It’s the cooling evening of the afternoon of the gig of the morning that started the night before. Crawling home with a broken voice after five f***ing hours on stage – 45 songs and the punters wanted it loud, so we turnednd up the PA and just rocked and dropped – and now it is over 100 degrees farenheit outside; with no air con and a weak electric fan just doing its best to struggle through. This is searing wet sweaty T shirt weather where it’s rolling off you like rain and you’re wring out yout armpits. This is all those smokey, black and white New York summers;. This is hot town summer in the city where you want a Lovin’s Spoonful of Arctic weather.
In this small town so far from the sea, we are suffocating and just want to head for the beach.
Sitting in the semi darkeness of shuttered up windows, I salm on some music – Lou Reed’s Coney Island – the never ending riff is in tune with the never ending day and all I want to do is head to the beach or take a saunter round Luna Park.
Here in my corner of small town France, the funfair has arrived for its annuel two wek sojourn – Luna Park is in town; so get on down kids for some fun, because when this is over, France closes down for the summer.
This afternoon, a saunter round our local Luna Park, bus rest assured baby, this sure as hell,isn’t Coney Island.
Photos on Luna Park in Bourges, the name of the funfair that has been around at this time of year for every year for as long as anyone can remember.