Manchester came a little too quick on the heels of rehearsals, to be truthful, and a few endings must have seemed ragged to the sharper-eared and more critical among the audience. But those peccadillos were soon behind us and it all got better and better by the show. That’s touring for you.

Now Greta Joy is married. My little girl, aged 30, has tied it with Nelson George. It was a faultlessly brilliant day and evening. We were extremely proud of Greta. She is clever and modest; witty and compassionate; charming and loveable…….

The recent festivals have gone well, Brentwood being like playing "at home". We live 40 minutes from there. Holt was special. Beautiful setting: an amphitheatre in the woods around Gresham's School. A thousand souls (sold out many weeks in advance) prepared for all elements that might get thrown at them. It had poured the day and evening before, so the track downhill to the  backstage area was slippy, but the weather stayed fine for us; clear, blue skies and a cool, dry evening for the show. I saw many anoraks with hoods. Not needed after all! Mona and Lisa Wagner were with us, on stage with us for the first time. What a debut…

We were fired up for Rochester. The girls, Mona and Lisa, were with us and we’d already done a sound-check before the bad news was broken to us backstage. I wish Rick Parfitt better health; he’s had a rough time of it for a few years, apparently. Here’s a phot, taken by Barry, of the magnificent view from the stage:

We spent a few days in a recording Studio recently, and “Ordinary People” came out sounding like a potential R2 play-lister…..if only! I’ve added an extra 12 bars of new melody and lyric (a Middle 8, which is actually 12). The files (that’s the digital recording) are on their way via the Ethernet to Matt Butler for re-mixing. We’ll release it as a single in the autumn, in the hope of getting some air-play around the country, serving as a boost to publicity for the November tour. And that tour is…..

In Bruges. Please advise.

It’s always the way with good, old friends, the ones you truly connected with back then, don’t speak to or see for year after year and then BANG! They’re back in your world and nothing really has changed. I spent the most convivial half-hour today on the phone to Duncan Mackay, he in Cape Town, South Africa, I in Suffolk. We connected truly. The familiar cracks were exchanged within seconds, not even  minutes, and the loose ground upon which mates shuffle and dance and banter was established as though in a breath. For 30 minutes neither of us let up. Except, that is, to listen. We talked and we listened. Duncan will come to rehearsals and play off-book (no notes). He hasn’t toured since the old King died, but sounds like he’s chomping at the bit for November’s promise.

You’ll remember that pledge I made on stage at the Concert At The Kings Festival, All Cannings, Wiltshire, last May? Proceeds go each year to The Macmillan Nurses. I was not aware of this until a stage manager mentioned it as I waited backstage, a minute before show-time. It stayed on my mind through the first few songs. I was playing a new guitar, a fine Taylor, a 310-CE electro-acoustic model. It wasn’t sounding so great in my monitors and I had to send word to the engineer in the wings. I looked out at the 5,000-strong crowd and explained: “This is a beautiful guitar. New guitar. Really good instrument. So it should sound fabulous.” I remember holding it up and toying with extraneous thoughts. I looked down to those on the barriers and told them, “You can have this guitar”. We built a rapport over the next few songs, the guitar up for auction, starting at £1,000. I wouldn’t accept less. My guitar techie came on to swap instruments and told me “It’s up to two  grand”.

My Godson, Archie, is 18 years old today, Armistice Day. Archie will probably read History at University, and his main interest is Military History. I have found him a gift relevant to that. Dinner at The Shard, where we will look down on to the moat of ceramic poppies and no doubt marvel at such a sight. Art is stupendous when installations such as that are given free rein. No un-made bed, or random scattering of bricks, this one! We will be finishing our celebratory evening at around midnight, or so I’ve been warned by Archie’s dad.

Steve was in Spain visiting his dad, who turns 88 years old soon, and could not attend Lincoln Anderson's funeral, which took place in Weeley Crematorium, Essex on Thursday. Steve wrote the following tribute, which, with Lincoln's wife Shereen's permission, was read in the Chapel by Barry Wickens.