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The Iberian Horseshoe — A Journey

Part I. North West

Baker Street

Steve Porter

Global Fiction

First publication: February 2006

http://badosa.com/n250-04

The saxophone intro flows into the bloodstream like a double shot of vodka, luring the drinker into a false sense of security. Gerry Rafferty’s lyrics comfort the drinker in his melancholy.

Light in your head and dead on your feet

You drink the night away and forget about everything

So the drinker has another one. Then fantasy takes over.

He’s got this dream about buying some land

He’s gonna give up the booze and the one night stands

The saxophone fills him with another shot. Feeling good, why stop? Delusion tells him to keep going, providing further encouragement that everything will be okay.

And when you wake up it’s a new morning

The sun is shining it’s a new morning

But in the morning things are not that way. The drinker has holes in his memory. Who did he meet? What did he say? Was there any trouble? Feeling shaky, he panics and picks up where he left off the night before. But things will get better; it’s still only a matter of time. A better job, a beautiful young spouse and a fair-haired child, would all reduce the need to drink.

Another year and then you’d be happy

Just one more year and then you’d be happy

At least the drinker has friends meantime. People who will lend him cash. After all, he would do the same for them. Fellows who understand what it’s like to put up with nagging when you come home late or not at all. Mind you, nobody wants to overdo the talk about personal relationships. Football and racing are safer conversation topics. Remember, keep the lid on the box. Walk out into the night.

This city desert makes you feel so cold

It’s got so many people but it’s got no soul

Maybe what’s needed is a new home in a different place. Palm trees, a few rays of sunshine, a place where the natives smile and say hello. The saxophone oozes out into the night. One last shot to ease the worries.

And it’s taken so long to find out

When you thought it held everything

And on it goes until the music fades and all that’s left is the sound of the tambourine rattling like a snake. Even in the darkest gutter under the blackest star some find a way out.