. I'll tell Andy."

So that's how we were on The Burning Chicken Show with Irving on kHEN 106.9fm, Salida, and, four weeks later, on Rebecca's Country Fried Chicken on the same station.

And it was great.