A big thank you to everyone that came to the gig last night. It was a quite wonderful evening. Exuberant. It's what I imagine VE Day was probably like. We forgot to put up the bunting, but who needs bunting when you have 's1975 football strip plus communist medals.

It's rare for me to witness such unbridled adoration and enthusiasm as at the end of Fosca's set. They know how to make pop sound stripped-down, direct, fun, and make me rue my own kitchen sink approach. And they look f*cking astounding, as ever.

I don't think I will ever get over the spectacle of Simon Bookish menacingly intoning the words “Metal Horse” while putting his foot on the monitor in a Laibach-ian pose of defiance.

To dispel and rock'n'roll myths, I'd like to give you a run down of post-gig activity. Notice the absence of after-show parties, groupies putting tongues in either of my ears, or any oppurtunity to snort drug cocktails off the lily-white skin of our drummer's midriff.

1. Pose for photograph with extremely pleasant and enthusiastic Spanish man whose girlfriend looks as is if she'd rather be sitting at home in Bilbao stroking her cat Alejandro than taking pictures of chubby men.

2. Assemble band for second photograph with Spanish man who, although lovely, is now hampering our attempts to pack away (Water Rats are very hard on getting bands out of their venue pronto.)

3. Lug gear into waiting van driven by the no-nonsense Graham from Rooz Studios, a man who you do not want to keep waiting. Am forced to subsume enormous urge to hang around in bar with nice people and chat idly. I think it was Pere Ubu who said “rock music is basically about moving big black boxes around town in the back of your car”. This is as true today as it was in 1982 or whenever they came up with it.

4. Silently drive to Old Street, the three band members that remain musing quietly on the evening's events, hampered by crippling tinnitus.

5. Spend 30 minutes packing a load of gear into a lock-up measuring 6 foot by 4. It can only fit in one way. Any minor errors mean starting from scratch. It's a task that requires the steely concentration of a bomb-disposal expert.

6. Bid farewell to band, Jenny decides she needs chips (very rare, she's a low-carb lady.) Enter the throng of extremely pissed men clamouring for chickenburgers avec chipforks. We cut through the melee by requesting chips at loud volume in upper-middle class accents.

7. Decide that eating chips on the tube is annoying. And eating chips in cab is forbidden. So we lean against railings at Old Street. Then see a 43 bus which would take us to our destination, and are forced to run for it.

8. Get home at 1.10am. Turn on BBC News 24 to discover that England failed to capitalise on their early success in the Test against South Africa. Fall asleep instantly. Alarm goes off 7.30am.

Good morning.