The Princess Charlotte, Leicester

How's this for bittersweet irony of fate, more acute than anything Guy de Maupassant could have conceived of, the silly old sod. I changed into my other pair of jeans today, relieved at no longer having to face my own mortality in the bloodstains on my knees, and once at the venue I KNELT ON SOME CHEWING GUM. Bitches.

My colleagues are now all complaining of flu symptoms, as is Alex from Soft Parade, but in my view this is because they are weak and babies and not strong like me, for I feel great and this will continue because I will not become ill. I have the constitution of an ox. Or a fox.

It's our last date with the Cosmics tonight, and I enjoyed it the most. No chance of a party because we're in Glasgow tomorrow and so we're heading to Skipton to break up the journey. I guess we'll see them again some day.

In my experience, there are two things that touring is particularly good for. Firstly amassing large amounts of beer, and secondly I fu'n looov you ye bas'rds yur m bes' fu'n frnds inna fuckin wld . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Day 7 - 6th October

Barrowlands, Glasgow.

Disastrous gig tonight, which is a shame when we had such high hopes. It's the first date of the Shed Seven tour, and everyone's been telling us that a sold out Saturday night at the Barrowlands is as good as it gets. But not for us unfortunately. It starts off well enough - we arrive in Glasgow in good time and set out to do a couple of interviews at local radio stations ("So, 'The 45s'. Interesting name. What's that all about?") before loading in at Barrowlands, which is the first venue I've ever played at which doubles as a market. Inside it's fabulous, fabulously enormous, and we are duly excited.

The problems begin when we get onstage to set up. Ben Hales' vintage Sound City 120w head has developed a fault which means that it makes a farting sound with the slightest vibration, and the stage is very bouncy. It's not affecting the sound of the guitar, but you can't help feeling that sudden-cutting-out-or-exploding mid-gig is imminent. Luckily Shed Seven's crew are very accommodating and Oli, their guitar tech lets me borrow one of the Sheds' heads in case of crisis. In the meantime, this being the first show, there is considerably more to do to get the PA set up for us, and there is a lot of difficulty getting the stage miked up and coming out in the right places. As we can't begin to get sounds until the channels are sorted, there's nothing we can do except watch the clock zoom towards 7pm when the doors open. At about five to seven we finally start soundchecking, and then at ten past, with the first hundred punters already in the room, we get told to stop. The sound on stage is terrible. We're underprepared and nervous. It's the least effective soundcheck we've had in five years. It's not the way we hoped to start.

We have not had a chance to talk to the lighting guy, and so we come onstage in a blue wash that remains throughout the gig. The room is full, but we can't see beyond the first few rows. MVB clicks into Walk round the corner. There's something seriously wrong with the guitar sound - it's completely different from the soundcheck, thin and screechy. What the fuck has happened to my amp? Everything in my monitor except my voice has become painfully loud. Stomping on a pedal to go into the guitar solo, the entire pedalboard loses power and the guitar cuts completely. Instead of thrilling guitar pyrotechnics, I spend the solo franticly checking my leads. Matt helpfully covers with a peculiar synth solo. I discover a loose connection. I can't do anything about and wiggle it until the power comes back. Every time I hit a pedal I have the terrible fear I'm going to disappear again. The guitar is still sounding horrible and I am constantly fiddling with the amp. Nothing about what the knobs are telling me explains the shitty sound I'm hearing.

It is in the middle of Fast as I can that I suddenly realise that it's not the amp, but the fact that I have had the Wah-Wah pedal switched on the whole time. The Wah acts like a big tone control that allows you to modulate the sound of the guitar [try it with your stereo. Simply play a record and wiggle the tone knob. Look, it's going "wah-wah"] and where I've got it is filtering out all of the chunkiness. As soon as I turn it off all the extra bass I've added comes roaring in. My top E string breaks. It would all be OK, but there are two thousand people watching.

Somehow we get to the end. My head is pounding from the volume of the monitors. Someone very musical throws a pint of beer over me right on the last beat of Got to tell her. We scramble everything off stage. Tony emerges ashen-faced from front of house and says that he has finally done the worst sound of his life.

On the other hand, we're told, the audience loved it. Apparently if you're shit they throw bricks.

Day 8 - 7th October

Lancaster Sugarhouse

That was more like it. There was a lot more time for soundcheck today, and it was immeasureably better than last night. There were even tea-making facilities. My amp is still making its farty sounds, but I decide to risk it. We've arranged for the lights for the rest of the tour, and so it feels like a proper show. My guitar is fantastically loud but hey, I like it that way. We rock Lancaster. I am very happy.

As there is no dressing room for us, the venue let us use the promoter's office. Afterwards Matt and I play Sacking Each Other. You know.

It's a day off tomorrow, and Stephen is going to Liverpool to see his family, (sorry ladies, he's taken) so we drop him at the station and mine the wet Lancastrian streets until we strike curry.

Day 9 - 8th October

Day off, Lancaster

We have many tasks to perform today, not the least of which is sleeping for as long as possible. We take a trip to Morcambe where there is apparently a music shop which might repair my farting head. It turns out they can't repair it, but are happy to sell me another one. Much as I would love to indulge the salesman and buy a brand new Marshall Triple Lead, I go for the runty second-hand Laney they have hidden away. It isn't pretty, but at least it won't explode. Sadly there is no time to get the stereo installed. Tomorrow perhaps?

Matt is visibly suffering from Illness, and looks like a little ghost with a sore throat. I, on the other hand, am collossally healthy, which just goes to show that this genetics stuff is all bollocks.

In the evening we visit a little bar which provides books and pamphlets for its patrons' reading pleasure. I leaf through a copy of 'Behavioural Effects of Canine Castration'. Interesting. Go to the cinema to see Moulin Rouge (it means 'Red Moulin'). It is passionate and desperate, and makes me miss my baby.

Day 10 - 9th October

Middlesborough Town Hall

I have begun to develop an irrational fear that one day when I unzip my washbag, my razor will have shaved my toothbrush.

The car stereo place hasn't got time to install the uninstallable stereo today, but we do get some washing done. Stephen returns from his children looking haggard, and Matt is still feeling rough. We travel to Middlesborough and explore the Town Hall.

"It's great having a laminate," says Stephen. "You can go places the general public can't". It's true. If you've never been in a position to hang a laminate around your neck and push through double doors guarded by a yellow jersey-ed security man, you haven't lived. Speaking of laminates, I learned today that the technical name for the bit of string you hang your laminate on is "lanyard". Some grizzled tour-folk you meet have luxury lanyards that are an inch thick and have a special clip. They are their badge of honour, and should their lanyards be removed, they will have to forfeit their 'CREW' t-shirts. Such tragic individuals have very little chance of rejoining society and usually end up crewing in provincial lap-dancing clubs for spirits and breath-mints. I realise now that I have unknowingly possessed an entry-level lanyard for some time, which came with a laminate for a Rolling Rock gig, but it's at home (MVB shrewdly brought his, and Tony is old-time crew and thus has one from his no-doubt large selection). Earlier today I had bought some bootlaces from Woolworths to hang my laminate on, and offered the others to Matt and Steve for this purpose. Once we'd arrived at the venue, I was showing my new head to Oli, Shed guitar tech. He was shocked to spy my bootlace. "Here, let me get you a proper lanyard for that," he said, went immediately to the lanyard drawer in his flight case and pulled out a fine specimen for me. No one's going to stop me now. I've got an Access All Areas laminate hanging from a proper lanyard. I'm Personnel on this motherfucking tour, and you're going to let me in. Yeah.

Just before we go on, Keith (a CREW shirt-wearer) accidentally touches a broken plug and briefly becomes electric. This trips the PA circuit-breakers and blows up the bulb in his torch. Everything goes very quiet. Fortunately both Keith and the PA can be revived and we can get on.

The Middlesborough crowd are very friendly and the gig feels great. My new head acquits itself perfectly well. The only problem is Matt's ragged throat gives out and he is reduced to croaking and dancing. The crowd don't mind, for Tony hands out many free CDs.

We are invited to the Shed's dressing room for the aftershow party, where we chat with various Sheds while being interrupted by space-eyed Shed fans. Rick's throat is fucked too. Perhaps this tour is going to go instrumental.

Day 11 - 10th October

Newcastle University

Matt's throat is worrying us today, most of all him. There isn't much of a show without it. We spend most of the day at the University because there is a lot of promotion to do. Matt and I do an interview with Tyne Tees TV. Matt proves to be a little unmanagable, and I am forced to be the sensible one who gives polite, broadcastable answers. After that it's student radio, student papers, local press. Matt goes to Metro Radio (local radio station) for an interview with someone who earns his respect by being interested in the band and music in general.

The room is wonderfully packed tonight, and despite our plans to take it easy for Matt's sake, the audience are so up for it that we can't help but respond. A guy at the front is yelling "the lead guitarist's a legend!". I put my foot up on the monitor for him and break another G. Matt paces himself and makes it through. The cheering is long and loud.

Sometimes I think we're the best band in the world.

Day 12 - 11th October

Hull University

Now the days are becoming the same. Wake up. Travel. Food somewhere. Get to town. Search for gig. Prepare for soundcheck. Soundcheck. Sit in dressing room. Do gig. Delight crowd. Fail to delight Tony. Pack up. Load van. Find more food. Talk shit. Find hotel. Shower. Sleep. Repeat as necessary.

On the way to Hull we stop at the Pershore monument where Steve takes pictures and MVB pats some dogs. From one side you can see only blue sky and scudding clouds through immense Grecian pillars. It's like you're floating in the sky on a set from a Terry Gillingham movie.

The rest of my life is outtakes from Spinal Tap.