I’ve never been mistaken for a singer before. Most people seem to know instinctively that I’m chronically unable to hold a note.

And so you could have knocked me down with a feather when someone in a coffee shop mistook Stephanie and I for a singing duo supposed to be playing at a local venue that night.  

Not us I said.

But you two look like the picture and your moustache is the same as the one on the promo material, we were told

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It was the last day of my December Mojo Mission in the U.K. I was driving on the M4 in the late afternoon, making my way towards Heathrow airport for my journey back home to the states. The sky was darkened by a storm, the wind was whipping, and rain was slashing down as my windshield wipers struggled to keep up.  I had left the Marlborough area in plenty of time, joking as I did that something always went a little haywire so this time I was ready for it. So far all was going smoothly and if it continued to do so, I would be settled in the airport with time to get some work done before boarding my plane.

Singing to the music, I did as the SatNav instructed and took the exit that would lead to the M25 (all of which I am familiar with now, but hadn’t the faintest idea of then) came around the sweeping onramp, picked up speed, changed lanes to get a better handle on forward momentum when, BAM! The loudest sound I’d ever heard occurred, it was instantly followed by a skidding wobble.

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The thought of breaking a journey on the British motorway system isn’t an enthralling one. In fact it can cause quite a few people to blow a gasket. The reason for that is a phenomenon called the Motorway Service Area. The UK highway network is dotted with Motorway Services and they are regulated by law because drivers need places where they can break-up long journeys a drink and a hot meal.

It’s argued Services are needed to keep motorists safe to drive. All well and good but whenever I visit one of these roadside malls I’m amazed how dreary these roadside malls can be; despite all the bright lights and hoarding. If only there were something more possible???

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I have a confession to make. I am a bibliophile. I dare say the rest of the Mojo team are with me on this one.

Books. We love them. We read them. We write them. Honest to goodness real books. The kind you can hold in your hand, feel the weight, smell the pages, and luxuriate in the words. Time spent in bookstores and libraries is an indescribably treat. In today’s world of electronic devices and technology, the printed word is under threat. We at Bohemian Mojo do our best to support local book vendors and reading resources. It’s one small way of preserving history.

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Lord it blew. How it blew! 

The gravel hard rain had stopped but the wind was still pushing us here and there as we scurried along the harbour side looking for somewhere to eat. And then the Cornish storm literally pushed us into the doorway of what, at first glance, seemed to be a whitewashed cottage on the quayside. But there was a menu posted in the doorway and, hopeful, we stumbled out of the gale into a hearty welcome. We’d found Outlaw’s Fish Kitchen and we were about to experience an assault on our senses to rival the weather’s blast outside. 

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It’s harvest!! The drone of combines fills the air late into the night and the small village roads are filled with tractors and farm equipment coming and going. There is a general sense of busyness bordering on excitement as people discuss the weather and the condition of the surrounding fields and crops. For a city girl from the states it is all new and I immediately feel caught up with a sense of wonder at the process of it all.

I have grown to love watching the fields as they grown and change. Barley is my favorite with its amber waves blowing in the breeze. It looks like flowing gold as it reflects the afternoon sun.

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