Wake up call didn’t arrive at 9am, but ‘ol Chapple has a trusty alarm clock that never lets down its dependent owner. I was dead tired but mustered a wonderful hot shower and wished I was in Cabo San Lucas with a Martini and a good book. And so, while the other boys were in the breakfast nook enjoying muffins and juice and coffee, I went to the bus with Keyo. It was 10.30am and the bus didn’t leave till 11.30, as a member of the group couldn’t find his wallet; turns out the ‘emptying of the suitcase’ thing (which he did) was pointless as his wallet was in his room the whole time. Troels had found it and thus was renamed, ‘Troels the Noble.’

We drove for, nearly, 3 hours before Keyo took us to a brilliant Taverna called ‘El Labrador’, which was in Cogollos. Next to it was a boat that was once owned by Franco and was (according to the locals) where he, Mussolini, and hit met to discuss the war. The Taverna had been around even then and I swear the chorizo sandwich is to die for. I wash it down with pop as I eyed Glenn and the Singer contemplating a bottle of pluck, some sort of red. We left around 2.30pm, just as the rain began.

So I sat back listening to some dull Hendrix bootlegs that Kose brought along (thanx, Kose, ya right bastard) and digging the wet Spanish countryside. I needed a shave, I thought. See boys need to do boyish things and I shave every 3 days or something like that. I discussed that with my mate Manny and Manny thought that impressive that my facial hair grows so slowly, I wish it grew even slower and so it goes, with boys, that is! Now I like being a boy, it has it’s advantages (as well as disadvantages, I’m sure, but I think it must be easier (and cheaper) being a boy) The boys I know are perfectly happy doing nothing or most boys, I should say, are happy to do nothing. Me, I like to be left alone a lot to think of play video games or watch TV or enjoy a pint. This bugs the dickens out of my mother. As a matter of record, every woman in my family thinks I am lazy. I don’t mind, really. They like me and find me entertaining. Unfortunately, as my relatives get older (and more religious) they also become less fun, duller and those lines seem more and more predictable. They think I am crazy to be happy doing nothing. I have no defense; guilty as charged is how I stand.

Deborah Stern, my wonderful friend back home, likes to take long walks at night around the east Hollywood hills. Her friends, George and Dan, usually (and foolishly) take up her offer to join in. She never asks me cause she knows I’d never go. Unless there was a bar on the other end and even then I’d insist we drive. Deborah keeps inviting me to Cuba Salsa night at the Mambo Café in Glendale. A boy can only say ‘No’ for so long, I fear the piper will be paid on this one and I’ll find myself struggling through Spanish whilst making a jackass out of myself on the dance floor.

I am in Los Angeles one week from today. My first order of business is to see my son, Julian. I have some gifts for him and it’ll be so great to see him. My second order of business is to procure my two bottle of whiskey from his Mum. She can have everything else, all my CD’s and what nots, just leave the whiskey, it’s all I ask.

Sound check went well and we finished about 7.30pm. Traci Green and Natalie Chapple were both there and afterwards we went back to the hotel. It began to rain now and I should have not been out walking around. I began to feel thirsty but didn’t think anything of it.

Got to venue 10 minutes before showtime and a Spanish fan, Maureen (sp.?) was waiting by the artist entrance. Also, another fan (who was a diary reader) greeted me as I walked in. They were so nice and it was a taste of what was to come. The show was a smashing success and afterwards we hung out with Ingrid and our friend, Inigo, who runs ‘Munster Records’, the label that released the first Baby Lemonade single.

Then the band and the two Dave’s wives (and their friends)…we all walked to a restaurant in the rain. A good 20 minute walk that sealed my fate. And so now I have the flu. So while everyone else shops and enjoys themselves, I am relegated to soup, meds and enough water to fill the Grand Canyon. I’ve seen every CNN news story 46 times and have come to the conclusion that there is a war on terror. I also get a kick out of the woman on TV, reading tarot cards to Spanish callers, nice, those shows.

Even though I was starting to feel bad, I still hosted a small party in my room that included Rusty, Traci, Traci’s friend Jade, Daddyo, Kose, Glenn, Keyo and Troels. It wound down at 3am and I tried to sleep but awoke at 4.30, dead sick and dehydrated. Finally, fell back asleep at 5am but tossed and turned.

Mike Randle