No wild post-show outings, nothing racier than a cool Pils or two, and never before singing . No tour bus bouncing to country-rock screamers - only the decorum of the Inter-City Express and flat skies, flat lands, a novel and a notebook.
Seven o'clock start, six hours on the Bummelzug or "Slouch-train", and five episodes of a pleasant railway comedy drama that is German through-and-through.
A thousand-mile journey begins with a single step, so you might as bloody well get that first step right. Fingers crossed the weather's fair, too. But even if you do and it is, there's no guarantee of safety or success.
It was the kind of dilemma that I never like to face at 4:30am on a Sunday morning: suit or no suit? It now seems trivial but to my bleary morning mind I felt like my founding principles were on the line. What it boiled down to was: which version of me will they get in Basel?