Following Fish (ex-Marillion)'s first solo UK tour through the Scottish Highlands and down across the north of England and the midlands to Hammersmith, I subconsciously subjected myself to a concentrated desensitisation programme.  Sandwiched between the stage and a capacity crowd of coca cola swilling kids in Ullapool Village Hall seemed a fairly safe start and ecstasy overcame anxiety by the time we reached London.  At a string of ever more intense shows in venues of rapidly increasing capacity any residual vulnerability was engulfed by a wave of enthusiastic anticipation and joy.

Magic Marmots (Mayerhofn, Austria - September 1994)
After such a long break I wondered whether I would be back to square one with regard to foreign travel. I had long since dispensed with the need for Valium but the prospect of flying without a crutch seemed pretty scary. Initially extremely nervous, I was amazed by the continued potency of those tried and tested in-flight strategies. My companion's calm composure also worked wonders as did some squashy orange stress balls!

The four stage Hintertux chair lift near Mayerhofn provided a far stiffer test of courage.  If I just shut my eyes I could pretend to be elsewhere ... and miss the view. I already knew that my vertigo stemmed from awareness of a drop behind me. If I sat back to slope and distracted myself by spotting the official tourist board marmots perched in their prime spots then our airy perch promised panoramas not paranoia.

I'm Not A Child (Walking in Majorca - September 1995)
The next step towards my rapidly resurfacing American dream was a solo trip aboard. A two centre walking package in Majorca offered the opportunity for a short solo flight before linking up with an organised group. With no trains timed to arrive before check in I left home late the previous evening to make the early morning departure.  Sleep largely eluded me as I curled up on the concourse at Manchester Airport, rucksack and hand luggage clutched close by.

No details of the flight appeared on the board.  Unknown to me the obscure east European airline shown on my itinerary had gone bankrupt a couple of weeks earlier.  Thankfully someone saw fit to transfer me onto another, delayed flight.  However, once we took off, the actual journeys were so uneventful I cannot even recall them now.  Pandemonium at Palma airport provoked some panic though.  Milling masses in far too small a space and bags from multiple flights bundled together on the carousel compounded the confusion.  I'm told the terminal has now been modernised to a capacity able to cope with multitudes of package punters.

All in all I was delighted that I sailed through a shaky start and various other potential flash points - in particular unmet expectations with regard to provision of vegetarian food and the cloying desire of some group members to mother a solo traveller - with little more than occasional irritation.