Day off, Manchester

Tonight we went to see Amelie. There's a film I wish I could live in forever, so long as it could be me at the end riding the bike and my girl holding on tight behind me, in the fresh throes of new love.

Day 14 – 13th October

Manchester Academy

For the first time tonight I am truly aware of the size of the audience. It's quite light in the venue, and it's just this big flat room with 1,800 people standing in it. Quite daunting when you think about it.

Among the thousands was Steve's son Hallum, who is fifteen years old. He seemed to enjoy it, although he said it was "noisy". No, what am I thinking? He's actually three.

Day 15 – 14th October

Birmingham Academy

If, as my mother used to say, only boring people get bored, then I must be the most tedious person on the planet.

We have a moment of excitement on the M6 when we discover we have a puncture. The wheel nuts are extremely stiff and it takes three of us and lots of grunting to loosen them. We manage it, however and are very proud of ourselves.

Oh my god! I forgot to mention. Yesterday MVB got up very early and got the uninstallable stereo installed. Can you believe it? Nothing can possibly go wrong now…………….

Day 16 – 15th October

Leeds University

Matt's little earphone monitors didn't work tonight.

Day 17 – 16th October

Day off, London

Day 18 – 17th October

Rock City, Nottingham

Ah, Rock City, where Rock lives. The dressing rooms feel fungal. Luckily we are invited home for tea very kindly by some nearby relatives. I find myself tired and fretful, as if part of my psyche believed the tour would be over once I got back to London. Of course it didn't help that when I returned I found my castle besieged by Suitors, and little Telemachus (now grown to manhood) didn't recognise me.

Day 19 – 18th October

The Roadmenders, Northampton

If only this were a U2 diary, then I could call it 'Postcards from the Edge'. Eh?!!!!.

But it isn't.

The nearest restaurant to the hotel where we wake up this morning is an abattoir-esqe Harry Ramsden's. We find our way in, five young troubadours, to be confronted by an enormous party of Very Old People. They are filling every nook and cranny, their tables festooned with balloons and bunting. But all is silent. Something is terribly wrong here. We turn and leave. Cheering and yelling erupt behind us.

We played in the bar at the Roadmenders in July. It was the kind of gig where there are fifty people there at the beginning of the set, and three at the end. We could see the barman on the phone to someone while we were playing, laughing and gesturing at the empty bar. Tonight is more successful than that, at least, although the stage is very cramped and there is some weird feedback throughout the gig that sounds like the foghorn of a ghostly ship.