I once went from Birmingham to Norwich by coach. Have you ever done that? It takes seventeen hours, stopping everywhere. Bicester and Peterborough and, I don’t know, fucking Oldham or something. It isn’t a trip I would willingly make again. Don’t get me wrong, Norwich is a lovely city, but it would be quicker to walk. Plus, have you seen the leg room on a National Express coach? It’s a bloody disgrace.
For some reason, I remember that on that coach journey I listened to Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot on a loop. I had other (I want to say cds, but possibly tapes) with me but the quiet, sombre, clicking angst of Sparklehorse suited the flat, sun-baked landscape of Norfolk very nicely. At one point on the journey we got stuck by a field that had, I assume, been left fallow. The soil was dust dry and flecked with the occasional green plant. We were there for an hour or so, maybe five minutes. It all fitted together nicely.