Here we go. Another paragraph written at 35,000 feet, or to be absolutely precise 37,996 feet, according to Virgin’s in-flight entertainment system. We’ ve just crossed the border between North Dakota and Montana, although you wouldn’t know from looking out of the window, obviously. We have a tremendously camp flight attendant looking after our every need, and his manner reminded one of the tour party of another camp flight attendant on another aircraft who, having been informed by the pilot that he should take his seat for landing, passed the message to his fellow crew members by cooing “ok everyone, it’s time to dangle the Dunlops.”

This paragraph is written from a Hollywood hotel, which sounds glamorous, but isn’t, but is probably more glamorous than a hotel in Borehamwood, Cricklewood or Bumwood, if that’s a place, which it probably isn’t. I went to bed at 9pm last night, and woke up at 6am, with an interruption at 2am – a telephone call from Jenny, who hasn’t worked out the time differences as yet, but I put her straight immediately. The clocks going back an hour has added further to the confusion, and down in the lobby are at least 3 members of Scritti Politti, wandering around in a daze and wondering what day it is.

But things look good. In fact, they’ve looked good ever since we touched down at LAX – and I really hate saying LAX and would rather type “Los Angeles International Airport” but can’t really be bothered – and over the in-flight PA came “The Boom Boom Bap”. An ex-keyboard player with Scritti was also on the flight, also by co-incidence. These are all positive signs, surely.

Tonight we play at The Roxy, on the “Strip”. Here’s to many more absurd sentences like the previous one over the next two weeks. Personally, I’m looking forward to listening to “The Nightfly” by Donald Fagen in a few days time, while we “motor” up the “freeway” past “Big Sur”, wherever the f*ck that might be. Marvellous.