I write today from the back seat of a Renaut Scenic, which is hurtling along "the spine of Britian" at a brisk 88 mph. To my left is Jeres' amp, which houses my copy of The Independent, Martin's copy of The Curse Of Lono, and assorted sandwitch debris. Over the horizon of the amp young Mary turner drools into a pillow, sleepishly. Up front Jeres sleeping head rolls about, a little like that David Grey fellow's mid-song. To his right, our tour manager, Dan Bristo, keeps an aspirational moustache aimed straight ahead. Gypsy madness blares tinnily from the speakers. My eyeball hurts me. This is Akira The Don and The Women on tour. Tonight, Glasgow Arches. See you there!