I have reached the stage of the touring year where each morning I wake up uncertain of where I am and what day it is.
Waking in Woodbridge on Tuesday, I was in Manchester on a Friday. In Hull on Thursday, I was at home on a Sunday. I am still arriving in the right place at the right time, but maybe that will change in December.
I had a lovely night in Shoreham-by-Sea at Chapter 34 bookshop, having spent the afternoon in the Vintage Emporium with my friend Katherine searching through their extensive range of old postcards and photographs. We love finding old scrawls on the other side of images of Corfe Castle or a family under a parasol at Camber Sands. Something like, “Please don’t tell Hans anything I told you, Love Lily” or “I tried a new perm that I thought would suit you” will ensure purchase.
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After the bookshop, we went to Shoreham’s famous pub The Welly where I bumped into Attila the Stockbroker. It was a spoken word night and I was with Orbital’s Phil Hartnoll, so we took to the stage to perform my poem, Lazarus Beats, about an Orbital gig. Paul played the music he composed for from his phone. We were a Sleaford Mods tribute act in waiting.
I love those impromptu moments when a quiet drink after a gig suddenly becomes another gig, it lets out a little of the raw energy that is left jiggling after the previous showing off. There is always a little fizz left over.










