For the next few days I’m going to be standing in a corner of a North London rehearsal studio, practising for these tour dates. The owners of the complex have helpfully colour coded each of the rooms, imagining that, say, the drummer of Meads Of Asphodel might have trouble locating the rest of his band if they’d named the rooms after surrealist painters, or Siberian villages. Separate the drummer of Meads Of Asphodel from his band mates, and we might never get to hear In The Name Of God, Welcome To Planet Genocide played live. Imagine. “Lyrically woven around the slaughterhouse nature of Human cruelty and cancerous existence upon a world rotting in blood letting and religious oblivion,” says the press release.” Meads of Asphodel, incidentally, appear to come from Hoddesdon. And the man behind the mask appears to be called Metatron.

“Metatron?”
“Yes, mum.”
“So you’re in a band?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it like?”
“Um. Well. I initially conceived of the project in 1998, envisaging a unique myriad of colliding musical styles tethered to a Black Metal spine. My friend Jaldaboath’s skills with Guitars, Bass, Keyboards and Drums enabled the first demo’ The Bemoaning of Metatron’ to be unleashed.”
“I see. More potatoes?”
“Yes please.”
“And you have a new album?”
“Yes. It’s lyrically woven around the slaughterhouse nature of Human cruelty and cancerous existence upon a world rotting in blood letting and religious oblivion.”
“Oh damn, I’ve forgotten the gravy.”

Where was I? Oh yes, rehearsals. Of course, one of the rooms is labelled “Green” and that’s the one I keep absent-mindedly walking back into when I’ve been to the loo, and each time I do it I see the puzzled face of James Dean Bradfield staring up at me (I’m 5′ 9″) wondering why a chubby boy has sauntered in while doing his flies up. “Sorry again,” I’ve taken to saying. Yesterday’s rehearsal co-incided with the England vs Ecuador clash; Dicky, our esteemed guitarist, had videoed the game and seriously thought he’d be able to get home in the early evening without finding out the result. The resounding cheers of “One Nil” from various non-Ecuadorian bands in adjoining rooms may have given the game away.

On the way home I nearly bumped into renowned Scottish pirate imomus, who was getting off the Northern Line at London Bridge after a hard day being dissatisfied with the thinking behind various sculptures and the general level of traffic noise. He waved cheerily, and I blew him a kiss. I hope he’s grateful – I certainly don’t do that for everyone. It would look weird and take ages, for one thing.

At home I turned on the QVC Shopping Channel to send me off to a peaceful slumber, but was jolted awake by a continuity announcement describing everything that would be coming up in the next hour. “A breathtaking Butler & Wilson Crystal Couture Drop Brooch, QVC price only £48,” it began. “And, as an introductory offer, ten gammon steaks for only £28.20.” Gammon? Strewth. Will I really end up ordering late-night takeaways from QVC? “Now, moving along to item number 475665, we have this delicious doner kebab, with ’salad everything’ and no green chillies. Absolutely perfect for a late night snack – possibly after a few drinks down your local pub, who knows? – it’s a snip at only £2.80 plus £5.95 postage and packing. Now, let’s take a look inside. You’ll notice that the spiced lamb is delicately interwoven with shredded lettuce, red cabbage and onion – and oh look! here’s a little tomato! Hello there! Haha, oh dear, anyway, the whole thing comes encased in this sturdy but still soft and yielding bread outer, er, shell, if you will, which is known as “pitta”. This is heated up on a grill and then sliced open in order to form a pocket, which can then be filled with all manner of foodstuffs, I mean, let’s think, you could have cheese, perhaps some ham, or bacon, really, the possibilities are endless…”

Zzzzz.