In Autumn 2001 the 45s went on tour with the Cosmic Rough Riders and then Shed Seven before releasing the first single Something Real. I kept this diary so that you could live the minutiae like I did.

There is a DVD of the tour which is available at the 45sStore - buy your copy today!

Day 1 - 30th September 2001

Aberystwyth University

I suspect we were doomed from about 1pm, on account of still being in London. I should warn you now, those of you prone to disappointment, that we (the 45s) are not going to make it to the gig tonight. We're going to try though, and it's going to be close. These things happen, you're just going to have to accept that, like I did, OK?

Tonight we're supposed to be supporting the Cosmic Rough Riders and the Electric Soft Parade, with whom we did a couple of dates a fortnight ago. We've got five more dates with them and then we start the Shed Seven tour at the end of the week. It's an interesting combination; the Cosmics are doing their first headlining tour having released their first album and had a couple of Top 40s, and Shed Seven's career is enjoying something of a revival after a few years in the wilderness (although I suspect the Sheds are still younger than the Cosmics).

We're visiting a lot of venues on the Cosmics tour that we ourselves headlined at earlier this year. The major difference this time is that people are actually coming to the gigs. Myself, I consider this unprofessional, because if the room is full of people, there's that much less room for the music. So, although it is interesting to see the same venues in a different light (ie. full of people, gig finished by 8.30), it will be even better to start the Shed Seven tour at the kind of venue where the band arrives in a giant Nightliner, you get your own dressing room which doesn't smell of sheep dip and isn't festooned with innumerable stickers from other bands upon which yet other bands have appended such slogans as "are gay", "are shit" and of course the simple, classic "cunts". In such company our shoestring operation can seem out of place. Where is the tour manager? The roadies? The driver? The monitor engineer? The Merchie guy and band o' gals? Well, it's very simple - these people cost money, and we haven't got any. (We spent the entire tour budget busting Stephen out of that secure psychiatric unit. But that's another story.) So we're running a crack five-man incursion team, each with a unique skill and their own special moves :

Lead Singor (aka Matthew Wonder, aka Captain Unusual, aka Matt Hales) - charismatic but maverick, he sings the songs and, with The Drummor, drives the van. He also acts as first point of contact with the shadowy figure known as "Admiral Nelson". This individual oversees all 45s activities, although it should be noted he is not able to ensure that 45s actually fufill their obligations. Or remember to take everything. Nobody is able to ensure that, I'm afraid.

Bassman (aka Stephen Cousins, aka The Master of Say aka Pete Shinnocus) - small but powerful, he plays the bass and provides the gadgets. He is also responsible for reading Internet magazines, providing in-van entertainment and the dissemination of 45s propaganda via the world wide web. He has created a mobile command centre which can beam pictures of midtour 45s to anywhere in the world (although this only acts as a carrier wave for his more sinister aim of Global Stephen Proliferation).

The Drummor (aka MVB, aka Matt Vincent-Brown) - tall, curly, passionate, "The Big Man in the Big Van". Takes the wheel whenever it is relinquished by Matthew Wonder, and beats the drums into a pulp every night, venting the towering rage suppressed each day after enduring the hours in the others' company. Perhaps if you knew them you would understand.

The Italian (aka FOH engineer, aka Tony Perretta, aka The Critic) - Short but big- mouthed, Tony mixes the sound for 'his boys'. As such he is the audience's best friend and should be cherished and patted on the head at every opportunity. A shrewd judge of character, he hates everybody. He assumes special responsibility for bad jokes, and is an invaluable member of the team who, in a crisis, is first to offer advice. He is also the only one who has an agreed fee per night. But rarely receives it.

And finally Ben (aka Benjamin Hales (pron. "Binyamin A-lesh"), aka "Outstanding guitarist" (The Independent)) - your chronicler. My duties are restricted to ensuring the gear is packed away tidily and emptying the bins. My presence is only tolerated by the bigger boys because I have a photographic memory for their amusing comments, and it flatters their rampant egos to have me mythologise them. It's not a bad life.

Anyway, for various reasons we are not able to leave home before 2pm. By the time we reach Chelsea we are already vigorously discussing the likelihood of making it to the gig. A few calls establish that everyone else is running late, which makes us feel that we're really part of something, and inspires us to continue our journey rather than say, going home right now and starting again properly tomorrow. This proves to be a poor decision, but being lovely well-intentioned-but-inept lads we feel that it is better to suffer in vain than feel guilty at leisure. We are a mere 40 miles from Aberystwyth when we finally give up on the gig and stop in Rhyadder for some dubious chips. We are travelling through the middle of Wales, which I'm sure is a beautiful when it is not dark and stormy, but for us it is restricted to the tiny patch of windy road lit by the headlights while the supercharged rain twats down upon us.

Finally we arrive in the beautiful seaside town of Aberystwyth. Electing not to go to the venue to see the Cosmics, we head to the hotel which is conveniently located on the seafront. It's like the elements are having a party; rain, wind, waves. It's wet. The hotel is constructed in such a way that every room is at a different level, and we suspect that whoever owns it is an inveterate hoarder of furniture. Each room has about seven beds which you have to climb over various sofas to get to, and we even find another bed inside a wardrobe. Eventually, lulled by the caress of the waves we succumb to oblivion, like five baby mice trapped in a spider web.

Day 2 - 1st October

Fleece & Firkin, Bristol

We awake refreshed and salty, decide not to discuss yesterdays' events and just take it for granted that we're in Aberystwyth for no reason. Take a stroll to the castle and play army. You know. We decide to take a route towards Bristol along the coast so that we can look at the windswept trees and sheep. Notice that there is a big crack in the windscreen, to go with the broken steering, worn prop-shaft bearing, un-installable stereo and over-rich tuning. Stop off in Aberaeron, which Steve tells me was the inspiration for that Roxy Music song. Apparently the nearest windscreen place is in Aberystwyth, so I buy some biscuits instead and we head for Bristol.

On the way two remarkable events occur; we stop at a garage where there is a vacuum cleaner machine which gives you a choice of fragrances to fill your car with, including Lilac, Lavender, Leather, Tobacco, Egg, Blood, and Sperm (OK, not the last three, but tobacco?). And Something Real was played on Radio One by Mark and Lard. Naturally we were unaware of this because of the uninstallable stereo, but everyone's mobiles suddenly rang with the news. It's a good sign.

We arrive in Bristol IN VERY GOOD TIME, which allows us to get in a good few hours mooching around before the Carnival of Soundchecks. We are bottom of the bill which means that our name is written in the tiniest writing and we get the merest dregs of a soundcheck, often while the punters arrive, and sometimes during the gig itself. Don't get me wrong, this is to be expected. It is still much better to be playing to lots of people than have a luxurious soundcheck. Perhaps one day we will get both (and some young band will be forced to suffer. Ha ha).

Before the soundcheck is the strange hanging-around-with-the-other-bands time. We haven't seen the Cosmics and the Soft Parade for a couple of weeks, and we don't know them that well anyway, so there's a lot of mutual eyebrow raising and "all right mate"- ing. It's a smelly world of ambitious and competitive alpha-males. Each band is a little gang, and although there is a pecking order, everyone also knows that bands are on different trajectories. In six months it could be us headlining and them supporting, so everyone tries to be nice, however unnatural it may feel. It also helps that the bands are good.

The gig is fraught but quite successful. I break a string on the first chord, which is always a good way to begin. Some strings you can get along without, but this was a G, which is right there in the middle. Last time I played at the Fleece and Firkin my guitar was stolen, so perhaps there is a jinx on the place.

Day 3 - 2nd October

Hop & Grape, Manchester

I have injured my elbow carrying my amp onto the stage (Ben Hales uses a two channel Sound City 120w amplifier running through a Marshall 4x12 speaker cabinet - endorsements and sponsorship deals welcome). I lost my balance, toppled, my naked elbow was sandpapered by the pebbledashed edge of a monitor. Now I have blood on my jeans, which is a shame because I don't have many trouser options. You see how a simple error (Lord knows I should have waited for someone to help me with the heavy lifting) can have unforeseen and far-reaching consequences. What if a shark (or possibly a cougar), driven wild at the scent of the blood on my jeans were to hunt me down? Or the bloodstains implicate me in a crime I did not commit? What if the stains don't come out because I can't get to a washing machine within two weeks?

Matt hits his head on a pillar immediately before the gig. It doesn't seem to affect his performance, but he is later seen pulling hard on a push door. "Admiral Nelson" has come to see us, so once he has performed the thankless task of distributing flyers and cards we take him to Chinatown so that he can fill our heads with intoxicating thoughts and dreams...

For those concerned about the windscreen, we got it done this morning.

Day 4 - 3rd October

Day off, Manchester

We just went to see a movie called "The Faust and the Furious", which is all about this guy who sells his soul to be a streetcar racer.

Isn't a streetcar like a tram? That would be exciting.

A streetcar named Desiree.

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