Portugal. Five days in the sun. Walking on the sand, the ever-present notebook and pen in pocket. Lyrics to complete. Comes to mind that while I was writing The Coast Of Amalfi and a couple of other songs for The Quality Of Mercy, I travelled to – wait for it – Amalfi. Believed at the time that I was on a research trip. So I researched. Crossed to Ischia and trekked up to Pompeii. Sailed the bay to Positano, so I could know what these places felt like, how they smelt, what gave them life. Got that 5 minutes song from those excursions. Gathered inspiration for much of Journey’s End and The Last Goodbye, too.

The pointer towards Daniel Johnston by Graeme is indeed welcome. Had all but forgotten the self-proclaimed “rejected unknown”. Maybe too many have covered the beautiful, poignant “Story Of An Artist” – irresistible, as it is – for me to attack it so late in its life. Maybe. But “True Love Will Find You In The End” is less exposed. Maybe that one. The YouTube archives are fascinating.

Tickets on sale, and a new record occupies my waking hours to a massive degree. I feel certain that what I am creating in the studio, and out of it, is good work. But then I am not so sure. And I realise, once, and for the first time, that you need to have both, in equal measure, a sense of certainty and a sense of doubt.

Balance.

Humility.

Feels good to see a new list of Live dates published. Pity the right halls in a few cities were not available for the times we could have been there. Rehearsal time is booked and, besides, with a new album out there in the spring, doing its bit for the cause, anything could happen later in the year. We never know.

Armistice Day.

Got a call last week inviting me to Abbey Road Studios to sing on a record to honour our troops and their fallen comrades. Couldn’t accept; had my own studio time booked that same weekend, 150 miles from London. Was sorry and said so. But, after getting back from Germany, it was vital I did not let it go.

Jim Cregan it was who called. He produced the track, brilliantly. Written by Robert Hart.

See it being recorded via the link below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ektQbe-dOU

Looking through the list of six favourite books I offered to the Daily Express recently, it occurs to me that those few represent about 100th of the actual number I’d need if dumped on a desert island. I use the internet, of course, but still reach for the reference books that crowd my study shelves when I want it absolutely right. That Wikipaedia, how poor is that! They get so much wrong (yes, there is irony in there...somewhere). How many times am I going to read that I was Christened Steven, with a V? The Wiki-people actually get that bit right, oddly enough. But where did it all start, the misspelling of a simple first name?

If you were one of those million with a ticket for the Michael Jackson marathon at the O2, I am now doubly, trebly sorry for you. His death was a shocking tragedy and, now I’m home after seeing the This Is It movie, I can tell you that you would have had the night of your life. The detail MJ attends to is astonishing. It is tough being leader of a band and crew and all others around you, on the team. At that level, MJ was sensational. See it if you can, and if you care at all about great Live music. The band – all from the top drawer, as you’d expect (check out the young white English girl guitarist, Greek surname, but maybe from London?), and no sign of a mime or click-track or tape to these experienced eyes.

Classic Rock Roll Of Honour, last night. What a shock. How did Dorothy keep her secret like that? Now I know she and the ChildLine Rocks and Classic Rock magazine people were conniving over this fantastic shock while I was in Germany.

We cover a lot of miles in this big country. Travelling is tiring. Get enough sleep at night, but still constantly weary. Come alive, as ever, once the light hits and the kick drum thumps time in my in-ear monitors.

Berlin. Always reassuring to see the Brandenburg Gate with open land each side. First saw it in the 70s, then again in ’89, the wall almost touching, west city, so little behind. Checkpoint Charlie, Cafe Adler (now part of the fine Einstein Coffee Shop chain), art nouveau par excellence. Rubbish tourist shops all around, but easy to ignore. I ignore very well when so minded. Trike ride, just like a proper tourist, rickshaw for a couple of exploratory hours. Einstein Under den Linden. Nowhere better for coffee and sustenance. It’s quite cold here. Colder than the UK. Really autumnal. Before tomorrow’s soundcheck and the real work begins, I plan to visit the Alte National Gallery. And the lyrics of new songs are in my pocket or my grasp at all and any time.