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I woke up in the middle of a field. The town of Leek had disappeared for another hundred years. No one would believe that I had been there.
Luckily it was not far to Salford, although that meant I was there by about 11am with a lot of time to kill before I could get into my hotel. My lurgy seemed to have got worse again, but at least I had just one more gig to do before I go home. The kids are really missing me this time and I have to try not to think about them too much or I start crying. Even Phoebe, who usually plays her emotional cards close to her chest is admitting to finding it tough that I am away.
All this does make me question whether I should be touring at all. It's not a good time to ask the question as this is the most intense period of touring and unluckily it coincides with this illness. My body and brain may be telling me it's time to rethink. But I've enjoyed doing this show so much and I love being a performer. There is probably some middle ground, where things are slightly better organised for a man who will probably be in his 60s the next time he tours.
I went for a coffee in the Salford Quays outlet and read my book. Just as I finished my coffee an alarm went off and everyone had to vacate the shopping mall. There was no apparent danger and everyone moved slowly, some reluctant to leave their drinks and croissants behind. Regardless whether there was an unexploded bomb or a terrorist attack or a huge fire about to engulf the place, everyone wandered aimlessly to the exit. Probably safer than everyone panicking and tripping over each other, but I wondered at what point nonchalance turns to terror when something is actually going on. Are the first few people killed in any disaster still playing it cool and amused. Do they have time to realise it was real this time?
The outlet lost my custom (and everyone else's) and I slouched over to Pret for lunch and then went to see if I could get into my hotel early. The lady of reception asked what I was doing in town. Usually I would be vague about this, but for some reason I said I was doing a show at the Lowry and she was impressed. Not only did she allow me to check in early she upgraded me to a 16th floor room where I got a desk and a lot of space and a free Kitkat. Result.
And I just rested up and tried to sleep, though other people on the executive floor seemed to enjoy slamming doors so that was tricky. I ordered a Nandos (making sure I got the right place this time - last time I was here I ordered one to the wrong restaurant and didn't have the time or inclination to travel a couple of miles to get it. I wondered if it was still there waiting for me) and ate it in my dressing room.
I am deliberately including mundane details to show you how touring is like wandering through the wilderness, but I have a feeling that it's me that's boring and that other people fill their days more productively. It's not like it's much different when I am not ill. But you have to save up your energy for the show.
And I managed to put all that battery life into the show, but it wasn't a very pleasant experience for me. As soon as I was off stage I headed back to the hotel (
paid subs on substack can join me on my walk) without doing any signings or merch (it was a combo of being too poorly and the venue charging too high a commission to make it worth me selling anything). I had a lemsip in the hotel bar, which is the strongest drugs I've ever had on tour and went to bed.
This is what it's like on tour.
