Wake up call came at 8am, which means I slept a little over 90 minutes. Was dead tired when bus pulled off at 9.30am. Slept for most of our journey to Bergara. We checked in our hotel about 2.30 and so Chap and I napped till 3.30, when Glenn knocked to see if we wanted to get a bite. Keyo knew a good café nearby and so all of us followed, sans Rusty and the Singer who opted to pass.

Once at the restaurant (or café if you wish) we ordered fish soup (Glenn/Daddyo) and salads (Kose, me, Chap and Troels) and Garbanzo beans (Keyo). The came the top course, lamb. We finished that off with special red wine that you combine with fizzy water. Went back to hotel to rest for an hour (though, nearly, watched ‘Ali G’ again) before 6pm bus call for sound check.

Sound check was ok but my amp sounded weird; turns out Troels switched with the back-up. This proved fatal, as the amp didn’t have the ‘bollocks’ that ‘my sound’ requires. Show was ‘so-so’ but the Singer liked it. Back stage, on the wall, was the funniest graffiti from thousands of bands that have come and gone. The club served us spaghetti and sauce (tasted more like ‘Chef Boy – ar-dec) (Sorry, that doesn’t make sense? Caryne!) And salad after the show. I was looking at the walls and found the following;

In hell…

The Italians organise

The British cook

The Germans tell the jokes

The Greeks drive the taxis

And the Mexicans provide the Backline (WOT BACKLINE?)

And, on that note, we drive to the hotel and crashed at 1.30am.

Mike Randle