I sometimes regret saying what a week that was.
Having dropped young Tom off at the airport not expecting to see him for weeks, I get a call last Wednesday week from Richard Tognetti, over in California at the Ojai Music Festival.
Get over here Mick, it's bigger than Ben Hur and you should be here to present your film.
Bugger me you come up with some crap Rich, are you sure?
So a rapid realisation that my passport had run out had me running around like a blue arsed fly trying to sort that, entry, tickets and blow me down if I wasn't on the same flight as Tom one week later.
Red eyed and bewildered I hopped a bus north to Ventura, then a taxi to Ojai and straight into a massive concert, watched waves of rapturous applause bathe Richard and the ACO, and came to the stunning realisation that they are even more incredible than I thought, and then, near collapse, had to get a rest. I was staying with Richard and Satu, at a lovely house right on a point not far from Rincon, and when I spotted little two foot peelers up the point I thought, where's a board, where's a board?
In the shed a whole rack as it turned out so into the wetty (yes I did throw it in) and out for an hour and a half loll about in lieu of a sleep, had a pod of dolphins hang out with old fatboy, plus a seal who looked at me rather strangely when I said 'Oi!' Caught four or five nice little peelers on the red nine six too.
Better than a sleep, then back in for the night performances, more of the same btilliance, look up the festival. The line up was the cream of the music world. Then Sunday, my turn came as I presented the film, packed house, turned away 50-80 I'm told, and a lot of renewed interest. Where it goes I'm not sure but it gave me renewed hope for the sequel we are planning next year.
Then a big surprise the next day as I went south, surprised the ratbag son in his luxury skate dood pad with jacuzzi and pool, met his World Champ buddy and saw he was as happy as a pig in a big pile of shite, though he did say 'what the hell are you doing here Dad?' as I had given him no indication I was showing up.
Sneaker old bugger aren't I?
Then more trains, planes and automobiles, all the way back to good old OZ.
Big Week. Knackered.
Pics: Concerts, boards, queues to see my film and young Tom ( I hate smiling at cameras) with the champ, Brian Aragon. Nice chap too.