Drachten

Bit of a funny gig really, what with the mysterious and rather large stranger getting in my way at the side of the stage, the most feeble drunken stage invasion I've ever witnessed, and my utter conviction that I'd been belmed at for no good reason, knocking my chipper mood for six. It all came good in the end as it always does somehow, and thankfully the post-show shower was nice and hot. Dinner was lovely as well - top marks to the chef.

The ferry ride home from Zebrugge (much nicer than the Rotterdam boat) almost rivalled the now legendary Stockholm/Helsinki Viking Line crossing for sheer bizarre drunken tedium. This time we had loudly farting pensioners, cabaret turn Rocker-Fella sticking noodly guitar solos where they're least wanted in his you'll-never-guess-what-I'm-going-to-play-next set, and a hyperactive French version of the Kids from Fame leaping about the place. I also experienced what it feels like to eat the world's most disappointing pizza.

Turkey next week.