So, we’re coming to the end of the tour, and what better way to round off several weeks of rehearsals, gigs, bread and cheese than by sitting in a queue of traffic at Holyhead waiting to board the ferry to Ireland. Most of today’s sailings are cancelled due to bad weather, but we’ve been put on the 1410 crossing on Ulysses, the world’s biggest car ferry, which apparently can deal with the gale force winds that are currently battering the Irish Sea. The last time I was on the briny during a gale, I saw old women being sick, which for some reason I found profoundly disturbing. I hope any old women on board have taken some travel sickness pills, not that that’s going to make much difference.

We played a stormer in Manchester on Monday night – possibly the best gig of the whole tour – with a deafeningly appreciative crowd roaring their approval throughout. Which makes this hilariously illiterate review from the Manchester Evening News somewhat puzzling, but there you go, there’s no accounting for taste, or indeed paying much attention to what’s going on around you. The following morning we were up early to rush down to the BBC to play a couple of songs on Marc Riley’s show on 6 Music, and while we waited patiently in a corridor we were confronted with a flipchart with timings for a recently broadcast show, to which we responded with our own possible schedule, which I look forward to hearing presently on the airwaves.

At noted central Manc boozer the Peveril Of The Peak we spent several hours in the evening playing darts and pool – Dicky showing exceptional promise with the arrows – and this was followed by delicious folk music entertainment from some local players who turned up and rather grumpily bashed their way through some tunes on dulcimers, banjos, pipes, guitars and violins. An unexpected treat. Green, a hip-hop beat über-meister, was told off by a sullen audience member for “clapping off the beat”. The man who administered said bollocking then proceeded to clap wildly out of time. Idiot.

Then to Cardiff, where it rained like a bitch. My family were put off by the bad weather from making the trip down from Swansea, and I couldn’t blame them, really, as I had trouble making myself go out and look for some grub. Green played his homecoming show without once slipping into his Welsh accent which makes me giggle like an imbecile, but he did cause mirth by shouting out things like “Anyone in from Caerphilly?” which can’t have been said at many rock shows over the years. Then back on the bus, back to sleep, and here we are at Holyhead, waiting for the ferry. Our tour bus bears the legend “Y-Not”, and although there have been a few occasions where I’ve come up with several reasons “why not”, it’s been a surprisingly pleasant few weeks. Now let’s hope I make it across the Irish Sea, as Jenny’s doing a 1p Ryan Air gambit to meet me out there.