Courtesy of our helpful stand-in driver...

Three things I learned on this tour:

1. Flies can survive an awful long time in a microwave. I discovered this when heating milk for a poor man's cappuccino one hung-over morning. I didn't realise there'd been one in there until I opened the door and it flew out, continuing about its business seemingly un-nuked.

2. Having spent much time in the company of our esteemed drivers, I now know that the 1970s English sitcom "On The Buses" was in fact a documentary.

3. Matt, our front-of-house sound man, has the worst musical taste of any human being in history.

Drachten

Bit of a funny gig really, what with the mysterious and rather large stranger getting in my way at the side of the stage, the most feeble drunken stage invasion I've ever witnessed, and my utter conviction that I'd been belmed at for no good reason, knocking my chipper mood for six. It all came good in the end as it always does somehow, and thankfully the post-show shower was nice and hot. Dinner was lovely as well - top marks to the chef.

The ferry ride home from Zebrugge (much nicer than the Rotterdam boat) almost rivalled the now legendary Stockholm/Helsinki Viking Line crossing for sheer bizarre drunken tedium. This time we had loudly farting pensioners, cabaret turn Rocker-Fella sticking noodly guitar solos where they're least wanted in his you'll-never-guess-what-I'm-going-to-play-next set, and a hyperactive French version of the Kids from Fame leaping about the place. I also experienced what it feels like to eat the world's most disappointing pizza.

Turkey next week.

Russia

Another flight at bollocks o'clock (or bollocks-hundred hours if you've done military service) in the morning from Heathrow meaning a through-the-night slog down the M6 from Heckmondwike via Liverpool. Basically you miss a night's sleep doing it this way, one you'll never get a chance to catch up on. I bet I missed some great dreams. The fatigue does make for quite a pleasant floaty feeling on the plane after a couple of ales though, and conveniently helps one overlook the rude behaviour of French fellow passengers (you know who you are Madame avec le gros cul). Mark (from Cornwall) quite sensibly booked himself a hotel room near the airport for the night so he's nice and fresh, the bastard. Now why didn't I think of that? Les was most impressed with Terminal 5, particularly the thoughtful inclusion of a bar right next to our boarding gate. I don't know how but we managed to shrink our check-in baggage tally to nine items from nineteen - a miracle of downsizing if ever I saw one, though Dan still carries with him a suitcase the size of a chest freezer. First time flying with British Airways for me - might as well have been EasyJet. Most unremarkable. Our Russian hosts met us at the airport. They are called Igor and Dmitri. It's like arriving in Scotland and being met by Jimmy McSporran. Perfect.

Graspop

A nice mellow voyage to Zebrugge on the North Sea ferry for the band to play a blinder in a packed marquee, opening with a mighty rendition of Led Zeppelin's Kashmir. Afterwards I met someone who is kind of partially responsible for my being there. The gentleman's name is Biff Byford and his band is Saxon. When I was fifteen my uncle took me to see them play at Sheffield city hall. It was the first gig I'd ever been to. Not too long after that I bought my first electric guitar, and now I make a living travelling the world tuning and re-stringing the things. So I shook Biff's hand and said thanks. All he had to say in response was "Who are you?" It meant something to me though. I also met a very knackered Lips, lead singer with Anvil. He's just as nice a bloke in the flesh as he is in the highly entertaining documentary, "Anvil: The Story of Anvil".

Jamie was rather keen to show everyone his very smart yet curiously branded sunglasses which apparently he found in his car. Here's a photo of him wearing them (click for larger view):

How they came up with that name I've no idea, but I reckon they should team up with the company that makes the television we saw in Turkey. I'd buy shares in Arcelik and Knobbout.

Wurtzburg

Show number two of the German bit. We spent our day off after the Krakow show parked up at Auschwitz and took the opportunity to have a good look around, both there and at Birkenau (Auschwitz 2) a little way down the road. If you ever get the chance  go and have a look - it's a most sobering experience, and a reminder of how very close we are to quite staggering acts of inhumanity given the right (or wrong) set of circumstances.

Boredom kicked in big time in Leipzig the following day what with the lack of laptop, early load-in and having only one guitar to restring. Luckily we had ping-pong, pool and table football close to hand in the great little Anker venue. I had a bit of a kick around outside with a couple of the local kids as well, one of whom insisted on running home to get a present for me. He came back with a "Wales - Land of my Fathers" football scarf - a baffling gift I found quite touching. It was Dan's birthday but he didn't seem to chuffed to be another year older. Hope you had a good birthday mate.

Paris

A big show in the Elysee Montmartre, an old theatre somewhere in this great mess of a city with about fifteen hundred punters expected. Petter is a little nervous, bless him, so I reminded him that all guitarists are show-offs at heart and that he shouldn't have any trouble, being as sickeningly talented as he is.

I've found the perfect use for my Wales scarf, when Jay isn't draping it over his amp in an act of patriotic fervour that is (I thought the surname Cavanagh would have given him Irish ancestry). Anyway, I employ the aforementioned kneckwear as a handy hassock, making the act of kneeling to gaffer cables and pedals to the stage a far less arduous experience.

I write this on a laptop kindly loaned to me by our driver so posts should be a little more frequent for the rest of the tour. Cheers Tim.