Flew to Vienna via Manchester, Jodrell Bank conspicuous from the air. Vienna was surprisingly hot, hotter still when I found myself in a square somewhere looking for the bus stop I needed to get to the village where the Guitar Craft weekend was being held, and couldn’t find it. I’d missed it and had to find my way to a railway station and get a train to a nearby village, where one of the Crafties picked me up. This experience taught me that my German is poorer than I thought, and my navigation skills even poorer.
The weekend was in what seemed to be a retreat centre or hippy farm of some kind. It had been devastated by a flood two days before, when a nearby stream burst its banks, destroying the road in the process. The course organisers had spent the day assisting the staff to clear mud from the meeting rooms and bedrooms. By the time I got there, very late, there was nothing worse than a slight damp smell inside.