Simon Spillett

It was one of those weeks last week when I found myself away from home over several nights, fulfilling engagements across the country, seeing far too much of the inside of a soulless Premier Inn and by necessity forced to find something to do during the off-hours. This is a situation not unknown to freelance jazzers. As such I have spent a fair few hours in towns and cities the length and breadth of the UK, rolling in near to the close of business and left with little alternative but to wander about waiting to go about my work when everyone else around me is going home from theirs.

It quickly dawned on me that the "enjoyment" of this peculiar pass-time (and it is just that) greatly varies from location to location.  For example, over the past few weeks I've been variously bored, charmed and perplexed by the places in which I've ligged about before my gigs. When the logistics mean overnight stays are part of the deal, things become even more profound.

This week I spent a very enjoyable day in Norwich, which I'd never visited before, with the obligatory stops for lunch and coffee as well as the ready chance to spend more money than I was about to earn on the gig that night (I found a jazz CD shop with a sale on) , before moving onto Coventry. The former I liked enormously, with its blend of historic character and modernity (it's a great shopping centre and Debenhams are considerably the richer for my visit) but Coventry, with its 1960s concrete shopping malls seemed woefully dated, even with all the latest outlets squeezed in, like a writ-large anachronism.

Hour after hour of foot-fall in Britain's shopping centres (Dartford to Darlington, I've shoe-horned myself into many a multi-storey car park) has led me to a rather alarming conclusion. A few years ago the press started a Grumpy Old Man frenzy about how the UK was being overrun by American-style coffee houses (and yes, an Americano is basically a big ordinary coffee with a silly name) but my little road trips of recent weeks have led me to believe that in fact it's not Starbucks, Costa, Cafe Nero or any of the others who are slowly but steadily taking over the nations high streets but Waterstones the book shop. Did I really count three in Norwich?

For those nay-sayers who worry about the decrease in literacy, this can only be good news.

However, by far the greatest revelation occurred not in the town but out on the road. Bastion of roadside cuisine for several generation of travelling musicians, Little Chef recently underwent a culinary facelift under the watchful eye of a TV chef whose name (and hairstyle - that's generally how I recognise them) currently escapes me. Having not seen the programme I wasn't sure if this transformation was for real, or merely for a bit of fly-on-the-wall TV of the kind that keeps Hugh Fearnley-Whatshisface and the others busy between book signings and endorsements, but alighting at one familiar off-road stop in Essex I was surprised to see that the traditional menu was but a memory. Gone was the wall-to-wall stodge-up which has fueled many a jazzers journey through the arterial routes of this land (whilst ironically doing the opposite to his or her body), replaced by a far more balanced range of comestibles (afternoon tea with scones and jam!) and I suspect  the revamp may have even extended to the staff as I was greeted as "Sir" - something that I only usually encounter with the uncious people in my bank.