It’s a little sad to hug Swiss Julian goodbye, though – we have twenty years of shared adventures, from drinking cans of Super Kestrel and walking through bonfires in our formative years, to using road bollards as didgeridoos in our thirties. Even sadder is Namibian. Oh, I mean leaving Namibian.
He hands back my stove as he prepares to zoom ahead with Little Dick. As we haven’t been home since January, he may, quite reasonably, be eager for sex with his fiancée.
I peel off for a night’s recuperation under the duvet while they plough on. We’ll be parted for a whole week; I shall miss Namibian. He wipes my windscreen first, though, and gives my ear a playful tug. Oh all right, I made up that last bit.
Now, if you think I’m continuing this gibberish while I’m at home, you’ve got another thing coming. I have articles to write and trombones to play, and no time to fool about documenting the discovery of unpaid gas bills from February. In fact, as has been noted, I don’t really have enough time to drive the truck, let alone write the blog.
So, to cut a long story short: the end. Oh all right, to cut a short story a little bit longer: I’m busy, and will write more soon. The tour resumes on Tuesday 14th April in London, at the O2 Arena.. Just to lure you back after the festive break, here is a carefully-captured shot of me in the bath.