Just as we crossed the state line into Louisiana, the heavens opened unleashing a torrent of rain of such biblical proportion that at one point, the car in front became almost invisible as if it had been swallowed by the deluge. As this was happening, jagged arteries of lightning lit up the sky overhead – Thor was having a tantrum. “Are we in a disaster movie?” came Iain Graham’s comment from the back seat.
We’d left Gulfport that morning to continue our 1200 mile journey to Austin. Looking back on the two days of driving, it’s as though they’d never happened and we’d been in some kind of semi-hypnotic state for the duration of the journey then snapped out of it the moment we stepped on Texan turf.
We’d all been excited about Austin. Not only would we have an unprecedented two days off but we’d be in one of the coolest cities in America. Our home for the duration was an ultra cool apartment with rooftop terrace and full length windows overlooking downtown Austin that Mr Graham, our capable tour manager, found on Air B&B. it worked out way cheaper than hotels and was far more enjoyable. Just around the corner were cool bars and a multitude of food trucks. There are over a 1000 of these in Austin and, unlike the late night kebab vans in the uk that occasionally seem like a good idea once alcohol has suitably impaired your judgement, these establishments offer some of the finest food in the city. Anything from BBQ to Mexican to Creole can found and the best of them can attract long lines of customers. They provided much of the catering for our visit.
Everyone in the band found different ways to entertain themselves in Austin. As well as catching up on sleep and doing laundry, we all got to explore and discover the city a little. I hired a bicycle on our second day there and set off in the direction of Barton Springs, a designated spring fed swimming spot along Barton Creek. It was a beautiful hot day and I’d worked up quite a sweat by the time I got there. Plunging into the pool was glorious, it felt like swimming in Evian and despite the initial cold shock, was the perfect temperature for awakening the senses.
I’d made an appointment for a massage later in the day – I occasionally have one to iron out the knots and kinks that accumulate during a tour. The only appointment I could find was situated to the North of the city. I was in the south. I arrived at Austin Sports Massage red faced and out of breath, looking like I’d just completed a triathlon – which I kind of had as I’d also been for a jog earlier that morning. An hour later, feeling suitably tenderised, I was back on the bike and tearing down Guadalupe St to get to Congress bridge before dusk. The reason for the deadline was not that my bicycle might turn into a pumpkin but that at sundown each day, 1.5 million bats take off from the bridge and this was something I didn’t want to miss. I made it with time to spare and joined the large crowd gathering to witness the mass flight. Apparently, the cloud of bats that forms is so large that it is picked up by local weather radar. When the little flittermice decided to emerge it began first as a steady stream followed by a raging torrent of flapping and squeaking. A magic carpet of bats shot by underfoot and seemed as though it would never end. If it had been 10,000 bats I would have still been impressed but 1.5 million was fucking mental!
The following day, i needed to experience what all the fuss over BBQ was about so I headed to the LA Barbeque truck. Much research was done into the best Barbecue in town and the name that topped all lists was Franklins. I had jogged past it on the previous morning as I was out testing my new running shoes and at 9.30 in the morning there was a huge line of people waiting outside  – it looked like the launch of a new iphone. People had bought chairs and coolers and apparently start queuing at about 8 in the morning –  Franklins doesn’t even open until 11.00, hence why I headed to La Barbeque. Surely no rack of ribs is that good? I’d read that La Barbecue was run by a former chef from Franklins, it had received rave reviews and the lines weren’t quite so long. When i arrived with Ian Graham, a strict vegetarian with no interest in barbecue, the line was still pretty long and it was a good 45 minutes before I found myself at the window ordering meat by weight.  I had 3/4 lb of ribs and 1/4 lb of beef brisket with a side of chipotle slaw and I have to say it was the best barbecue I’ve ever eaten. I’m glad I didn’t order more as my stomach would have protested but if any of you get to Austin and don’t fancy camping outside Franklins for 3 hours, LA Barbecue is a good bet.
It was great to get back onstage that night and I think we all felt revitalised after two days of Texas food and sunshine. At one point during Paul’s solo at the end of “Pride”, Phil came dancing over to me, shaking his tambourine and shouting “We’re on our summer holidays!” It did feel that way
So, following the gig, we had a two and a half hour drive to Houston, where we’d stay before an early rise to get to New Orleans. An hour and a half into the drive as I was dozing behind the drivers seat, I was woken by a strange squealing noise and a juddering of the van. It had to happen sooner or later – the tyre had exploded!
Paul was driving and said it was such an odd noise that at first he thought we’d hit a pelican or something and he’d looked in the mirror expecting to see a load of feathers.
Now, changing a wheel on a car is relatively easy. Changing a wheel on a 3 1/2 tonne mercedes sprinter in the pitch dark at the side of a highway is a slightly different challenge especially when the back is full of heavy equipment. Using our phones as torches, we first located the jack and the spare wheel before unloading all the gear onto the side of the highway behind the van. By the time it was all out, it was strewn along the side of the road like a yard sale. We loosened the wheel nuts and began jacking up the vehicle. The jack was being very temperamental and would reach a point beyond which it would stubbornly refuse to go higher even though it wasn’t at full height. We wrestled it to a point at which we could remove the wheel with the spectacularly shredded tyre but realised we would be unable to get the new wheel on unless we could get the jack to go higher. It was at this point that further disaster struck.

Rule number 1 – When changing a wheel on a vehicle, first apply the handbrake!

Unfortunately this rather important rule had been overlooked and as the van rolled rolled forwards off the jack in slow motion we could only stand by helplessly and look on in horror. The van make an awful groaning noise as if it had suddenly acknowledged it’s impending doom but by some miracle the jack wedged itself against the spare wheel which was basically only leaning against the axle and the tyre prevented the van from bottoming out. I’m not sure how we got away with this. By the laws of physics we should have been looking at an undriveable van and probably a missed show in New Orleans. In short, we would have been fucked, but with our history of vehicular malfunction, we’ve always managed to come out smiling. As we had just finished loading all the equipment into the van, a police car pulled up alongside us and seeing that we had the situation under control (if only she’d known) drove off again. We hopped back in and drove to our beds in Houston feeling that, once again, we’d cheated disaster and conquered adversity. We’re unstoppable!

We’re now in New Orleans. Let’s see what adventures she has in store for us…

We’re on our way to Austin, Texas, 1,000 miles away from Orlando, Florida where we played last night. We’ll hit Austin tomorrow night around dinner time but tonight our beds will be somewhere in Mississippi. If you look at our tour map HERE, you can see the red markers indicating where we’ve been. What at first appeared as a few pimples in the mid-west, now resembles a fully blown case of measles, spreading slowly across the country. We’re planning on creating a Temperance Movement epidemic!

Time is flying by. It seems like only a couple of days ago that I wrote about New York and yet as I look in Master Tour, I realise that we’ve since done four shows (Raleigh, Charlotte, North Myrtle Beach and Wilmington) and had a day off. Master Tour is our digital tour book that delivers all the information we need regarding travel times, distances, hotel addresses, venues and stage times etc to our iPhones. Iain Graham inputs all of this information when advancing the tour so that he can avoid having to answer the same questions time and time again from five people. Despite this, we still ask him how long a particular drive will be or where we’re going next week and these questions, in turn, are ignored. The only problem with Master Tour is that once a week has elapsed, all information disappears forever as though it had never happened and there is no record of the whole tour. Before the digital age reduced everything to ones and zeros, It was exciting to receive an analogue tour book, neatly spiral bound with real pages and a cover.  It would generally be left in a bag and never consulted, prompting endless questions directed at the poor tour manager who’d spent hours putting the book together to avoid the exact same questions but it at least served as a nice souvenir of the tour. I have a collection of them at home from past tours that I occasionally stumble across in the back of my wardrobe and it’s nice to look back on all the places I’ve visited. Master Tour has made everything streamlined and convenient but at the same time, robbed us of memory jogging mementos.

So we’re now well into the Southern states and not only is the weather warm but so is the hospitality. After soundcheck in Raleigh, we found ourselves in the venue car park sat in camping chairs outside a large motor home owned by some fans being served delicious soup from a gigantic cauldron-like cast iron pot and drinking beer. Southern hospitality is so acknowledged that it even has it’s own Wikipedia entry and it does indeed feel like everyone here is genuinely happy to see us and seem to be doing everything they can to make us never want to leave. We’ve even had total strangers come over for a chat whilst re-fuelling at gas stations. From Raleigh we travelled to Charlotte where again we experienced the same friendly welcome and then onto Myrtle Beach. The House of Blues in Myrtle Beach resembles a giant corrugated iron shack and looks like it should contain giant circular saws, rusty meat hooks and other horror film paraphernalia rather than a well equipped music venue. The only external clue to what lies inside this unsettling looking building is the giant neon blue “House of Blues” sign that is possibly visible from the moon. After load-in, we wandered out onto the balcony backstage which overlooked the car park and some fenced off swampland where someone had left a load of logs scattered around by the water; except they weren’t logs, they were alligators! We were right next door to Alligator Adventure, home to hundreds of prehistoric looking reptiles with toothy grins as well as snakes, wolves, parrots and bobcats. I went in to have a look around as I’ve always been fascinated by animals that can either poison or tear you apart. The alligators and crocodiles seemed fairly happy. These mostly sedentary animals were lazing around like sunbathing holiday makers at a resort waiting to be bought poolside cocktails but I have to admit to feeling pretty sorry for the bobcats. They seemed none too happy about being held against their will in too-small cages and stared at by ice-cream eating tourists. The wolves looked a bit pissed off too. I left the Bobcats and Wolves to plan their escape and returned to the House of Blues for soundcheck. This was followed by a big tasty plate of chicken and chorizo gumbolaya which had just enough time to down before stage time.
The next day was the first full day-off we’ve had in the 8 weeks of being out here. “Day off” is a term loosely referring to a day without a gig but can include a drive of up to 400 miles or a bit of radio promo so technically not a “day off”. In North Carolina Beach however, we actually had a proper “day off” which we spent a good portion of being motionless, much like the alligators from the previous day. I actually considered going to buy a skateboard but this was discouraged by concerned band mates envisioning broken wrists so instead, a few of us went to the beach for a nice safe game of late afternoon frisbee. Having worked up a thirst, we adjourned to the poolside bar for a margarita. As we sipped on our refreshing adult beverages, I noticed a storm warning on the television screen behind the bar. As if on cue, the sky grew dark and a jagged flash of lightning cut across the horizon. The barman had just enough time to fix us another round before pulling down his shutters. We retreated to our balcony to watch the storm unfold. After numerous failed attempts to capture a lightning flash on camera, pizzas were ordered in and an almost full complement of Temperance Movement members assembled in room 511 to watch a film.
The storm appeared to have hit the reset button on the weather and we woke the next day to a clear, sunny sky. We made the obligatory coffee stop and were on our way to Wilmington for a headline show at Ziggy’s by the Sea.
The gig was great fun. There wasn’t an overwhelming turnout of people but enough to create the sense that word is starting to spread. It’s early days yet and we have a long way to go before Madison Square Gardens but stick with us, we’re working on it!
So yesterday was another “day off” and although it was one of those ones where we spend 4 hours in the van to do a bit of radio promo, from 3pm onwards, we were free to spend it however we saw fit. It was a glorious sunny day and the obvious thing to do was to head for the beach. Frisbee and high winds generally don’t mix well and after chasing the orange plastic disc up and down the beach for a while, we headed to a Mexican bar/restaurant for some of the best tacos I think we’ve ever eaten, washed down with delicious cold beer. The idea then was that we’d head back to our hotel, watch an episode of Game of Thrones and get an early night. This is not exactly how the evening panned out. Our hotel was not the finest establishment we’ve stayed in on this tour. The first indication of this when we checked in was the bulletproof glass between us and the girl on reception. Either the building was formerly a bank, or the staff of the hotel felt the need to protect themselves from the clientele. When entering the rooms, it became apparent that we were not in the Four Seasons. I called reception to enquire as to how I might open the windows to allow some non-stale air into the room, and the short reply that came back was “they ain’t opening!” It was a statement, not a question. The one thing it did have going for it was the large expanse of grass outside the rooms –  perfect for frisbee! All was going to plan until Ian Graham bought out a jar of peach moonshine that had been given to us the night before. A few swigs of this convinced us that it would be a much better idea to go into town and find a bar than get an early night. One Über ride later and we were getting stuck into the first but by no means last margarita of the evening. It was in this bar that we discovered the greatest game ever known to man – shuffleboard! Our self imposed curfew came and went as we got totally absorbed in a shuffleboard tournament of epic proportion. The more we drank, the better we seemed to become at this game and I think I finally found my calling in life – a professional shuffleboard player!
When the tournament had finally reached it’s thrilling climax, we returned to our high security hotel, not to go to bed, but to play margarita and moonshine fuelled midnight frisbee on the floodlit grass outside…then we watched Game of Thrones. At least I think we did!

I thought it only happened in films where the hapless traveller (probably played by John Candy or Steve Martin) would check into a hotel in desperate need of a good nights rest only to find that his room overlooks a rail track and every half an hour, a massive freight train comes thundering past the window shaking all the pictures off the walls – Well it happens at the Comfort Inn in St Clairsville, Ohio. It was actually pretty amusing when at sometime after midnight just as myself and Phil were settling in our beds and all was quiet, a train announced its arrival with a comically loud blast of it’s horn and for a seemingly endless amount of time, rumbled past our window, it’s brakes squealing like a thousand nails down a blackboard. This was the first of many. No amount of freight trains could keep me awake though and i drifted off to sleepy town.

I generally try to stay upbeat about things in this tour diary. No-one wants to read a whinging account of how hard it is to be away from home and how much driving we have to do or how the free hotel internet is never fast enough to steam Netflix. Boo-hoo, our lives are so tough! Seriously, things are going great for us over here and we’re having a brilliant time. We’re living the dream!
Saying that however, occasionally the mood in the van dips slightly below euphoria and yesterday morning was was of those times. It could have been that the weather needed to cheer itself up a bit or that we’d just run out of fun for the time being. The only person who seemed to be having a good time was the crazy crack lady outside Starbucks. Nobody could have predicted the amazing transformation the day was to undergo.
We were due to perform at a craft beer and fine wine shop at lunchtime. Karen had warned us that it could be a strange one and that we’d be perfectly within our rights to give her an “Artie Fufkin” ass-kicking if it all backfired. Even the guy from DC101, the radio station we’d be performing for was waiting outside with the disclaimer that “This is a bit weird. We’ve never tried this before so I don’t know how it will go down”. I replied that we’d done a gig in a Sushi restaurant in Örebro, Sweden and it doesn’t get much weirder than that – we’d be fine. As we stood in the shop surrounded by shelves of craft beer, the staff of DC101 and a few random customers, I must admit that it did feel a little odd. It was like a blind date where both parties are feeling slightly awkward and neither is sure which way it’s going to go. Will we find that we really have nothing in common and go our separate ways forever or, will we just get stuck into this craft beer and become lifelong soulmates? It was most definitely the latter.
We sang a few songs in this unlikeliest of settings and everybody began to relax. This was the point at which the day began to get better and better. I couldn’t help noticing that Phil had been a little restrained and not quite himself. The reason for this became apparent when a cake was bought out for him organised by his wife, Charlie. It was their first anniversary and understandably, Phil was feeling pretty bad about being away for this. Even I felt a little choked up at the appearance of the cake which received a big cheer from the room and completely turned Phil’s day around.
On top of this, Karen came over looking like she was about to cry tears of joy to announce that DC101 – possibly the biggest station in the U.S. for active and mainstream rock had just added us to their playlist and were right behind us. This was huge! The atmosphere in Gillys Craft Beer and Fine Wine became celebratory and we toasted this happy union with our new friends. I’d liked to have spent all day there sampling beers and eating cheese and olives but we had a show to get to and so bid a fond farewell and left, taking with us a box full of sandwiches and gourmet chocolate! Thank you to DC101 and Gilly’s for a brilliant time.
To quote Iain Graham, the show that night at the Silver Spring Fillmore was nothing short of devastating. After walking out to Phil and Charlie’s special tune, we smashed out a couple of new songs and even the old ones seemed to take on a whole new energy. For 40 minutes, we felt invincible. From the day’s underwhelming start to its euphoric climax – we left Silver Spring with Phil proclaiming it “The greatest day ever!”

The drive from Newark International Airport to Norfolk, VA took about 7 hours. Myself, Damon and Phil were met at the airport by a healthy and tanned looking Luke Potashnick fresh from his week of eating tacos and hanging out with alligators in Florida, and a fresh faced and smiling Iain Graham who, despite having had to endure six weeks of babysitting the five of us, appeared happy to see us again. We collected Paul Sayer in Philadelphia and the team was once again compete.
For the first hour or two, the van was buzzing with chat. We all had a weeks worth of stories and events to catch up on before the conversation turned to the weeks ahead. It was then the quiet realisation set in that we would be spending a long, long time in this van! When undertaking his march across the Alps to Rome, I imagine Hannibal, rather than focusing on the whole journey, took each day as it came to avoid being completely overwhelmed by the scale of his mission. I think we’ll be employing the same tactic on this second leg of the tour as worrying about a 17 hour drive from Florida to Texas before we’ve even got to Virginia isn’t going to help anyone. If Hannibal can move 46,000 men and 38 elephants across Europe, I’m sure the six of us can get across America in a Mercedes Sprinter with no elephants to worry about! Plus, Hannibal didn’t have the luxury of being able to pull into The Great Machipongo Clam Shack along the way. We stumbled across this eatery whilst driving through Nassawadox – a place seemingly named by someone with an unlucky rack of scrabble letters. If Willy Wonka owned a Seafood restaurant, this would be it. Pretty much anything that lived in the sea could be broiled or deep fried here and as usual, we had eyes bigger than our stomachs. We left having eaten one or two fried oyster too many before driving the crazily long Chesapeake bay bridge to our beds in Norfolk, Virginia.

So i promised I’d write a New York tour diary entry on the plane home and I’ve almost kept that promise. I am on a plane – just on the way back to the U.S.
It’s been a lovely week off and I feel almost human again. My body clock was jerked violently into UK time where I found myself regularly being woken by a crocodile or My Little Pony at 6.30am Greenwich mean time. The owner of the crocodile would be demanding to watch Octonauts and have tea and toast in bed and my confused, jet lagged brain would struggle to comprehend the underwater world of Captain Barnacle and his crew but within a few days I was fully back to home life as though I hadn’t been away at all. The previous six weeks had suddenly felt like it all happened in a week and now already we’re back on a plane for another six week stint and the previous week feels like the blink of an eye. My head is spinning!
When I left you last, we were approaching New York City having just left behind a snowy Boston. Frank Sinatra was cranked up on the stereo and we were all feeling pretty excited. We had good reason to be excited. New York was awesome in every way.
There is a tangible buzz in New York City that I’ve found nowhere else in the world. Just being there seems to instil an energy and vitality. I already walk at a fast pace but in NY it’s as though I’m turbocharged. After loading in which was mostly taken care of by local crew, I took off to squeeze as much as I could into the two hours before Soundcheck and strode up to Union Square and down to SoHo – grabbing some lunch and another fuzz pedal i would later return along the way. When I arrived back at the venue, it was on fire!
The Webster Hall is a big old building with a wealth of history and character but is, I imagine, in serious need of electrical re-wiring. Iain Graham had happened to be in the dressing room when he noticed small black specks floating from the direction of the bathroom. Mistaking them for tiny flies, he opened the door, expecting to find an infestation of insects but instead, found the toilet bowl and light fitting above on fire. As I walked into the venue, people were running around, shouting into walkie talkies and trying to locate a fire extinguisher. Major disaster was averted but it could have been much worse. It wouldn’t have been the first time Webster Hall had burned down – apparently it’s happened 5 times already!
The building wasn’t the only thing on fire that night. When our time arrived, we came out all guns blazing. The combined effect of being in New York with the knowledge that it was the last show of the first leg, made us draw on every last ounce of collective energy we had and we created an inferno of our own. It was a fitting end to an amazing six weeks and once the chaos of bundling our gear off the stage and into cases was over, we wasted no time in celebrating what I think has been the beginning of a beautiful and lasting relationship with this formidable country.
Another six weeks now lie ahead of us. Some of the drives will be even longer than the last stint but the weather will be getting warmer and we have some amazing cities yet to visit, some great venues to play and some tasty food to eat! We look forward to meeting some of you along the way.
Onwards and upwards!

I think I speak for everyone in this van when I say I’m feeling pretty exhausted. Not only are our bodies protesting at the punishing schedule we’ve endured over the past 6 weeks but so is our gear. My D.I. Box is missing switches, my fuzz pedal finally gave up after years of service and last night I may have blown a speaker. It has become commonplace to see Mr Sayer operating on his guitar between soundcheck and gig. It’s guts spilling out as he pokes around the electrical arteries with a soldering iron. We’ve seen amps come and go, snares break and it’s a wonder that Damon’s drum kit is still standing. Despite this, we battle on, entering venues, blowing the roof off them and leaving like, as Ian Graham succinctly put it the other day, “The navy seals of Rock’n’Roll” – I’m sure the actual navy seals might disagree.

After three hours of driving we emerged from our dark van like moles squinting into the bright sunlight and were led into a large space that looked like a large garage or storage space. In one corner was a van covered in radio station decals. In front of this stood three microphone stands and, on a tripod, pointing at the microphone stands was mounted a video camera. In the opposite corner stood a large wooden shipping crate which, as Paul observed, “Looks like there could be a gorilla inside”. In the centre of the room, arranged in two rows were chairs, the type you might tie a kidnap victim to before filming a ransom video. The rest of the room was filled with a bizarre collection of junk from stacks of old computers to a gameshow style spinning wheel. There was also, worryingly, a cage.
What was going on?
Had Karen bought us here after I called her a Kraken in my last tour diary? It looked a bit like a kill room.
We were actually here to record a radio session for WQBK called, appropriately, “the garage sessions”. A small audience of competition winners were bought in to sit in the kidnap chairs and listen to us perform a few songs and ask a few questions. Disappointingly, there was no Gorilla.

• wake up
• shower
• leave hotel room after 2 idiot checks
• drink amazing coffee and eat ham and gruyere brioche from our new favourite twattery
• drive to radio station and discover a print shop next door
• commute between radio station and print shop whilst simultaneously performing acoustic session and overseeing getting second run of posters done
• drive to Vietnamese restaurant for delicious Phô
• investigate curious Bric-a-brac shop across the road but upon finding myself in a basement reminiscent of that belonging to Buffalo Bill in “Silence of the Lambs”, get scared and leave.
• drive
• lovely scenery
• drive
• more driving
• Portland!

Like a Pantomime villain hiding in the wings, the snow crept out to make an unexpected appearance in Pennsylvania. Just as we were getting used to basking in the glorious rays of the spring sun and my testicles had tentatively emerged from hibernation, we were ambushed by a cold, whirling chaos of white. At the same time, our windscreen wipers decided they’d had enough and refused to co-operate. Perfect!