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Tour day 10: Inverness, laddie!
I've written before about how much your first sight of life outside the bus influences your day, gives you a clue as to your fortunes or generally just sticks in your mind. Today, I saw a man hanging out his washing, right next to the bus. Hmmm..that's not usual..there's an Esso garage twenty yards away too..we must have parked up somewhere for drive to get some sleep, I thought to myself. I got up and had a look around, and found that we were exactly where we were meant to be. The Raigmore motel, in Inverness. It's an old-school travel lodge type affair, with an exact replica of the Phoenix Club bolted onto the side. I started laughing as I looked around, I wondered if we'd been booked for a wedding reception by mistake.

I made a sarcastic comment to Jis as he went in for a look, mostly because I knew he'd freak out and I wanted to encourage that, then I fucked off for a swim. It was painful, I suck at front crawl. I walked back into town by the river Ness (yeah, the one with the Loch with the Monster) and I swear I wouldn't have know it from the Taff back home. Rivers are just large bodies of flowing water though furrows in the ground, see one you've seen them's the civilisations on their banks that makes them memorable, like the Vltava running through Prague and the Bosphorus in Istanbul. Oops, bit of a tangent there. Back to Inverness, where I bought genuine authentic Scottish kitsch memorabilia for my family. Snowglobe, anyone?

The gig was shaping up nicely when I got back, Jis and Stan swore a lot, I lost money to Noel Edmunds in a gambler and old men drank and talked about traditional Scottish music. Because we were playin in the Raigmore, The Raigmore Motel provided the dressing room. We weren't on until quite late (well, relatively..10.30 or something), so for slightly too long we were sat in a hotel room full of booze. The room reminded me of a scene from "No Country For Old Men".The gig reminded of "Braveheart"..damn, gonna have to justify that one, just for a Scottish was like a battle, but everyone was on the same side. There were also many casualties to the stink bomb that some bastard dropped. We lost half our crowd to sulphur..

I can't blame them. The stink was horrible.

Noteworthy occurences: Paul humps Peter Hill's face, live on stage. I introduce him as a sexual predator as a result. Many people end up in our dressing/hotel room after the gig, one of them acquires a souvenir - Frost's phone. She feels guilty and posts it to Norwich for us to collect.

Good gig!


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