Johnnie Walker came to Bristol. Sat through sound check and took photos which he has sent me. I’ll get some to the website. Great to see an old mate, one who helped my career right from the start and still encourages me, saying the kindest words about Stranger Comes To Town. Our two night sojourn at The Stables turned out to be the joy it always has been.

We stay at a Georgian House, extended to a full-blown private hotel, near Woburn, and relax before the shows. There is something sedate about playing there, that is until the show’s end, when it erupts like a proper rock venue. There is something of the small theatre about it all, the closeness of the bodies, the faces on show in the house glow of dim light. Odd that next day we hit Holmfirth for the Fan Convention, as my band call it. What a place that is. Funky old cinema with an air of juvenile disdain which seems to raise audiences to levels of relaxed fun they seldom enjoy these days. I like playing there as much as they like paying to see us there. I always tell Peter the owner, anytime mate. Packed and rocking from the start. Relentless in its waves of unity. Waves that rush the stage. An audience like that will always raise the game of the performers.

Finishing at Shepherds Bush Empire was ideal. It’s another rocking venue for genuine rock bands. The Isle Of Wight seemed like the end of something, but only for a few days. Scandinavia next, and after a 3.30 wake-up on the day of departure, we took a total of seven flights in five days – that’s show-business (it’s tough in the middle). But the adventure is always worthwhile. They ask me in interviews often these days, when will you grow tired of this? When will you stop?

Stop?! Why would anyone stop doing this? It’s not a job, it’s a life.