So I'm on the plane, yeah, usual shit checking in the gueeeeeeeetars and the eeeeeeefex, and they're all like, "Is this a bomb?" and I'm like "No way man, it's a double distortion and an AB box and this little Zoom unit that I'm mostly using for reverbs cos the delay time is like, 300 milliseconds top. It's just for touring, yeah, I've got this sweet little Lex at home, you know, that does 1500ms easy. And you can tap it", and they're like, "Is this a bomb?" and I say "No man, but it's DA BOMB, if you know what I mean", and then it's like, full cavity searches and attourneys and 2 years in prison, if it weren't for my medic alert bracelet that excuses me from inappropriate humor, on account of the tourettes. On account of the touring.

So I'm on the plane, yeah, and the sky is like totally clear and you can look down and see Europe, the sun glinting off the Rhine, a dusting of snow like, hither and yon. Fields. Subsidies. Low milk prices. A federal superstate, man. Could see the whole motherfucking thing. It was beautiful. And then the slave chick came round and gave us cake, which was sweet. Sweet of her. But I guess she was just doing her job.

So we land at London, yeah, and by this time I'm a little the worse for wear because of the turbulence and the cake, but at least I didn't spill my tea on my manager the way this guy Matt did. That's why I only get water on planes, man. Shit happens. Stuff may shift in the overhead locker and fall down and knock your Bloody Mary into your lap, or some bald guy will climb over you on his way to the bathroom and he'll dislodge your daquiri and you'll be picking banana out of your cords for two weeks. Only get water on planes, man.

Yeah, so we get through passport control. You should see this guy Matt's passport photo, man. Looks like they pulled him out of a lake. The guy on the counter was one of these "nice perm!" jocular guys, but even he just raised his eyebrows. There was nothing more to say. Funny enough on its own. Kind of makes travelling hard, looking like a dead guy in your passport picture. Lot of people got to see it.

So we're on another plane and this time they give us these miniature carrots and a radish. It's like eating orange nuts. And a radish. And the sky is once again clear so you can see the whole of you know, the "Untied Kingdom". The "Brutish Isles". And it's true what they say, man, it looks like a patchwork quilt. And the people look like ants. But the people look like ants from close up too so I guess that's where that whole thing came from. And I'll tell you what else is weird, I had some shark the other week, and it tasted like chicken. So there's a lesson there about cliches, man.

Yeah, so we land at Newcastle airport, and there's snow everywhere, and I suddenly start to understand that I'm home again, and that I can no longer pretend to be American.

Day 2

Looks like I'm on tour again. If you'd like to know who I am and what I do, please look at this. It will help make things clearer. Done that? Back now? See what kind of friend you're dealing with? Then we can proceed.

This is the second tour this year, which is faintly mystifying. Perhaps it's better to think of it as one long two-part tour. My brother Matthew and I spent an enjoyable couple of weeks playing very quietly to chairbound audiences in religious and educational establishments. It was actually one of the most gratifying musical experiences of my life. Which makes me feel like we're going to pay for it on this tour.

The big idea is that this tour will be a noisy five-piece band bashing out the full-flavoured, dry-roasted sounds of Still Life to complement the more rarified atmosphere of the duo tour. This means that the venues are more smelly, and there is less room on the bus. But on the other hand, it means that we can make sweet music with three other fine players and create a giant widescreen soundscape full of subtle details and crunching power.

Hopefully you have taken a moment to meet Jim, Alonza and DW Price, and our 'crew', and have familiarised yourself with our aquafunctions. What we actually do and what we sound like is something you'll have to come and find out for yourself.

Yesterday was a success considering that we had to figure out how to cram everything on the stage for the first time. We'd had about three and a half days to rehearse with the band, and that was before we went to Germany for the weekend, so it wouldn't have been surprising if we went to play the first song and no one could remember it. But it was all right. We've mostly been working on epic prog-rock outros, and those worked out fine. Even if the rest of the song was a disaster.

Afterwards we discover that there are tiny televisions in our bunks. As I am climbing into my bunk I hit my head on it.

We've played the Academy 2 in Liverpool twice before, so it's like an unpleasant home from home. The audience is best described as "friendly" but "A Bit Gobby". The shower is located a mile from the venue in a small room with a broken window. But you're grateful when you find it.

Best thing about today is me and Matt are going to Manchester to perform on the Mark and Lard show on Radio 1. Mark and Lard have, happily, played records from all versions of our bands on their show, so it is great to finally meet them and find they are as charming and entertaining as you would hope. Although they do go on about the Shirehorses a bit.

By the time the gig comes around I'm feeling more tired than I've ever known before a gig and spend the night blearing around the stage making simple errors, like sitting down when I should be standing up and playing nice when I should be naaaaaasteeeeeeee.

Day 3

There is no room on the bus. We're overflowing with baggage. There's so much equipment and lights that peculiar items are seeping into the living area. Try not to sit on that clarinet, for example, and don't make tea in that precious Tibetan prayer bowl.

Speaking of equipment, our official main support band, Bell X1 arrived yesterday and unloaded a vast array of their own, which seemed to duplicate much of ours (apart from the Tibetan prayer bowl. And the log drum. And the pig-nosed psaltery). Word goes around that the other support band Kashmir will be bringing almost as much again. If the other venues are as small as this there will be no room for the audience at all. Happily, today we are supported only by Bell X1 and the relatively small Duke Special, who has also been travelling on the bus and supplying us with his unique brand of drunken madness.

There's something a bit strange about the gig to begin with, but then Matt figures out that no one apart from the front row can see him and pops his head up between songs to make contact with everyone else, which seems to warm them up a little.

The stage is so cramped I seem to hit my guitar on something every time I move, which makes for some spectacular detuning. Matt hit his head on the piano in Berlin. Perhaps he mentioned that?

Day 4

I was on holiday the other week - no please, I don't need your sympathy - and early one morning as I lounged by the pool in the Caribbean sunshine, I noticed that one of the arms had fallen off my glasses. Now, I don't tend to wear my glasses very much because I've got this condition (vanity) that means that I have to wear contact lenses. The lenses I use are rigid gas-permeable ones which you wear every day after a thorough cleansing (and for this reason I carry a substance with me called 'All in one Solution'. Would that there were such a thing for the World...). I can't have throw-away soft ones because my eyeballs are all squishy and bulge out into irregular shapes, making that whole thing about light rays focussing on the optic nerve a bit of a lottery. So every night I need to take my lenses out and wash them with the All in one Solution (would that I could wash away my Cares with such a liquid...) and put them in a little case, whereupon I unfold my trusty old glasses that ward off at least some of the enfolding blindness and go about my bedtime business. This ideally requires a stationary, hygienic area with clean running water and perhaps a mirror, and a pair of glasses to slip into. This is not easy to find when you're on tour. I have taken my lenses out in all manner of unlovely places, like vomit-flecked venue toilets, vomit-flecked service-station toilets, vomit-flecked car ferry toilets en route to Denmark. Why, just yesterday I dropped one of them into the washing up water on the bus and had to gently fish it out from among the soggy crumbs, cigarette ash and flecks of vomit at the bottom of the sink. I suppose we all have our crosses to bear. But now to add indignity to inconvenience, I have to put on glasses bound with electrical tape. You should see me when I stumble out of the bus in the morning with my special bed hair, looking for the shower. It's not pretty. But my worst fear is that it looks deliberate, like the bit of tape is the final touch of a 'look' I'm going for. I'd like to think that when I wash my hair and put in my lenses, it's like the Nutty Professor. But I'm still shunned by society.

A small picture of 'The Concrete Harmonium'
by Malcolm Buchanan-Dick which you can
see for free at the Wolverhampton City
Art Gallery.

Apparently the art lies not in any one object,
but in the lines of energy that pass from you,
the user, through the organ, to the devices.

My thanks to the Duke of Special for informing
me of its existence. Without his contribution,
you would never have seen this small picture.

Today we welcome Kashmir, from Denmark, to our tour. As promised they unload a prodigious amount of gear. When Bell X1 arrive the place looks like one of those music conventions they have at Wembley Arena where pretty ladies drape themselves over acres of guitar amps, keyboards, mixing desks, drum kits, glockenspiels, indestructible flight cases, semi-destroyed flight cases, guitars of all shapes and sexinesses, Tibetan prayer bowls, log drums, Pig-nosed psalterys. And lights. Thousands of heavy lights. And lots of grim-faced men with bulging biceps and a musty tang. And, in the case of Kashmir, regulation Scandibeards. Except there are no pretty ladies.

Day 5

The Leadmill. And with the Leadmill comes the two words that strike fear into any crew: Disco loadout. Immediately after the gig there comes a seedy indie disco for the youngsters to attend, and all of the equipment has to be packed away and wheeled out through the throngs of dancers. Being part-Roadie, I can sense the disquiet in the Roadie coup, but there's nothing much I can do for them short of stroking their beardy faces and speaking nonsense words in a soothing tone.

We're trying out a different set order, because our massive opening set-piece, 7 keys (extended) into Good Times just seems to be confusing people. Set order is very significant in creating the right mood over the course of the gig, especially when we're playing such a range of material. It still hasn't quite clicked. Tonight's experiment is to start with Left behind, which features Matt on the acoustic guitar. He hits the first chord so hard he breaks two strings, and is forced to retreat to the piano. It's hard to gauge how effective this is as an opening.

Here's a modern gig phenomenon: digital cameras. As soon as the lights come on there are twenty outstretched arms clutching little silver cameras. It was never like this back in the days of film developing. Perhaps it's because no one cares about taking rubbish dark and blurry pictures because they can just delete them. Or maybe it's because now it's easy to email pictures and upload them to web galleries and generally go "look where I was!" to an indifferent world. I also notice that the waving of lighters has been replaced by the waving of mobile phones as people call their mates and go "look where I am!". And then there's texting, which is just rude. Especially if you can read what they're writing.

The Duke is performing for the last time until Belfast tonight, and celebrates by making everyone drunken sandwiches before joining DW Price at the disco for some bad dancing. I went to enough bad discos with the Duke on the last tour (two) to know that he was serious in his quest to end up in one of the special dancing cages. But I had better things to do, such as tea, donuts and Futurama on the bus.

Day 6

Day 7

Matt mistakenly tried to board Gareth Gates' tour bus this morning. Would have been a hell of a story, but his key didn't work.

Here we are at Manchester University. We've very nearly outgrown the Academy 3. The band has certainly outgrown the stage, which requires tetris-master skill to just get everything and everyone on. The fact there are two other bands is just heartbreaking. But luckily it's not my heart that has to worry about it.

It's always nice to play in Manchester - they always seem up for it from the start of the evening. It's great to have a sense of familiarity with the audience, like you're old friends.

Day 8

Day 9

"Hey, who wants to fly to London and back today?"
"What's in it for me?"
"You can record an appearance on the critically acclaimed 'Today with Des and Mel' show!"
"Count me in, and I'll take my band!"

It's got to the point in the tour where 9.30 is very very very early indeed, but this is the time we have to be at Glasgow airport. I'm not especially keen on flying, and hour-long flights always feel worse than longer ones. It's starting to feel like I've been at Heathrow Terminal 1 more often than I've been at home this year.

This is as close as we got

Anyway, we have a job to do, even if it is a stupid one. Aqualung and Des and Mel seems like a strange combination, but let's not forget we have some kind of single out next week, so it's probably for the best.

We are disappointed to learn that we're recording our bit separately, so we don't get a chance to imbibe the atmosphere of the show, and instead stand in the fake Thameside-apartment set (there's even a pretend London Eye outside one of the pretend windows; pretend books on a pretend shelf; a pretend stereo...) and perform three runthroughs to a backing track (live vocal, though. Classy) in an empty studio. DW is unfamiliar with the pretendness of TV and is mystified by the wonder of his 'dead' cymbals. You hit them and they go 'donk' instead of 'kerspiiiiiissssshhhhhhh!'. Don't trust TV, OK?

The highlight of the experience comes as we are waiting in the Green Room before the final runthrough. The door opens and in strides Desmond O'Connor in a white and gold silk kimono. He doesn't stay long, but his passing suffuses the room in a leathery orange glow. It is a moment I shall treasure as long as I shall live.

I like it when the captain says "cabin crew please take your seats for landing." I also like it when you get a scone.

Now we are back in Glasgow where it is good and cold, and it is 8.30 and we are on in an hour. The crew had been dreading loading into King Tut's because of its horrible staircase, so they had abandoned the big heavy piano. Because there was no soundcheck it is a matter of honour for them that we should be able to walk on stage and find everything perfectly set up and ready. They did pretty well, you know. My mic could have been a little lower.

The gig is sold out and nicely rammed, with the perfect blend of noisy enthusiasm and attentiveness. We're also grateful to be playing real instruments that are actually plugged in, and so we give it a little bit more, as Gina G would say.

Day 10

If you're travelling in a tour bus and the tour bus goes on a ferry, there comes a moment when you have to decide whether you'd prefer to stay in bed be sealed in the car deck in the dark, waiting for the rising sea water to dampen your bunk; or get up early and enjoy the bracing sea air and atrocious cuisine of the passenger deck. Today everyone is in bed until the last possible moment, and then there is turmoil as everyone rushes to find clothes and glasses and shoes before they seal the doors. It's very like in a submarine film when they have to go to action stations and everyone runs around. Apart from Alonza, who sleeps through like a giant baby.

Luckily, Dave's friend has just sent him the most hilarious picture I have ever seen, and there is a hotel nearby with a bath in it, which makes everything seem a little better.

We weren't sure how the Belfast date was going to sell, but when we get on stage the room is full and very attentive. It feels like the band is starting to gel - let's not forget we've barely played ten gigs together. It takes time to find the rhythm.

Afterwards we get to meet the Duke's wife (the Duchess?) and they help me to meet Guinness properly for the first time, along with a small and toxic variation called Baby Guinness, for which I thank them long and slurringly.

Day 11

It is a filthy day in Dublin; windy, wet and cold. Your clothes steam as you wheel case after case of equipment through the rustic front bar of Dublin's famous music place, Whelans, into the back room where the stage is, and then your head steams as you try to fit everything onto it. The television silently shows scenes of devastation from Madrid. There are people facing worse things today than a small stage and a large band.

Upstairs there is a grand Edwardian dressing room with a roaring fire where you can warm your shoes and look out at the rain and discuss the situation in the Colonies.

Some pictures which convey
the vibrant urgency of an
Aqualung performance.
And Jim.

Since Whelans is small, it doesn't take much for it to be filled with people (some of them soft-faced Dublin lasses with delicious accents), and they are a joy to play to from start to finish. When Matt is enjoying himself, the introductions for songs can go on for ten to twenty minutes. You turn me around is introduced with hand puppetry and a musical theatre-style accompaniment. You had to be there. We had been toying with the idea of playing Tongue-tied tonight, and because its guitar part is very similar to Another little hole, when we came to do Another little hole, I found I could only play Tongue-tied. My brain could not distinguish between the two, which was a shame since one is in 6/8 and the other is in 4/4. It's weird when your brain lets you down.

Afterwards we enjoy another disco loadout (this time with driving rain!), drop a lighting strut on a taxi, and then return to the opulent dressing room which gradually becomes the secret lock-in room for Locals, which includes Timmy and Brian from Bell X1.

Day 12

For the thirty seconds prior to landing at Stanstead we are completely silent and apparently still inside a milky-white cloud. If you look out of the window it is just a void. It's like we've travelled out of our universe entirely. You'd have thought that would cost more than 50 euros.

Day 13

There was an actual banner draped over the barrier at the gig tonight. It was like being in Five or something, or Another Level. Or 911. I forget what it said on it.

I often say I come from Southampton, because it is less middle class than coming from Winchester. The truth is somewhere in between (somewhere in between Southampton and Winchester) because I actually grew up in a place called "Chandlers Ford", which does not have an apostrophe, or any kind of nightlife (unless you count searching for discarded porn mags down the Lakes).

Chandlers Ford is one of those nothing places the south of England specialises in. It has a poncy name and a lot of charmless five-bedroomed houses in developments called 'Miller's Dale' and 'Kuntry Kotygiz'. It was briefly famous in the Eighties for having the highest divorce rate in Britain. At one time it was something like five in every three marriages breaking down. People were getting divorced after the first date. I'm divorced and I've never been married.

Nothing happened while I was living in Chandlers Ford that would give you an insight into the kind of place it is. That's the kind of place it is. You want adventure and excitement, you better go down Eastleigh. They have a roller disco there.

Matt was reminiscing about it tonight. It's the first time I've ever heard the 47 bus getting a rousing cheer.

Day 14

DW Price: a small man behind a small drum kit. Notice how he resembles a normal-sized man behind a normal-sized drum kit

While the bus was parked outside the venue, one of the bay doors was sheered off by a passing bus. This picture fails to convey the drama of the event.

Day 15

Tonight is Aqualung's biggest ever headlining show. We've sold slightly more tickets than last year. Last year was everso slightly anticlimactic, I now remember. At least this is the last date of the tour, so it will technically be the climax whatever happens. The gig is also being filmed for all manner of filthy reasons, and so I have volunteered to record the gig in a complicated multitrack way which means I can spend all day being extremely stressed and then burst into tears.

It doesn't really feel like the end of the tour. Perhaps it would feel more final if Matt and I weren't flying to Texas tomorrow. It would be nice if it was good, though.

Finally we have a stage that is big enough for all three bands to fit on (who could have guessed Timmy X1 had his own drum kit all along?), and Dom has hired the starcloth backdrop that was such a hit last time.

So 9.30 finally crawls round and we go on stage, feeling strangely casual. I'm quickly amazed by how much larger the place looks when it's full of people. And then we begin.

The size of the stage is actually a little bit disconcerting, because we've got used to hearing everything close up, which has its own noisy energy. Today, when I sit at the pedal steel the drums are at a civilised volume rather than actually stuck in my ear like every other night. We all feel far far away from each other. It's a bit like we're already on our way back to our normal lives.

Jim fucks up the awesome segue from the rockin' out ending of 7 keys to the tiny glockenspeil intro to Good times, which I fear is something he'll never forgive himself for. He failed to stop, you see, abruptly, with the rest of us. He grabs the glockespeil hammer like he's been struck by lightening. An hour later when we go off for the first encore, he's still berating himself. Poor old Jim. (I'm just trying to rub it in).

Well, thankyou everyone. It's been lovely, but I must go now and retrieve the recording stuff and find all the things I need to take to Texas. It's your free time but I'm still at work...

Tour diary - UK - March 2004